Page 54 of Pour Decisions
Yep, that does it. I come so hard that I dig my nails into that divot along his hips. I recover for just a second before I crawl down his body.
“Kat—ohfuck,” he groans as I slide down onto his cock, my ass toward him.
“Oh fuck is right.” I wiggle my hips a little bit. This angle feels deep, hitting my G-spot just right. “You like the view?”
“I love the view.” His voice is thick and his hands go up to my ass. He touches it almost like it’s a piece of rare art that needs to be handled carefully.
“What, are you afraid to manhandle me a little?” I ask, rolling my hips.
He just moans in response.
I’m always motivated to make sure my clients are fully healed, but knowing that once he’s a hundred percent he’ll be able to pound me hard and make more of these sounds?
I’m going to make sure he gets the most out of his last few sessions with my boss.
He grips my ass the faster I glide up and down his cock, almost like he’s trying to get me to slow down. But he doesn’t tell me to, so I keep up at the pace I need to come.
“Use me,” he says. “Milk me dry.”
He doesn’t have to give me any commands—he fills me up so perfectly and helps me bounce just right so that I come apart. I feel him finish seconds after with a shudder.
I barely manage to peel myself off of him, clean up, and return to his side. Instead of hopping up to get ready, we cuddle and kiss, hardly saying anything.
We fool around for so long that we have to rush to get ready. But with the way he looks at me when I slip into my red dress tells me I didn’t need that much time to impress him.
We go downstairs and slip into a cab, which takes us ten minutes away to a nondescript building off the main strip. The crowd looks a little closer to our age, and when we step into the building, we’re greeted with an open dance floor and low lighting. The bar is on the far side, but unlike at most clubs, it’s not swamped with people. Most people are dancing.
“A dance club?” I grab his arm hard, then loosen my grip.
“Yeah. I found it online and it has good reviews.” He threads his fingers in mine. “It’s kind of informal.”
“It’s perfect.”
I love the vibe—no one is here to impress anyone or hookup. People are just here to dance. So far the music is good, upbeatclassics, and I hope it continues to be. JD laces his fingers in mine again and guides me to the edge of the dance floor, where we slip in among other couples.
JD has rhythm, and the past ten years have made him more comfortable in his body. He moves with quiet grace, syncing up with me easily. I miss dancing with a partner who clicks with me.
“I forgot that you’re pretty good at this,” I tease, swiveling my hips.
“Not nearly as good as you, but I’m glad I’m not embarrassing myself. I literally haven’t danced since that time you took me to a salsa class at Crescent Hill,” he says, resting a hand low on my back.
“Like you don’t dance on principle? Like the town inFootloosebut a person?” I start turning and he follows my lead.
“I just haven’t had a lot of opportunities or desire to.” He shrugs, pulling me close. “I haven’t wanted to dance with anyone else. It wouldn’t be the same. I think the last place where I had the opportunity was Wes’s wedding.”
I can’t imagine him dancing with anyone else, nor do I want to. I’m glad this is a thing that’s just for us.
“Do you still dance?” he asks. “Besides this, I mean.”
“Sometimes I’ll do a class, but it’s more of a fitness thing than a dance thing. Not as often as I’d like to because of work.” I lean against him as we sway. “I miss it. I should have taken more advantage of things like this when I lived in Nashville, but I didn’t have anyone to go with.”
His expression darkens. “Your ex wouldn’t go dancing with you?”
I shake my head. “No. He…he couldn’t dance.”
JD blinks. “He couldn’t dance?”
“He wasn’t great at it.” I bury my face against his lapel. “I mean, he tried. But he got upset when we didn’t flow. I just wanted him to relax and he wouldn’t. Then he’d get mad…”
