Unexpected Love

*Please note due to the language and sexual content this material is intended for 18+ audiences only.*

 

Staci~

Our feet barely cross the threshold when Kyle or is it Ken backs me against the cold metal door to his apartment. Tiny goosebumps erupt along my extra-sensitized skin, but despite the coolness, my insides are on fire. I’m so turned on.

Kyle or shit, Mr. Hottie for short, presses his fingers into my hips and grinds his impressive bulge against my core. My internal thermostat notches up a few more degrees. I can’t wait to have that beast inside me.

A guttural moan escapes at the thought of him stretching and filling me to the hilt. He lifts his mouth from my neck and whispers against my ear, “Baby, I’m about to rock your world. You feel so incredible against me.”

I almost groan again, but not from pleasure. No, it’s from the awful promise he just made. You better live up to your talk, bud.

As soon as the thought flits through my mind, Mr. Hottie cups my right breast through my tight shirt and rolls my hardened nipple between his fingers. The tingles shooting straight between my thighs have me groaning in pleasure. His mouth buries mine, and I part my lips, allowing his anxious tongue access. Damn. If he screws as good as he kisses, I’m in for a treat.

He drags me over to his couch and confusion clouds my salacious mind. Why isn’t he taking me to his bed? Wouldn’t there be more room to maneuver? I open my mouth to ask, but the words get stuck in my throat as he grabs the hem of my shirt and lifts it over my head.

The top lands on the floor as he backs against the couch and breathes in. I gulp, dazed by his half-lidded eyes staring back at me with nothing but pure lust.

He quickly removes his shirt and steps toward me again. His left fingers press into my waist as the other hand skims along my shoulders, tracing down my arm, the entire time gazing admiringly at my bare chest.

“Shit, I can’t believe you’re actually in front of me,” he says as if he’s in total awe that I even exist.

The semi-solid ridges of his pecs feel incredible beneath my palms, but I’m beginning to question this guy’s intelligence. He seemed okay back at the bar, but the words spilling from his mouth has been less than enlightening. Whatever. Perhaps his sexual talents outweigh his lack of communication skills.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I say, working my fingers down the softened ridges of his abs and landing on his waistband. He’s not ripped, but he’s still decent.

He stills momentarily, and then shifts backward, slowly unbuttoning his shorts. The denim falls to the ground along with his underwear.  

“Is this what you want?” he asks.

All rational thoughts die as he stands in front of me stroking that enormous thick shaft. Oh my God. My mouth instantly waters. Who cares what his abs look like with that type of package.

“Ah, you do want this,” he chuckles as he waves the pleasure maker teasingly in front of me.

“God, yes.” Unable to control myself, I close the gap between us and push him onto the couch. Grabbing a pillow, I toss it on the ground below my knees and kneel down beside him. I have to taste him. Most girls I know don’t like giving head, but I love it. There’s nothing more empowering than having control over the man’s most prized possession.

“You turned into a little wild thing, didn’t you,” he asks.

Without answering, I grab hold of his sac and gently squeeze. That elicits a moan, which is a way better sound than his constant babble. I wrap my lips around his cock, and the breath he inhales is so fucking hot it fuels me on. I curl my tongue around his tip and lick slowly, teasingly, before fully accepting his dick into my mouth.

Each slow suck, I take in more of his length until I can’t handle anymore. This guy is huge.

“Your mouth feels incredible,” he rasps.

My gaze shifts upward and connects with his. Another surge of heat rushes through my veins as his stare turns my insides into a liquefied ball of desire. The look his slate blue eyes gives me is so intense. That instant connection we had back at the bar resurfaces, and I continue to suck while cupping him with more fervency.

“Damn, you’re too good. I’m going to come.”

He’s warning me, but I keep working until he shouts out, “Lynnie.”

Lynnie? Fucking hell? He can’t even get my name right? I withdraw my mouth from his dick and glare up at Mr. Hottie. I can’t yell, not with his load filling my mouth. But damn, yelling wouldn’t do any good. Not now anyway. He’s fucking passed out. Mr. Hottie, who promised to “rock my world,” is crashed on the couch, fully displayed, with his come in my mouth. I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow. His girth is rather impressive. Shame.

A snore resonates through the air. A snore? No flipping way. I glance around, highly disappointed in Mr. Rock-My-World’s performance.

My gag reflex kicks in; a reminder I need to spit. My gaze darts around the room for something, anything nearby to spit in. I come up empty. Another retching sound releases. Shit. I need to get rid of this. Like now. I will not swallow his load. What would be the point? He’s not awake to get turned on. Which, in my opinion, is the only reason to slide the bitter goop down.

I stand, shaking my hands, frantically looking for something, anything before I unload on the beige carpet. My gaze lands on a scented candle sitting innocently on the end table. I wince in relief and grab the jar. The salty residue coats my tongue as I watch the creamy goo engulf the wick. Gross. But at least I’m free to swallow.

I pause, not quite sure what to do next. Biting my lip, I replace the candle and hope to God he doesn’t try lighting it anytime soon. I turn back to look at Mr. Hottie, who couldn’t remember that my name is Staci.

Shit. How can I get mad at him for not knowing my name? I don’t even remember his. But, at least, I didn’t call out the wrong name during my climax. Not that I’m going to have the chance.

Frustrated, I poke his shoulder. “Hey, wake up.”

Nothing.

Crap.

I nudge his shoulder a little harder.

Still nothing.

Crappity, crap.

What am I going to do with Mr. Hottie’s passed-out naked body? I snatch his shorts off the ground and try scooting them up his legs. I slip them over and around his knee and then come to a halt. He’s freaking dead weight. What was I thinking? With a hard tug, the material slips from my hand, and I fall forward, nose-diving into his crotch. His dick pulsates beneath my mouth, but he remains asleep. I scurry to a sitting position, but my gaze strays back to him. Even flaccid, he’s still impressive.

I switch tactics. Eyeing the room’s furniture, I search for a blanket, but all I find are throw pillows. I place each one of them over his body and make a mound. He’s a pillow mound.

I sigh. It’s the best I can do.

Another snore emits from Mr. Hottie, which draws my attention to his face. My eyes narrow as I study him. He is good looking. But that sense of familiarity makes me squeamish.

I seriously need to re-evaluate how I’m doing things. This…this seeking to fill a void isn’t helping.

I grab my top and shimmy back into it before pulling up my phone’s Uber app. As I order my driver, I exit his house and sit on the concrete stairs to wait. Without thinking, I dial my best friend, Kayla’s number.

“Is everything okay?” Kayla asks.

“Yes, Mom.”

“Don’t ‘Mom’ me. You’re calling me late on a Friday night. What am I supposed to think?”

“Yeah, I know, but I’m all right,” I say with a sad tone.

“Something’s wrong. Don’t make me fly back to get it out of you.”

God, I miss my friend. We’ve lived together for four years until her world got turned upside down. Her mom died, and she moved in with her dad to be closer to her boyfriend. The problem, it’s four-thousand miles away.

“I’m giving up sex,” I profess.

“What? You?”

I laugh. I so deserve that, but it still makes me sad. I’ve ridden her so much for waiting for the right guy.

“This last jerk fell asleep. And I’m still horny, but it’s nothing The Beave can’t handle.” The Beave being my silicone boyfriend.

“Fell asleep?”

“Yeah, right after I gave him head. He crashed out, cold.”

“Oh my God, I thought you were good at it,” she says, laughing.

“Bitch, I am good! He’s just a selfish prick.”

“Was he at least cute?”

“Yeah, he was good looking.” I’m downplaying it. His stormy-blue, sultry eyes replay through my mind, making me shiver. “Anyway, I’m swearing off men until I meet a good one.”

She laughs again.

Fucking bitch.

“I’m being serious.” I feign hurtfulness.

She quits laughing and clears her throat. “Sorry. I just got off work, and I’m a little giddy. I think it’s a great idea. It’s totally worth it, you’ll see. Wait. Where are you?”

“Outside his house. Waiting on my Uber driver.”
“House? You’re not on campus?”

Oh shit. Here comes the lecture that I’m in no mood to hear.
“Nooo,” I draw out. “He’s not a student. I’m at his house.”
“How many times did I tell you not to go to a stranger’s house? Especially if they’re not–”
“I’m fine. It’s okay. He just…he seemed familiar. Safe. He’s just a nice guy. Charming.”
“Ted Bundy was charming. Be careful.”

I hold back a sigh. “You don’t have to worry about it. I’m through.”
“Okay, Stace. Whatever you say. I have faith in you.”

Her teasing tone suggests otherwise, but I can’t be mad. She knows me too well. The headlights of the pick-up car flash around the corner. “I miss you, girlfriend.”

“I miss you, too. Call me soon.”

We hang up, and I step toward the silver Prius. Opening the passenger door, I greet the driver.

He nods his squarish head and speeds away from Mr. Narcoleptic.

To say I’m disappointed would be an understatement. I thought Mr. Hottie and I had a moment back at the bar. It turns out, the only instant connection we had was my tongue on his dick.