My head hitsthe hotel room window with a thud. Chris’ hands are working my thongs down my thighs, his bare chest pressed against mine as his teeth sink into my bottom lip.
“Shit, I’m going to fuck you up,” he says with a growl, and I want to roll my eyes.
I blindly swat at the door handle, finally brushing my fingers over it. I grab and yank it an inch or so open. The noise of water splashing, of Bob Marley singing, and people laughing creeps in through the crack.
Chris pulls back for a moment, his hard cock pressing against me as I nod toward the opening. “Fuck me out there,” I whisper.
“What?” he chuckles. “On the balcony?”
“Yes, on the fucking balcony,” I say, grabbing his boxers and tearing them down his legs before I fist his cock. “Get a condom.” I force the door the rest of the way open. The wind whips around the corner of the hotel. We’re five floors up, high enough that people can’treallysee us, but close enough that theywillhear us. Justin’s distinct laugh floats into the air, and that, well, that makes me smile.
“You’re a little freak, huh?” Chris asks. He steps out onto the balcony, rolling the condom down his shaft.
“I prefer to be called a dirty little slut.” I smile before I bend over, placing my hands on the back of the wrought iron chair.
“Jesus Christ. Where have you been all my life, woman?” He grabs my hair and it’s all wrong. He just pulls at it. There’s no passion in the way he’s tugging at it. He rubs his hand over my ass, he smacks it, and then he pushes inside me, his fingers digging into my hips. I don’t like the way his hands feel though. They feel all wrong. Too calloused. Too small. Chris isn’t gripping my hips like he wants to break me. He’s not fucking me near hard enough because he’s not Justin.
My skin crawls when he groans. Bile rises in my throat and I feel guilty because Justin was the last person that was buried inside me like this, and I never wanted another man to be here. I never wanted to taint what we had, but I remind myself why I’m really doing this. So I moan and I moan and I moan, imagining it’s Justin’s cock thrusting into me right now. And I know he can hear me. I know he will recognize this sound right here: “Fucking shit. Fuck.” My voice echoes off the concrete alcove. “Chris... fuck.” I make it sound like I’m enjoying it even though tears are streaming down my cheeks. I am setting my pieces on the board to checkmate. And I will.
