Page 96 of Play With Me

The feeling of her warmth around me is nothing short of fucking bliss.

“It’s perfect,” I say, kissing her neck. I meet her eye. “You’re perfect.”

Then my body takes over. My mind loses itself to the fucking ecstasy of fucking Nora. She cries out with each thrust, her still-wet back sliding easily on the glass, her tits bouncing as I fill her and pull out and fill her again. My arms start to tremble from holding her up, but I don’t stop. I keep going, until Nora cries my name. “Jude…”

I meet her eyes, wondering if this is what it will take to make her come, but she just smiles at me and that’s when I lose it, my orgasm cresting over me like a hard surf, making my whole body tense as I release everything I’ve got into her. I stay there for a moment afterward, unable to move, even as I know my arms are going to give out.

“I’m going to pass out,” I say as I pull her off of me. “Right here, I’m going to fall down, and you’ll have to drag me to the nurse’s room and then I’ll have to write an apology to the hotel and—

Nora laughs. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get you to bed.”

I really do pass out pretty soon after we fall into bed together, Nora’s legs tangled in mine under the duvet. All my senses are taxed, every one.

“Are you glad we did it, Nora?”

“Hmm?” She’s sleepy too; I can feel her eyelashes flutter against my chest.

“Are you glad we did that, or are you going to wake up tomorrow and think this is the worst decision of your life?”

“You sound like me, Jude. Overthinking things. There’ll be plenty of time for that tomorrow. Nearly a whole week left. Or something.”

I stroke her hair and don’t say anything, but the lightest brush of worry slides over me. Nora sighs and rolls off of me, resting her head on the pillow. But she backs her ass up so it’s pressed against me, and I curl around her, pressing my lips to her shoulder.

She’s right, we’ve got less than a week left. Then I’m going home and she’s staying in Europe for a whole other year and then what? Do we stay friends who fuck? I don’t know if that would work.

But I don’t know if anything else would, either.

* * *

“Jude!” Nora’s voice cuts through my sleep.

At first, when I blink awake, I’m deeply confused. Nora’s got her hands on my shoulders, shaking me.

And she’s naked. In my bed.

There’s a trilling noise, which has me sitting bolt upright.

“Jude, I’m going to answer it. It might be important.”

Before I fully grasp what’s going on through the haze of sleep, Nora’s reaching over me, picking up the receiver of the phone on the bedside table.

“Hello?”

Nora meets my eyes. There’s concern there. “Yes, you did call him. No, it’s okay.” There’s a pause. “We’ll be right there.”

She hangs up, grabbing her glasses. “Jude, it’s Cap. He’s sick.”

“What?!” I explode out of bed, searching madly for my clothes.

Nora’s wrapped a towel around herself, and if this were literally any other time, I might admire the view. But it’s not. My son is sick, and I’m not there.

“Jude, it’s okay. It’s his stomach—she thinks he just overdid it at dinner.”

I relax only slightly, grabbing the jeans and underwear I threw over the back of the chair yesterday when changing for dinner. “What does that mean?”

“It means he’s not feverish. But he is throwing up.”

I freeze with only my shorts on, my stomach roiling in a very bad way. “He’s barfing?” Even the word makes me gag.

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