Though last night was different. I don’t know what it was exactly. I’d be the first to admit that I’m not picky. Blondes, brunettes, redheads, busty, hippy, or booty, I’d take them all. Thank you very much. But with Ana…it was like she wasn’t actually there. Nothing felt solid. There wasn’t any spark or thrill or even heat. You could have slapped two hotdogs together with more romance and intensity than we had.
And then, Jane.
Oh fuck, Jane.
She came in like a tornado, all righteous fury and hurt and possession. There was nothing but fire and sparks. She was the goddamned Fourth of July. It was enough to make any man forget an ex and just submit to whatever the hell pleasure she demanded you give her. And while I, Riker Lord am not just ‘any man,’ I’m still human after all. Kissing her was like kissing a live wire, a shock to the system except it supercharged everything instead of going numb. And fucking her? Being fucked by her, if I’m being totally honest, she was pretty well in charge last night, not that I have a single complaint. I don’t think there’s a metaphor known to mankind that could live up to the feeling. It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, and believe you me, I’ve experienced a metric fuck-ton.
I could barely keep up with her. She caught me off-guard at every turn, and I know my way around a woman. But Jane…particularly Jane last night. She surprised me. And it worked. Holy fuck did it work. We worked.
I stretch and look at her, still sleeping. She’s beautiful. Softer than last night. Less tense, I grin to myself, you’re very welcome. Her makeup is smudged, I make a note to make fun of her about it. Too tired to do anything more than a basic clean-up last night. It makes her look younger, and I feel a surge of protective affection warm my chest. I know that I’m not easy to deal with, and she’s put a lot on the line for me, willingly or not. Her career, her family, her heart.
Don’t fuck it up for her. Don’t fuck it up for you.
Shaking my head, I go to the bathroom, take a piss and a perfunctory shower. The scratches do sting and I grin. As I wrap a towel loosely around my waist ten minutes later, I can hear her moving around the room.
“Watch out ladies, Riker’s in the house!” I announce, pushing open the door dramatically, hoping to catch Jane in at least a slightly compromising position.
She’s crouching near the bed and trying to hold up yesterday’s skirt against her chest. But she’s smiling. Straightening up, she composes herself, “Morning, Riker. I hope it’s not too much to ask that you left some hot water for me?”
“Probably?”
She rolls her eyes. “Great. Give me ten minutes and I’ll be gone. Believe it or not, I do actually still have work to do.” As she dictates, she’s scanning my body and I grin, raising my arms in a bodybuilder pose and thrusting forward, waggling my eyebrows at her. She rolls her eyes again and smiles, and it feels good. “Shut up.”
I put a hand to my chest and lift my chin, “I didn’t say a word, your honor. But—” I catch her arm as she tries to slip past me. She’s warm and soft against my skin, and I want her all over again. I settle for a kiss. Then a slightly deeper kiss. My hands slip down to her waist, then to her delightfully round ass and I lift her up, leaning back so she’s resting on me. I guess I’m not settling. I lead us over to the bed and drop her on it, kneeling over her as she laughs.
She props herself up and gives me a kiss then puts a hand on my cheek, “Riker. I can’t right now. I really do have to work. To save your butt, remember?” She sneaks a hand around to slap the aforementioned towel-covered butt.
I groan and shove my head into the sheets next to her. “Alright, alright,” I mutter into the 1000 thread count. “But come to breakfast at least.” I catch her eyes and hold them. Even with the smeared day-old makeup, her eyes are bright and her smile rockets straight to my groin.
“Have you ever been to La Petite Galette? I’ve got a standing reservation.” I brush a lock of black hair off her face and hold her chin, “You can go into work any day. LPG? That’s a three-month waiting list. Come on, Jane. I want to treat you. God knows you’ve earned it.”
She’s considering it, I can tell. I can see the list of pros and cons ticking off across her face. There’s a little pout as she mentally decides to go to work instead. She opens her mouth to decline, but before she can, I kiss her again.
When we separate, I try the puppy dog eyes. It’s a back-up plan I’ve had to dust off occasionally. Usually, I just throw money at things I want, but somehow, I don’t think Jane would appreciate it. “Please? Their danishes are to die for.”
She worries her bottom lip and grabs her phone to check the time. Then she points a finger at me and gives me an extremely serious look for someone who’s only sort of wearing a skirt. “You’ve got me for one
