Chapter 2: Spread Open And Dripping For A Stranger

Arc 1: The Wrong Room

He kisses like he has a point to prove.

No fumbling, no that-escalated-quickly energy, just his mouth moving over mine like he's been thinking about exactly this and he's finally getting around to it. One hand slides up my spine, the other cups the back of my head, and he angles me exactly where he wants me and just... takes.

I make a sound I'm slightly embarrassed about.

He swallows it and keeps going.

My bag hits the floor somewhere. My jacket follows. His hands move down my sides like he's mapping something, taking inventory, and when he gets to the hem of my dress he pauses, fingers curling into the fabric.

"Yeah?" he murmurs against my mouth.

"Don't stop," I manage.

He doesn't stop.

The dress comes up and over and then I'm standing in just my bra and underwear in a stranger's hotel room and I should feel a lot of things about that. Vulnerable. Stupid. Reckless.

I don't remember my dress going off. I just know it's gone and his eyes drop down my body and stay there, dragging over every curve, every inch, slow and deliberate like he's deciding where to start and he has absolutely all night.

"Damn." Just that, without pretense or being performative. Just quiet and honest.

Something loosens in my chest.

His mouth finds my collarbone, my shoulder, the curve of my neck, and his hands are everywhere, warm and sure, never grabbing, always intentional. I'm already breathing wrong by this time and he has already walked me backward to the bed and I just go, pulling him down with me, and his weight settles over me warm and solid and I feel how hard he is pressing against my hip and my whole body clenches in response.

He laughs softly against my throat. "Impatient," he murmurs.

"You were taking your time."

"Mm." He pulls back to look at me, propped on his forearms, and there's something in his expression that makes my stomach drop in the best possible way. Dark and certain and hungry. "Still am."

Then he starts moving down my body and I stop being clever entirely.

His mouth traces my collarbone, the swell of my breasts, the soft skin below my ribs, and every place he stops makes my breath snag and my fingers curl into the sheets. By the time he hooks his fingers into my underwear and drags it down my legs, I'm already squirming, already wet enough that the cool air hitting me makes me gasp.

He spreads my thighs with both hands and looks at me and I feel that look like a physical thing.

"Garry..."

"Mm." He doesn't look up. His breath is warm and close and I'm already so wet it's almost humiliating. Almost. "You taste so good already."

"Gosh."

"Relax." His palms press flat against my inner thighs, holding me open, holding me still. "I've got you."

His mouth finds me and I arch clean off the mattress.

His tongue moves in slow, devastating circles and I stop being embarrassed and start being loud and I don't particularly care about the walls in this hotel anymore. He eats like he's starving. Slow, deep strokes of his tongue through my folds, then circling my clit in tight deliberate patterns that make my thighs shake and my vision blur at the edges. Every time my hips try to chase the feeling, his hands pin me back down.

"Oh God," I breathe. "Oh God, don't stop, please don't..."

My back arches again. My thighs try to close around his head and he lets them, just keeps going, steady and relentless until I'm shaking.

"Please," I hear myself say. "Garry, please, I need..."

"I know what you need."

He doesn't stop.

Two fingers push inside me, curling forward, finding that spot that makes my whole body jolt, and his tongue keeps working my clit and I'm loud, embarrassingly loud, his name and broken please and yes and right there spilling out of me like I've lost all editorial control.

"Cum for me," he says against me, low and rough. "Let me feel it. Let me taste it. Cum for me." 

I'm moaning wrecklessly and grinding my clit on his tongue, his mouth, his jaw while he finger fucks me and he keeps going, steady and relentless, until I shatter.

My thighs clamp around his head and my back lifts and I make a sound that probably carries through three walls and I absolutely do not care. Wave after wave rolling through me, clenching hard around his fingers, slick gushing over his hand while he works me through every last tremor.

He kisses his way back up my stomach while I'm still twitching, still catching my breath.

When his face is level with mine, he looks almost insufferably smug.

"Okay." I'm still breathing wrong. "You win."

"Win what?"

"Whatever this was. You win."

He actually smiles. Full version this time, no holding back, and God, it hits me somewhere I wasn't expecting and wasn't budgeting for.

I reach down and wrap my hand around him and the smile disappears instantly, replaced by something tighter and darker and far more interesting.

"Fuck," he breathes.

"Uh-huh." I stroke him slow, watching his jaw go tight, watching his eyes lose focus. "Now who's smug and impatient?"

He drops his forehead against mine. His breathing has gone ragged and uneven and I feel powerful in a way that's almost dizzying.

"Dara." A warning wrapped in gravel.

"Mm?"

His voice is rough. "Don't play with me."

"Or what?"

He answers by reaching for his wallet, tearing open a condom, and flipping me onto my back in one clean move that pulls a surprised laugh out of me.

"Or that," he says.

"That's what I thought," I manage.

He pushes inside me and I stop laughing entirely.

He fills me slow, giving me time to adjust, watching my face the whole time, and when I'm fully stretched around him he holds there for a moment, jaw tight, breathing controlled.

"Good?" he grits out.

"So good." My nails find his back. "Move. Now. Please."

He moves.

Deep, rolling strokes that build into something harder, something that drags across every sensitive place inside me and makes the headboard knock and my mouth fall open. I'm loud again and I don't care again and his name keeps falling out of me like a prayer I didn't know I had memorized.

"Yes," I gasp. "Yes, exactly like that, right there, harder, don't stop..."

He gives me harder. He doesn't stop. 

He hooks my leg higher and the angle changes and I cry out, raw and shameless, and he swallows the sound with his mouth and keeps going and going.

Hips snapping, driving deep, one hand gripping my thigh and pulling me into every thrust until I'm cumming again, clenching around him, crying out into his shoulder, and he follows with a groan pressed hot against my neck that I feel all the way down my spine.

We stay tangled together, breathing hard, his hand stroking slow up my side like he's not ready to let go yet.

Then his phone lights up on the nightstand.

I don't mean to look.

But I do.

And the name on the screen stops my heart cold.

Incoming call: Vanessa. Wife.

The warmth drains right out of me.