Page 11 of Reaper's Desire

Oh god.

The toy is amazing by itself, but no one else has ever used it on me before. Somehow, that heightens the experience tenfold. The moan that escapes me when he rests it against my clit would be embarrassing if I weren't drunk and out of my mind with lust,and I realize quickly, as his other hand trails down my thigh, that he might get more than two orgasms out of me before he gets hard again. Because I'm already coming.

The spasms ripple through my body, leaving me gasping and moaning, and he never lets up. He doesn't even take the toy away when the first orgasm starts to ebb. Instead, he rises up to his knees, holding the toy lightly against my still-throbbing clit with one hand as the other grabs the dildo and pushes it up against my soaked entrance.

The moment he pushes it inside of me, I start to come again. And, as I clench around the toy, my hips bucking as I moan helplessly, I see his cock stiffening, rock-hard again, before I've even come down from my climax.

"I think you need something more than this," he growls, yanking the dildo free. A second later, he's between my legs, the vibrator still in one hand as he rips open another condom, rolls it on, and thrusts his stiff cock into me in one long, hot slide that has me shuddering.

He groans as he sinks into me, his jaw tight. "Fuck, all those orgasms and you're still gripping my cock like this." He thrusts once, and then rests the vibrator against my clit again on the next stroke. "Let's see how many more I can get out of you."

I lose count. He fucks me in long, slow strokes while using the vibrator, giving me a small break now and then, mercilessly driving me toward another climax. Tears are rolling down my cheeks by the time I feel him start to lose his rhythm, and I wrap my legs around him, pulling him close.

We're both drenched in sweat. He smells like me, and I smell like him, his cologne all over my sheets, my perfume clinging to his skin. As he shudders and comes inside of me again, thrusting hard, I collapse beneath him from my last orgasm, wrung entirely out with pleasure.

I barely see him dispose of the condom. He rolls back onto the bed next to me, his lips against my shoulder, catching his breath. "Fuck, I don't think I can go again," he mutters. "I can't believe I went that long… this… fucking drunk?—"

"Me too," I mumble. I feel him start to move, and I grab his arm. "Stay," I mutter. "Is too late to go anywhere."

He doesn't put up much of a fight. I feel him relax beside me, neither of us moving to get under the covers. Outside the curtains covering the door to the balcony, I can see the first hints of dawn, and a smile curves my lips, a feeling of relaxed satisfaction like nothing I've ever felt before swooping over me.

I really did fuck him all night.

4

JULIAN

What thefuckhappened last night?

I wake up with a pounding headache and only the vaguest memories of the night before. The headache hits me before I even open my eyes. It's a dull, throbbing pain that pulses behind my temples, the kind that comes from too much alcohol and too little sleep. I groan, pressing the heel of my hand against my forehead, and try to remember where the fuck I am.

Not my hotel. The sheets are too soft and expensive, for one thing. Egyptian cotton, maybe, with a thread count I can't even guess at. The mattress beneath me is firm but yielding, definitely nicer than the place I was staying at. It was clean and serviceable, but it wasn't…this.

I force my eyes open, squinting against the light filtering through sheer curtains, and take in my surroundings.

Fuck.

This is definitely not my room.

The space is massive—easily three times the size of the modest hotel room I checked into yesterday. A huge glass door leads out to a balcony overlooking the ocean, the morning sunglinting off the water and making my head pound harder. I catch a glimpse of a room service cart with a full bottle of vodka and unused glasses and mixers. That's confusing for a second, until I see the empty champagne bottle—Christ, didIorder Cristal?—and almost-empty bottle of very expensive whiskey sitting next to it. There's also a dildo near the foot of the bed. An open suitcase full of women's clothing next to the wall.

I sit up slowly, the sheet pooling around my waist, and realize I'm completely naked.I definitely got laid last night. Which is fine. Great, even. That's what I came here for. But I wish I remembered more about what happened. Especially since I don't know what the hell went down in here, but it seems like a lot.

I rub my temples as memories from last night come back in fragments. The club. The music. Dancing with someone—a woman. Dark hair. Green eyes. A body that felt like it was made to fit against mine.

The sex.

Christ, the sex.

That part comes back in a messy rush of sensory fragments—her hot pussy against my lips, her mouth on my cock, fucking her from behind while she moaned like a hungry animal. I vaguely remember seeing dawn breaking outside the window when we finally collapsed. My cock feels slightly sore, and I wonder exactly how many times we fucked last night. Clearly, we were so exhausted I crashed here instead of going back to my own hotel like I normally would have.

But now she's gone.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand, ignoring the way my head protests the movement. My clothes are scattered across the floor, and I pull them on quickly.Where the fuck is she?

I scan the room, looking for any sign of her. A purse. A phone. A wallet. Anything that might tell me who she is, where she went, why she left without waking me.

Nothing.