Matchmaker 01: January

The bed was a total wreck. The mattress was exposed where she'd clawed at the linens as I took her from behind, the damp sheets twisted around us in a wad as she continued to slam her hips into mine. I'd just come my second time, but she wasn't stopping.

"I'm going to come again," she growled, her voice low and sexy. "You're going to make me come again."

I tried to hang on, but she was destroying me. I couldn't stand it, the sensations almost too intense to bear. I bellowed again, a cry of pain, pleasure, and lust in equal measure as I pulled her down and crushed her to my chest. We tumbled and I pinned her to the bed before slamming into her again.

"Ah... fuck!" I roared, throwing my head back as I pounded into her like an overrevved machine. "Come on! Come on you sexy fucking witch! Fucking come!"

She began to keen, a soft moan before it exploded into a wail as she pushed against the headboard with her hands, her back arching. I continued to pound into her, desperate to finish her. I roared again, my pleasure searing in its intensity as I fucked her hard and fast until she gasped and relaxed under me.

I collapsed over her, shuddering with aftershocks that made me grunt and thrust. "Fuck," I gasped. "Someday you're going—" I began before she pulled my lips to hers.

I kissed her thoroughly as I lay softly atop her. I slowly pulled back, watching her eyes. She was glowing with sweat, and her hair was in total disarray, but I'd never seen a more beautiful or sexy woman. I couldn't get enough of her lips and kissed her again, thrusting slowly into her as I rapidly softened. As I fell from inside her, I sighed and rolled to my back, pulling her with me so she was lying on my chest. She looked down at me, her eyes soft, her lips teased into the smile of a well satisfied woman. Good thing because I was finished, spent, and unable to continue.

She sighed, taking my lips again. When she'd had her fill, she slowly pulled back. "That was un-fucking-believable," she murmured, dragging a finger softly across my lips. Seeing her watching my mouth, I wanted her again, I wanted her badly. I tried to will myself back to hardness, so I could ravage her a third time, but my most ardent wishes were futile.

"Want to go again?" I asked.

Her lips quirked into a smile as she slowly began to pump her hips. "Think you can?"

Shit. She'd called my bluff. "No."

"Didn't think so, but that's okay, I'm done in. You fucked the shit out of me."

She lowered her lips to mine, kissing me gently before laying her head on my chest. She heaved a sigh as she stilled. I added my sigh to hers, slowly caressing her back and head as she lay on my chest.

I'd made it to the bottom of Gold Hill and taken several lesser trails back to the gondola pickup point. The run down Gold Hill had been exhilarating. I'd only just gotten started when I hit an unseen mogul. That had kicked me back on my heels and I'd nearly lost it, but I'd recovered and continued down the mountain.

As exciting as the run had been, the look on Lane's face as she swaggered up to the gondola had been more so. We'd had to share the gondola, so we'd kept it clean, but there was a hunger in her eyes I couldn't ignore. I was throbbing hard by the time we reached the chalet, and though we didn't start on the cold wood floors of the lower level, we'd left a trail of clothes from the bottom of the steps to the bed.

I sighed, sleep pulling hard on me. We'd arrived home a little after three, and we'd fucked until dinner time, but I needed nothing, wanted nothing, but Lane's weight on my chest and her soft breathing as she slept.

I woke with a start, something pulling me suddenly from sleep. Lane hadn't moved and was still sleeping peacefully on my chest. I glanced at the clock. I wasn't sure what time we'd finished and I'd gone to sleep, but it was now almost nine o'clock. I yawned. I'd probably slept three or four hours. I also had to pee, but I didn't want to move.

I lay still in the quiet darkness. Five more days, six if you counted the day we left. I'd started this on a lark, on the off chance that Brooklyn could somehow weave her magic and find me the perfect match. She'd come close. The only thing Lane lacked was wealth. The fact she didn't have money didn't matter to me, but I'd been burned so many times by women who only wanted to use me. The other women were malleable, willing to become whatever I wanted them to be, leaving me unsure of who they were.

They claimed to love me, to be willing to do anything for me, and they had. No request I made of them was out of the question. I didn't want someone like that, someone who wasn't a person of their own. If a person would do anything, say anything, how could you trust them?

Time and again I'd seen they didn't want me, they wanted access to my money. Lane seemed different. She wouldn't admit it, and had denied it several times, but she seemed put off by my money. I still remembered the look on her face after I purchased the watch. She didn't criticize, but she didn't approve either.

The pressure in my bladder was growing worse. I carefully rolled her off me and to the bed.

"No. Cold," she murmured, flinging an arm out to hold me in the bed.

I kissed her softly as I slid out of the bed. I found the comforter on the floor and draped it over her before I went to the bathroom and relieved myself with a shiver. I thought about returning to bed, but now that I was awake, hunger pangs reminded me we'd skipped dinner. All I could cook was eggs, but they'd do.

As I cracked eggs, I mulled over the past three weeks. Lane had been amazing. I'd gone into this knowing it was possible I wouldn't get laid but expecting too. I'd gone into this knowing I might not get along with the woman Brooklyn had picked for me but expecting too. What I hadn't expected was for us to mesh so well. I'd expected the woman waiting for me to be much like all the other women I'd been with, but she wasn't.

We'd only been together three weeks, but the closeness I felt with her was like we'd been together for three months. At the same time, those three weeks felt like three days. It was as if I'd only just met her. The excitement I'd felt when she first joined me in my bed hadn't been lost, it had only grown stronger.

The three weeks felt longer in some ways, shorter in others, but it had only been three weeks, and that wasn't enough time to really get to know anyone. I knew that, but the desire I felt for her went beyond what she did to me in bed. I wanted her for more than her body, and that was something new for me. I'd only felt like this once before, and it had taken months, not weeks, for the feelings of closeness to develop.

I cut some ham into the eggs and added cheese. I could now handle a knife without almost slicing my finger off. I was scraping the eggs into a pile, making sure they were fully cooked. My eggs weren't pretty, but Lane pretended not to care. I buttered the toast, poured the orange juice because we didn't have a way to fresh squeeze an orange, added a cup of coffee creamed just the way she liked it, and carried it all on a tray back to the bedroom.

She was lying like I'd left her. I set the tray on the floor and gently woke her with kisses. She groaned and rolled over, her eyes still closed.

"What time is it?"

"About nine-thirty."

She stretched and blinked at me lazily. "Why is it still dark?"

"Nine-thirty at night. I brought you dinner."

"Dinner?"

I picked up the tray and held it for her to see. "It's eggs. It's all I know how to cook." She groaned and stretched. Even bed tossed, she was lovely.

"I could get used to this," she grunted as she relaxed.

"What?"

"You, bringing me breakfast in bed, nude, with a hard on."

I smiled. "All part of the service."

"Let me go to the bathroom, then why don't you join me in bed, and after we eat, you can service me again."

I'd cooked enough eggs for both of us, but there was room for only one plate on the tray. I settled into the bed beside her spot, which was still warm. When she returned, I picked up the fork and carefully scooped a bite of egg into her mouth. As she chewed, I used the same fork for my own taste. Considering the parts of her body I'd had in my mouth, eating after her didn't bother me at all.

We slowly ate our meal, sharing everything on the tray except the coffee. As I fed her, I fumbled a fork full, dropping a couple of curds of eggs on her chest. After she'd taken what was left on the fork into her mouth, I'd chased the dropped eggs with my mouth, her soft groan as I made sure I didn't miss a spot my reward.

We finished, and I watched as the last bit of egg disappeared between her lips. She chewed slowly, sensuously, licking her lips in a way that went far beyond what was necessary. Between the two of us, the eggs were more of a snack than a meal, and I didn't feel full or bloated. That was probably a good thing because she was looking at me with those hungry eyes again.

I smiled to myself as I set the tray on the floor and turned back to Lane.

"Now, where did we leave off?" she asked slowly.

I began kissing down her body. "Right about here," I murmured as I moved ever lower.

I opened my eyes, the brightness of the room making me squint and close my eyes again. I slapped around in the bed, but Bryant wasn't to be found. I opened my eyes just enough to see, my face wrinkling as the bright sun poured through the window.

I stretched and groaned, smiling. I was going to track Bryant down, drag his ass back to bed, and have him use that magnificent piece of flesh between his legs on me. As I had the thought, another thought shoved it aside. Tomorrow. In my imagination, the single word echoed ominously. Tomorrow I flew home to San Antonio.

In each of the past three days, I kept telling myself I'd had fun, an 'adventure of a lifetime,' but it was time for me to go back to my world. With each passing day, it was becoming more difficult to convince myself that I wanted to go back. I wanted to stay here, with Bryant. I wanted to stay in Telluride. I wanted to go skiing during the day and make love to him at night. I wanted to go to sleep in his arms and wake up the same way. I wanted to start each day with him making love to me and end it the same.

I knew it was impossible. I had my little one-person C.P.A. office in San Antonio with my handful of clients, and Bryant had the Legato empire. Why had I agreed to this? It was like all the bad things of a one-night stand and the breakup of a long-term relationship, all rolled into one.

Bryant appeared, a tray of food in his hands. I smiled. The last time he'd done this had been a few nights ago, after he'd impressed me by jumping off the side of mountain, and we'd destroyed ourselves. So much so I'd had to take the next day and night off to recover.

"Breakfast in bed," he said gallantly. The plate on the tray contained the saddest looking pancakes I'd ever seen, but I gave him points for trying and bonus points for bringing me the tray nude and with an erection. "I need a little more practice. The box made it sound so easy."

"They look great," I lied.

"Good girls don't tell fibs," he said as he settled on the bed beside me and picked up the fork. He was going to feed me again, and that gave him extra double bonus points.

"Good thing I'm not a good girl then, huh?"

He poured a circle of syrup from a small container that was probably a shot glass from the bar onto the pancakes. He carefully cut one of the rumbled and ragged pancakes and popped it into my mouth. They may not look like much, but they tasted fine.

"Good," I said as I chewed.

He nodded and took a bite for himself. He held another sliver of pancake for me, but before I could take it, butter and syrup dripped between my breasts and on my lips and chin.

"Oops. Let me get that," he said softly, first taking my lip and then kissing down to my chin. I stopped chewing as he cleaned up by breasts. When he'd done that with the eggs, that had brought back the memory of us screwing our brains out on the kitchen counter as we smeared butter all over each other. I'd never climaxed so hard in my life, and that was saying something considering how hard he made me orgasm sometimes. Having him kissing and licking my breasts, cleaning me with his lips and tongue, was heating me up in a big way.

He continued to feed me. Sometimes I delayed opening my mouth just long enough that a drip would fall, and every time he licked it up, I would get a little squirmier. After a couple of drips, I saw him smile. He was wise to me, but he didn't complain.

When we finished, he started to pick up the tray, but before he could, I dipped my finger into the container of syrup and slowly drew the finger down between my breasts. He looked at me a moment and then smiled.

"You're making a mess."

"I must be a dirty girl."

"Want me to clean that up?"

I didn't trust my voice, so I nodded. He set the tray aside, settled between my legs and began to clean up the mess I'd made. My head tipped back, my mouth opening in pleasure. Nobody had ever done this to me before, and holy shit, was it turning me on. As he finished, I found the syrup container, dipped a finger, and smeared it on a nipple. He dutifully cleaned it up before I repeated the process on my lips, and when he was finished there, both breasts.

"Fuck," I whispered as he licked a nipple to aching hardness. He was going to make me come by just cleaning my breasts.

I reached for the small container again, but it wasn't on the tray. I glanced for it, thinking I'd knocked it over, but it was in his hand. He was upright on his knees between my legs, his cock standing at attention as he smiled down at me, the container hovering over my body. I began to breath harder, waiting as he teased me with anticipation. I swear, if he pours that over his cock, I'm going to eat him alive. When I thought I would scream with pent up expectancy, he tipped the container, pouring the remainder of the sweet, sticky, liquid over my breasts and down my stomach. There wasn't a lot left in the small container, but there was enough that the amber liquid immediately began to spread, running down the sides of my body. We were going to make a hell of mess because there was no way he could lick it all up before it dripped on the sheets, but I didn't care.

He carelessly tossed the glass aside, drew a finger along the trail of syrup and coated my lips. I tried to take his finger into my mouth, but he pulled it back, lowering himself to take my lips. I moaned as he slid into me while kissing me, pressing his body to mine, the syrup running down my sides and lubricating our movements. The sticky concoction sliding between our bodies was incredibly sexy.

I wiped at my sides, picking up the sticky substance as he fucked me slow and easy, smearing it over his back. He began to drive into me harder, my orgasm swelling within me. It was the kitchen counter all over again, but better. He forced himself up as I tried to hold him to me, the feel of his body against mine, smearing the syrup, driving me to orgasm. He ran his hand over my breasts as he thrust into me, falling back over me as he smeared his hand on my face before wadding his hands in my hair.

I didn't know what was wrong with me. Having him smear the sticky substance on my lips and cheeks, and then kissing it away, brought my orgasm in a torrential rush. As I groaned, my body alive with pleasure, he exploded into motion, his gentle love making changing into a hard fucking in an instant. He pounded into me, driving my orgasm on, his lips dancing on my face.

I sagged, panting softly as I swirled in the backwaters of my rapture, but he wasn't done with me yet. He rolled over, pulling me with him. The crash of dishes shattering against the floor when my leg hit the tray as he hauled me on top of him barely registered. Fuck them! I'll buy new dishes! He lunged into me again and began thrusting.

"Make me come," he growled. "Make me fucking come!"

I was beginning to recover and took over thrusting from him. He hauled me down, burying his face in my breasts, his lips and tongue busy cleaning my skin. I held his face to my chest as I thrust, and his hands slid up by body, smearing syrup before spreading it on my neck and back. He pulled me down, attacking my neck with lips and tongue.

He'd spend several long moments cleaning me up before he'd crush me back to his chest, kissing me furiously while smearing goo between us anew, and then cleaning me again. The syrup was getting tacky between us, and for some reason, that aroused me even more. I was working myself up to a truly epic orgasm.

He sensed my rising need, he seemed to always be able to tell exactly what I needed, and he pulled me hard down to him and took my mouth. As our tongues slashed at each other he got serious about fucking me, pounding into me hard and fast. His kiss became more urgent as he began to puff and blow through his nose, his tell he was approaching his limit of endurance.

Knowing he was close, the naughtiness of smearing syrup on ourselves, the stickiness of our skin, our fucking so out of control we broke dishes, it all combined and began snipping the threads holding back my orgasm. I moaned into his mouth, my orgasm surrounding me, pressing in on me, until it collapsed over me. I screamed loudly into his mouth, and I couldn't catch my breath. I pulled back, softly crying out my pleasure, my body alive with quivers as I buried my face in his neck and held on, clinging to him like a rock lest I be swept away by the pleasure. He barked loudly as he flooded into me, forcing himself incredibly deep and holding himself there as he shuddered under me.

He relaxed with a sigh and slowly began to pump. It felt so good, the slow easy thrusts after we orgasmed. It stirred the embers of our passion and made me feel like the sexist woman in the world because he couldn't get enough of fucking me. I rose and tasted his lips. They were incredibly sweet, and I tasted them again and again.

"I don't want to go skiing today," I murmured.

"It's your last chance."

"I know. I want to spend the last day here, in the cabin, with you."

He smiled up at me, pushing a lock of hair out of my face. "I'd like that."

We showered together, soaping and rinsing several times to make sure we'd gotten all the syrup off before he took me again as the water cascaded over our bodies. Clean, we dried each other before we cleaned the mess we'd made, washing the linens twice, and sweeping up broken glass.

As the machine whirred and gurgled, we sat on the couch in front of the fireplace, talking little, enjoying our company and the quiet. I was tucked into his side, slowly stroking the inside of his thigh as he gently caressed my breast. There was so much I wanted to tell him, but I didn't have the words, and I didn't want to make our last few hours awkward.

After the linens were dry, we made the bed and immediately tumbled into it again for another round of love making. This morning had been hot, hard, and fast, but this afternoon, it was slow, loving, and gentle. I lay close to his side for a long time after we finished. I wanted to smile, laugh, and cry, all at the same time. I was a confused mess of emotions that I couldn't make sense of. I slid into a deep, peaceful sleep until his movement woke me. It was dinner time, and we'd missed lunch, feeding our souls in place of our bodies. We dressed and drove into town.

"I've had a good time," I said softly. We were tucked into a quiet corner of a small restaurant, and as long as we kept our voices down, nobody would overhear.