Okay, that’s enough.
“I hope you say that about something else in a few minutes,” I growl, wrapping my arms around her from behind and carrying her to bed.
“I want to check out the washroom and see if we have a fancy shower. Ooh, and the little shampoo bottles. Do you think they have gold lids?”
I glare at her. She laughs, and then I cover her mouth with mine and start working on her clothes as I kiss her. I slip off her shoes and pants before I start on the buttons on her pink blouse. Soon, she’s wearing nothing but a black bra and panties, both edged with lace.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, and before I can continue disrobing her, she’s unbuttoning my shirt and pushing down my pants.
Now I’m naked, and she’s still wearing her underwear...and she has her hand circled around my cock.
She kneels beside me and licks the tip as her hand slides up and down. Then she wraps her lips around the head and slowly, ever so slowly, takes me all the way into her mouth.
I grip the sheets and groan.
Nobody can affect me like she does. Absolutely no one.
I can’t let this finish too quickly. I sit up and remove the rest of her clothing. I recall how she shyly stepped into my room last week, wearing one of my shirts, and told me it had been years since she’d had sex but she wanted to do it with me.
She’s not shy around me anymore.
I settle her back on the multitude of pillows and kiss my way down her body, being sure to pay attention to the underside of her jaw—she particularly likes that spot—and her breasts. And then my mouth is between her legs, and I give her a long lick.
She jerks underneath me.
I lift my head. “Good?”
“Julian...” She pushes my head back down.
I smile as I lick her and thrust my fingers inside her at the same time. She feels so good and, God, I need to be inside her heat; I need to have everything I can with her. I pull the condom out of my discarded pants and roll it on. I watch her face as I push inside, her pleasure as I fill her up.
Slowly, I begin to thrust, and I kiss every part of her I can reach. Her shoulders, her collarbone, her wrists. Everything about her is wonderful, and I can’t get enough. She wraps her legs around my hips, taking me even deeper, and I groan. Then she rolls us over so I’m beneath her and, fuck, she looks hot on top of me, her hands going to her breasts so she can touch herself as she moves. My hands drift to her plump ass and give it a squeeze.
We take our time, slow and sensual movements of hips, skin against skin.
“You feel so amazing,” she says, and I don’t think any compliment has ever meant more to me. I want to always make her feel amazing.
I flip her over and increase my pace, leading us to the inevitable ending, our orgasms overtaking us at the same time.
* * *
After sex, we havea long shower together and Courtney finds great amusement in us wearing the fluffy white robes provided by the hotel.
“We match!” she says, and she insists we wear them until bedtime.
By midnight, she’s asleep and I’ve got my head propped up on my elbow, looking at her lovely face in the shadows of the hotel room.
Old Julian would have considered this a terrible waste of time. If he couldn’t fall asleep in thirty minutes, he would get up and do some work.
But now I’m simply staring at the sleeping woman who has turned my life upside down in the past two weeks. We only have two more days together. Earlier, I tried to push that thought to the back of my mind and focus on having a good time with Courtney, but now, in the dark stillness of the night, I can’t help but think of the end.
When we get back from Montreal, we’ll go to my condo, and she’ll pack up her stuff while I write her a check for five thousand dollars. Then she’ll walk out of my life, having fulfilled her job of teaching me how to have fun. She’s certainly made my break from work more fun than I thought it would be, that’s for sure.
I can’t lie to myself. I don’t want this to end.
It doesn’t have to, does it? I could ask her to stay.
But after Olivia, I swore off relationships because I was so terrible at them. I don’t want to be like Vince, always with a different girl. Frankly, that sounds exhausting. I’d prefer to be committed to one woman, to go home to someone I care about after a day’s work. A string of flings cannot compare to that. This isn’t something I’ve just discovered about myself; I’ve always felt this way.
