Secretly Married To My Neighbour {05}

When the flight lands in Vegas, I'm completely tired, my bones are aching and I could barely move. He lifts me up after helping me change in a knitted turtle neck dress and a jacket. 

I cling to him, breathing in his scent as the crew members gives us a knowing look.

I know that sooner or later, we'd have to get it done with.

I fall asleep at the back of the Bentley that drives us to where my parents are, he's more active than me and it makes me extremely jealous especially since he's the one that did this to me.

My thighs are burning and sore, vision blurry but I can feel myself getting carried and I can hear my ringtone that comes to a stop.

The next morning, I get up with a stretch. My eyes widen when I see a large frame of our wedding photo at the center of a room I recognize well. It's the room we had our wedding night in, the same hotel he took my virginity.  He didn't take me to my parents.

I hear footsteps approaching, then he appears from the doors with two coffee mugs in hand.

He smiles brightly, "Good morning, Baby," 

"Good morning," I grin sheepishly just as he sits next to me and gives me the coffee mug . "Why didn't you take me to my parents?" 

"You were stressed out, I didn't want them to ask questions," 

"Oh," My eyes trail down to him, he's already gotten a hard-on but is hiding it really well. It makes me excited about the way he reacts to me, I want to make sure he's as spent as me yesterday.

The silence in the hotel suite was a warm, heavy blanket. The morning light slanted through the blinds, striping the large wedding photo and the rumpled sheets. I held the mug of coffee he’d given me, the heat seeping into my palms, but my attention was elsewhere. 

My gaze had trailed from his bright, morning smile down the length of his body, and I saw it—the subtle but unmistakable evidence of his desire pressing against the soft fabric of his sleep pants. He thought he was hiding it, leaning back casually against the headboard, but I knew his body’s language. After yesterday, I could read every quiet signal.

A thrill, sharp and possessive, shot through me. He had unraveled me completely, left me sore and blissfully wrecked. Now, I wanted to return the favor. I wanted to see the control he wore so effortlessly finally slip.

I placed my untouched coffee mug on the nightstand with a soft, deliberate click. His eyes followed the movement, then flicked back to my face, a question in them.

Without a word, I shifted under the sheets. The cool silk whispered against my bare legs as I slid down the bed, turning to face him. I rested my cheek on his thigh, the muscle firm under my skin. I looked up at him through my lashes.

His breath hitched, just a tiny catch in his otherwise calm exterior. His hand, which had been resting on his own leg, twitched. “Penny…” he started, his voice a low rumble. There was a hesitation there. A final, thin wall of propriety.

I didn’t let him finish. I nuzzled against the soft cotton covering his erection, breathing him in through the fabric—clean cotton, sleep-warm skin, and the faint, musky scent that was purely him. My fingers traced the hard length of him, and he jerked, a soft groan escaping his lips. The sound was permission, encouragement.

I hooked my fingers into the waistband of his pants and looked up at him, waiting for a sign. His jaw was tight, his eyes dark pools of conflict and growing need. He gave one short, sharp nod.

That was all I needed.

I tugged the fabric down, freeing him. He was already fully erect, the sight of him both intimidating and deeply arousing. I kept my eyes locked on his as I leaned in, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the tip. A full-body shudder wracked him.

“Gosh,” he breathed, the word torn from him.

Encouraged, I took him into my mouth, slowly, letting my tongue swirl as I took him deeper. His hand flew to my hair, his fingers tangling in the strands, not pushing, just holding on. I set a slow pace, learning the feel of him, the taste of him. I hollowed my cheeks, applying suction, and his hips gave an involuntary little thrust.

“Easy, baby,” he gasped, his voice strained. “Just… easy.”

But I didn’t want easy. I wanted to break him. I took him deeper, relaxing my throat, until my nose brushed the coarse hair at his base. My eyes began to water, the strain of taking all of him making my vision blur at the edges. I pulled back, gasping for a quick breath, a string of saliva connecting my lips to him, and dove back down. Tears welled, making my eyes shine and my lashes spiky. I could feel myself stretching, accommodating him, the sensation a dizzying mix of challenge and submission.

His groans filled the quiet room, deep, ragged sounds of pleasure he couldn’t contain. The hand in my hair tightened, guiding me now, not forcing, but setting a rhythm that grew more urgent. His other hand fisted in the sheets, the tendons in his forearm standing out. The powerful, controlled man was coming apart under my mouth, and the knowledge was an intoxicating power of my own.

That’s when my phone started ringing.

The shrill, insistent tone from my purse across the room was a jagged intrusion. It was probably my mother, wondering where I was. I froze for a second, the sound slicing through the haze of sensation.

Paul’s body went rigid. “Ignore it,” he gritted out, his voice thick.

I did. I closed my eyes, shutting out the world beyond him, and redoubled my efforts. 

"Look at me," He says and lifted my eyelids to glance at his red face, "You're so beautiful"

I used my hand in tandem with my mouth, twisting on the upstroke, my thumb rubbing over the sensitive spot just beneath the head. His breathing turned to ragged panting. The phone fell silent, then immediately started blaring again, even more persistent.

He was close. I could feel it in the way his muscles tightened, in the low, continuous groan vibrating in his chest. The ringing phone was a frantic counterpoint to the wet, rhythmic sounds filling our space.

“Penny, I’m gonna—” he warned, his voice taut as a wire.

I didn’t pull away. I took him deeper, my throat working around him as he lost the last vestige of control. With a shout that drowned out the phone’s ring, he spilled into my mouth. The taste was bitter, salt, uniquely him. I swallowed, once, twice, downing every last drop as his body shuddered through the release.

The phone finally stopped ringing.

For a moment, there was only the sound of his harsh, slowing breaths. I rested my forehead against his hip, spent, my lips tender, my jaw aching. He gently pulled me up, his hands cupping my face. His thumbs wiped away the tears that had tracked from my strained eyes. He looked utterly wrecked, his hair mussed, his face flushed, his gaze soft and full of something awe-struck.

He kissed me, deeply, tasting himself on my tongue. “You’re incredible,” he murmured against my lips.

Then, the phone started ringing again. A third time. The real world was demanding an answer.

The spell shattered. I sighed, the sound shaky, and pulled back. The soreness in my thighs, the ache in my jaw, the blurriness in my vision, it all came rushing back, but now it was mingled with a deep, satiated exhaustion. He had been the one to do this to me, to leave me tender and used. But now, looking at him slumped against the headboard, his eyes closed, his chest still rising and falling heavily, I felt a fierce, jealous pride. I had done this to him, too.

He was just as spent. Finally.

My phone buzzed again, this time, I'm up to answer it, my fingers fumbling through the cabinet where he had kept it. 

My heart drops at the string of texts and calls from Zayne then my mom. 

[Where are you??]

[Whatever went wrong, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Penny]

My fingers tremble on the phone, barely processing the text bubble when my mom calls me, "Hi, Mom. I'm still with Mr. Macaulay —”

"How could you that to Zayne, Penny? You're seeing someone else?"

"Seeing someone else?"

"They saw you, okay?" 

"I'm not seeing anyone, Mom." I don't look at Paul as I say it, he's slipped his boxers back on, watching me in a twisted expression.

"Isn't that what you said in your text? It doesn't matter now," She sobs, "Zayne got your text while he was driving. He's in the hospital with your father now, Penelope. They got into an accident."