8. Reese

CHAPTER 8

Reese

I’d come twice in less than an hour, Cory once, and his question against my cheek was a burning hot and dangerous ask. Cory was a stranger who knew how to play my body like a fiddle, and while I didn’t hate that level of physicality, I wasn’t used to it. What I did hate, though, was his pressing dominance and the way that, even on his knees, he could steal control of the room right out of my hands.

“What time is your flight?” I asked, scrubbing a trembling hand down my face.

“Ten.” Cory rocked back onto his heels and pulled off the condom, knotting it before tossing it onto the floor beside the one I’d already discarded. He rubbed his hand against the top of my leg, trying to coax me back straight into the mindless pleasure that I came by so easily at his touch. I needed to stop him. I needed to breathe.

“I’m fucking tired, man,” I whispered.

He hummed, collapsing beside me on the bed but resting his face in the crook of his hand and smiling down at me. “I’ve been called lots of things, but I don’t think man has ever been one of them.

“I’m sure.”

“Sir is a popular one,” he went on, uninvited.

I nodded because, of course, it was. It was also one of my personal favorites.

“I’m sure,” I said again.

Cory pursed his lips, brows knitting together above the bridge of his nose. He took my exhaustion for disinterest, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. “If you don’t want to go again, you’re more than welcome to call it a night, Reese. No harm, no foul.”

“Can you just…” I turned away from him and flung my legs over the side of the bed, digging my elbows into my knees and staring down at the pile of knotted condoms on the carpet.

“Just?”

“Give me a fucking minute,” I muttered, waving him off.

Thankfully, he took the hint, reclining against the headboard and stretching his legs out behind me—and zipping his fucking lips. I kept my back turned to him until my heart rate returned to normal and my dick was limp against my thigh. The latter turned out to be a relief because Cory made me so goddamn hard I worried after the first orgasm that I’d never go soft again.

“Permission to speak freely,” he finally said from behind me after it became clear to us both I didn’t have the words.

“Granted,” I said, even though I knew the last thing Cory would ever wait for was my permission.

“You’re overthinking this,” he said.

I glanced at him over my shoulder. “How do you figure?”

“You’re clearly a dominant man.”

I swallowed and turned, bringing one leg up onto the bed so I could at least face him halfway while he spoke.

“And so are you,” I said.

He gave his head a little tilt to the side. “But I don’t question that fact when I get on my knees. You do.”

“Kneeling isn’t the problem.”

“You were just on your back,” he said.

“It’s you demanding it of me.” I steamrolled over him like he hadn’t interrupted my thought.

“Did I?”

“Put your drink down. Get your dick out. Put your hands behind your head and keep them there.” I repeated his first command back at him to refresh his memory.

“That was a choice, Reese.”

“Please stop saying my name,” I begged. It was too intimate, too personal.

“It was a choice,” he re-stated. “I gave you a choice and you chose. That’s what the entirety of life is.”

“You know it’s more than that.”

Cory shrugged. “Is it? If I get on my knees and let you fuck my face, or if I lie on my back and let you drill me into the mattress with a hand around my throat, does that make me any less dominant than I already am?”

“No,” I answered, because I didn’t think anything could make Cory a less dominant than he was. It wasn’t his orientation that was up for debate in this hotel room.

It was mine.

“So why would it make a difference for you?” he asked. “What’s wrong with meeting a stranger at a bar and letting him give you as many of the best orgasms of your life that he can manage before he has to get on a plane for New York?”

I chuckled, heat burning up my throat and into my cheeks.

“You live in New York?” I asked, ignoring the rest of his statement.

“Manhattan.”

“Do you like it?”

“Do you like it in LA?” he asked me back.

“For the most part.”

Cory made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat. The bed shifted as he rolled closer, gently resting his fingertips against the top of my bent knee.

“For the most part,” he answered.

His fingers danced slowly up my thigh until they reached that sensitive fold of skin near my hip. I expected him to move downward to toy again with my cock and balls, but he went outward instead, curling around my hip and giving me a squeeze.

“You can leave if you want,” Cory said quietly, blue eyes piercing me and stealing my breath. “But I’ll be terribly disappointed if you do.”

“I’m tired. Dirty from work,” I said with a sigh, covering his hand with mine, then slowly dragging it higher, over the dip of my waist and up toward my ribs. Cory’s fingers were slender and talented as he worked them across my sweaty and electrified skin.

“Do you want to leave?” he asked.

“Not entirely.”

“Do you want a shower? A nap? Do you want room service?”

I looked up at the ceiling as if I’d find salvation there and not two feet in front of me.

“A shower maybe,” I said, Cory’s earlier commentary on dominance and submission racing through my brain like it was a speedway.

“Do you need a hand?”

His was near my armpit, moving tentatively toward my already hard nipple. Before he could get the nub between his fingers, I stood up, sidestepping around our clothes and heading to the bathroom.

“If you want,” I said, not bothering to look back at him for fear of what I’d see on his face if I did. “Sure.”