Page 9 of Venus
“Harder,” she says, but she’s not begging, she’s commanding.
Jesus, I’m already railing her as hard as I can, but I’ll never back down from a challenge. I adjust my position, planting my foot on the ground and pressing her legs towards her chest until she’s damn near folded in half like a pretzel.
“Oh, God, I’m close,” she moans.
She’s dripping onto my sheets and I don’t even care. All I can think about is unloading into this girl and then cooking her breakfast.
“Oh yeah? You want to come?”
“Fuck, yes, come on, please.”
My hamstrings are cramping, but I turn on turbo drive. Skin slapping skin fills my entire apartment and my headboard is slamming against the wall hard enough that it’s chipping the paint.
The moment I feel her squeeze my dick and her legs start shaking, I lose it. Three more pumps and I seat myself as deep inside her as I can manage, filling the condom with my release.
I groan and catch myself with my hands before collapsing on top of her. She giggles slightly and unfolds her legs. It’s the best sound I’ve heard all night.
When we both catch our breath, I flip to my side and then shift to my back next to her. I close my eyes and breathe in the sweet euphoria of a fresh lay.
My apartment begins to hum with the beginning of the upstairs neighbor's cha-cha slide. I turn to the blonde beauty with a dazed smile. Her spicy cherry perfume and the slight scent of her sweat cling to me and my sheets.
But she’s already out of the bed and getting dressed.
She moves as if I’m not there, gathering her clothes and pulling on her jean shorts with ease. She’s not exactly rushing, but it doesn’t look like she’s staying either.
She’s…detached. After the night we just had? Detached?
Damn, was it really that bad to her? Ouch.
Trying to ease the building awkward tension, I ask, “Where’s the fire?”
She smooths down her hair with her hands and smiles. “Nowhere! It’s just time to head home.”
“Already?” I ask, running my fingers through my own messy locks and trying to woo her with the flex of my bicep. Women like muscular arms, right? They have a thing for biting them, if the internet is to be believed. I glance at the clock on my bedside table. “It’s not even midnight yet, Cinderella.”
She shrugs. “Early morning.”
I frown and sit up, trying to read her pretty face. “Uh…alright. But…can I see you again? I mean, I thought we had a good time.” I say, trying to not let the sting apparent in my voice.
“We did!” she responds casually as if I didn’t just fuck her brains out. “But it was just that…a good time. This isn’t going to be a thing.”
I raise a brow. “Athing?”
“It was great…really great.” She grabs her boots and shoves her mismatched-sock-covered feet into them. She looks at me again and raises her own brow this time. “Don’t give me that sad hamster look. Haven’t you ever heard of a one-night stand?”
With my thin sheets still covering my manhood, I stand up. “That’s it then?” I ask, no longer trying to hide the sting of rejection.
“I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression if I did. But I’m not looking for a‘thing’right now.”
“Ah,” I say, finally understanding.
“Casual is just better for me.” she says, as if how I feel means jack shit. But to be fair, we’re strangers, so I guess my feelings rightfully mean nothing to her right now. She looks at me again and must read my thoughts. “Carter, you’re great, but I’m not–”
“Looking for a thing. I got it.”
Something like guilt or regret flickers in her eyes, but it’s gone as soon as it appeared. She leaves my bedroom to head for the door.
In an attempt to stop her from just dismissing me outright, I hold the sheets around my waist and follow her to the front, but far enough away that I don’t come off too strong. “Can I at least take you out sometime? A drink with no pressure?”
