Such a Gentleman!

"I'd be glad to follow you," he smiled.

"I'll bet you will," I giggled, and so I was wagging my ass like a pole dancer as I passed through the door, turned a sharp left, and went two doors down the tiled hall to where I was staying.

The whole condo was quiet; it was late enough that the elderly guests who'd left the reception early had already gone to sleep, while the diehards were still mindlessly swilling booze in the Surf Ballroom. Poor Karen was, presumably, in recovery, probably on the phone with her therapist; she'd really gotten creamed by that blowhole. I asked about her as we entered my room, shutting the door behind us. For no good reason, I locked it.

"She'll be okay." He shrugged, then perched himself on the edge of my bed. "I don't really know her at all, but she seems like a pretty strong lady. She's in shock, of course. Did you see what happened?"

"Not really. She was behind me, remember." I was bustling around, stowing my heels and my clutch.

"Right. Poor thing. She was at the end of your line, and there was that first time, when the first wave came in? And the minister laughed because the mist got everywhere? Just like the rehearsal." He was kicking off his shoes, unasked. It seemed he was ready to make himself at home; fine by me.

"Well, so the next wave that came in must have gotten channeled somehow, like down below, because it came shooting out like Old Faithful. The water went straight up, and then came down on her head like a fucking bucket." Anyone else would have been laughing, telling the story; Aaron just shook his head. Such a gentleman. He shrugged. "She fell right on her ass. You saw how muddy she was."

"I was laughing my ass off," I confessed. I didn't feel good about that, but what was I supposed to do? Go start CPR? "How was she when you got her back here?"

He frowned. "Well... like I said, I don't really know her," he replied evasively. "She'll be okay, I'm sure. The resort is comping her tonight."

"Nice of them." I was done talking about mopy little Karen. "So, since you're here, you can unzip me." I strode over and spun in front of him, just in front of his knees. I reached up, gathered my hair, and lifted both arms high to expose my neck; the dress, long-suffering, was having trouble staying up as it was. "Whenever you're ready." I was watching him in the dressing mirror across the room, seeing his tight smile as he looked squarely at my butt. "Seems you've done this job as well, a time or two..."

"Not for years." He'd nearly torn my dress off after that last prom. When he stood behind me now, he rested his hands lightly on both my bare shoulders. "You got some sun today," he observed.

"Fucking summer," I nodded savagely. "Get going. It's getting hard to hold my hair up."

"I've always had a love/hate relationship with your hair," he mused, and the zipper came sliding down with a breathless feeling of relief, the room's A/C caressing my sweaty back. He busied himself with the turquoise belt while the bodice drooped like a banana peel off my breasts. "It's fucking gorgeous, but it got in the way a lot," he added.

I giggled. He'd always complained about it, back when we were dating. He'd said it tickled when I blew him. "I could hack it all off?" I suggested hopefully. I shimmied the dress the rest of the way off my body, the lingerie a picture frame just for him, then half-turned to thank him. And so that he could admire my profile. "Muchas gracias, senor," I flirted, and then I crossed the room to get the lights. "Turn on the bedside lamp."

He complied, watching every step I took, and when I reached the foot of the bed I stopped, turned, and fell hard, smashing into the mattress with a delicious feeling of complete lassitude. "Oof," I sighed as I scooted my body up onto the bed. He'd twisted, still sitting on the edge, so that he could smile at me. My head reached the pillow, and I sighed again as I curled into a fetal ball, lying on my left side. "Well now. I think I'm starting to get comfortable."

He laughed easily. "You weren't before?"

I arched an eyebrow. "I've been a sweaty mess for three days now. Fuck summer. The A/C is nice." He was scanning my body, enjoying my curves. "This lingerie looks good on me, huh?"

"Everything looks good on you," he rapped back immediately. "Always. You're getting goosebumps, Ash."

"I should probably cover up, then." This was a weakness of mine. Whenever I was in hotels, I cranked the air conditioning far, far colder than necessary. "I like lots of blankets," I explained as I contorted myself to get the blankets untucked beneath me. The maid staff always jammed them far too deep under the mattress, so the operation took awhile. He seemed to enjoy my struggles, or maybe he just liked my body squirming around in that flirty underwear.

I sighed again when I finally got myself covered. He was watching carefully, not sure quite what to do next, and neither was I. I'd known what I was doing when I'd invited him in here; I'm a big girl, making big-girl choices. But still, even with the history between us and the passion we'd shown each other in that damn shower, the next step wasn't really well-scripted. "You can get in and join me, you know," I told him softly.

He swallowed, glancing at the clock. The bedside lamp made the whole room a quiet, dusky, intimate little cave. He looked into my big purple eyes. "Not a good idea, Ash."

"No," I replied steadily. "Probably not." I left it there, letting him decide, and as I'd expected he gave a half-shrug and a wary smile and got to his feet to pull his side of the sheets out. I scooted across to give him plenty of room, but when he laid down, he still had his clothes on. I looked pointedly at his pants. "Really?"

"What?" He smiled over at me. "I didn't bring my pajamas, and you keep this room cold as shit."

"Well then." I drifted toward him, and he automatically brought his arm up to accept me. We met near the middle of the mattress, my head burrowing into his shoulder, his other hand comfortably on my thigh as I threw it across his legs. "We'll just have to snuggle." The flowered shirt was rough against my face, the smell of his deodorant overwhelming and powerfully familiar. I frowned. "Is this polyester?"

He'd been stroking my hair. "What?"

"The shirt. I think it's fucking polyester." I raised my head and made a face. "Polyester stinks when it gets sweaty."

His forehead wrinkled. "So?"

"So," I explained patiently, "you're sweaty. Your shirt smells stinky. And it's right next to my nose." My eyebrows rose innocently. "Look, I'd be happy to roll over and just stay on my side; I'm trying to do you a favor here."

"Are you really." Sarcasm tinged his voice, but he was still smiling. "You know, if I stink so bad, maybe I should just take a shower."

I giggled. "Our showers aren't really showers, Aaron."

"Ah. Good point. So, what, I'm taking off my shirt now? Is that it?"

"Well, since you're suggesting it." I grinned brightly and sat up, daring him not to look at me. My nipples ached in the insignificant bra.

"Fuck it. I'm too tired to get up, anyway," he reflected as he got topless, the soft lighting making his chest hair glimmer. The flowered shirt sailed into the corner. "How's that, Ash?"

"Oh, that's just fine." I nestled right back into where I'd been, his skin warm and alive against me now, and ran my hand lightly through the hair on his chest. "This is so weird. I remember you all smooth and sleek."

"Things change, Ash." He was into my hair again, twining it around his fingers, his other hand now making little circles on my thigh. "You know," he added almost as an afterthought, wrinkling his nose, "I think these pants are polyester, too." I just grinned wickedly and moved my leg off his, still with my fingers dancing across his chest, and he took the hint.

I said nothing as he unbuckled his belt and hitched his butt off the sheets, the pants coming down his long, muscular legs with ease. His body looked beautiful all hunched up like that, still with a swimmer's excellent definition, the whole thing long and tapering down from his broad shoulders. I couldn't believe I'd ever been fortunate enough to fuck this man. The pants rustled into the bottom of the bed, and there they stayed; he didn't waste effort retrieving them.

"Yup," I said happily, rubbing back up against him as he lay back down. I looked casually down his body as he sorted out the sheets; as expected, his cock was a massive ridge beneath the black boxer briefs. He followed my eyes. "This is how a man should stink," I gloated quietly, and I meant it: there was sweat and skin and dick and ass and the sharp scent of the vodka on his breath. I ran a finger along his lips, and he kissed it. "You shaved, I see."

"Well, you know. I wasn't brought up to look all scruffy at a wedding." He reached down, encouraging me to get my leg up over his again, and I was happy to oblige; I felt his penis hot and eager under my thigh, but not as eager as his hand tracing up to my ass. "You know, you're kind of stinky too," he chuckled.

"Yeah?" I laughed too. I knew exactly what he meant. I could smell my own pussy, harsh and thick under the sheets. "Shit, Aaron. Maybe a shower's not a bad idea after all," I teased.

"No, you were right before," he murmured. "We don't have much luck with showers," he reminded me.

"Oh, on the contrary. I feel very lucky with my recent showers." Fuck me! What was I doing? My voice didn't sound like itself; it sounded hoarse, smoky, like Louis Armstrong in a jerky factory. I cleared my throat, embarrassed. "Shit. Sorry. I'm just, you know, feeling..."

"Horny?" He was showing that same old smile, but the look in his eyes was growing dangerous.

I laughed despite myself. "Yeah, I guess. Horny." Jesus, what was I supposed to say? I was lying in bed in lacy black lingerie, rubbing up against a man in a pair of sweaty boxer-briefs, sporting a massive erection. What was I going to do, claim I simply felt like a nap?

"Huh." His thumb had worked its way underneath my bra strap, rubbing insistently at my spine. "That's funny. I'm feeling the same way." He met my eyes then, and we both grinned at each other, and for a moment everything felt liquid and smooth and lazy, our bodies already comfortably intertwined. "You do realize," he said softly, "that there's really no point anymore to you wearing underwear."

"You either," I shot back, "but there's a difference. My underwear makes me look like a fucking goddess. Yours makes you look like a refugee from the Tour de France. I don't find that sexy."

"I'm not wearing it for you," he pointed out.

"Huh." I let my hand drift lower; hell, I was behind in this game. His fingers were already wrapped all the way around my ass, resting right where the thong widened out to cover my pussy. "Who else would you be wearing it for, then?" I mocked. "Karen?"

He laughed hard at that, smacking my butt and grinning widely. "No, shithead. I'm wearing it for me." He paused, thinking about what to say. "Support is important for us. We don't always like those things flopping around."

"Oh, bullshit." My hand roving beneath the sheets had found the little hairy trail it was looking for. It kept going, slowly. "From what I'm feeling against my leg," I went on softly, finally confronting the obvious, "I'd say there's nothing flopping around down there at all." Finally, watching his eyes carefully, I let my pinkie tickle at where I knew his head would be prodding at the top of his waistband. He closed his eyes briefly.

"Watch it," he said, his voice very soft. His fingers tightened beside my slit.

"Seems pretty solid, actually." My pinkie was moving in tiny circles over the bulge, feeling the fresh dampness there, and it was all I could do to keep my voice steady. "So, here's the deal. Those things have got to be pretty fucking nasty by now; you've stunk up the rest of your clothes, so I'm sure you've got that end-of-the-workday feeling down there. Why don't you just do yourself a favor, hygiene-wise, and take them off." I was tickling all across his belly now, my hand moving hypnotically, and he wasn't smiling any longer.

"For hygiene's sake." He was whispering now. I felt it happen, at last; his questing fingers found their way beneath my thong, flickering heavily over the wet skin they found there. I lifted my leg higher on his body, giving him access. My knee was nearly as high as his chest now, and I wasn't feeling his dick on my thigh anymore. Not that that mattered; my hand was there instead, finally grabbing his thick, heavy length through the boxer briefs. I squeezed.

"This is my bed," I reminded him, my voice all husky again. "I don't need you stinking it up."

"Well," he breathed, "since you put it that way..." And then he was forcing my leg off him, both his hands abandoning me to get his shorts down. I didn't waste time either, the wispy thong presenting no difficulty at all as I kicked it down my legs, and I was already getting to work on my bra as he freed his windmilling feet. He turned, the sheets rumpled on top of his naked body. "Let me," he choked out, and then he had wormed up and around me to bat my hands away and attack the bra clasp himself.

This had the effect of bringing the rest of his body right up against me, and there it was, as long and thick as I remembered it from when we'd dated. I'd been far too horny to pause and study his penis in the shower, but now it rose out from his dainty little bush, fat and trembling and as hard as any man I'd ever seen. The top third of it, from the middle to the head, was a much lighter color than the rest of the shaft, something I'd teased him about years ago.

I didn't feel like teasing him now.

My hands were around him before I even thought about doing it, both my palms clapped hard around his warm, slightly sticky length, the whole bed already smelling like a locker room. He finally got my bra off, me gasping with relief as my tits fell free, then choking the breath back with passion as he dived back around me and got his mouth on them. I crashed back onto the mattress, now sideways with my legs drawn up under Aaron as he began to feast on my tits, clearly remembering how much I liked that.

During the tackle I'd lost track of his penis, my flailing hands locking hard on the back of his head, forcing him to suck on my nipples. "Goddamn!" I moaned, and then his hands were getting into the act, kneading and pressing and twisting as he went crazy on my breasts. "Fuck, Aaron. No bite marks, you dumbass."

"Sorry," he muttered, but he wasn't; and he didn't stop, the teeth nipping gently at my skin as he devoured me. "Holy shit, Ash!"

I knew what he meant; I pressed myself back and slammed my head into the sheets, kicking my legs out between his, and suddenly his whole naked, sweaty body was smeared all over mine. It felt great; hell, it felt right. Just like it always used to. He reared up above me, sitting on my thighs, and he gazed at me with the kind of expression that makes a woman want to turn into a whore. When he spoke to me, between harsh breaths, he sounded awed.

"I can't believe this is happening." He was looking at a girl on fire, my purple eyes huge, my chest bright red under the gleam of his saliva, rising and falling with quick, excited breaths. He shook his head in disbelief as he gazed at me, and I arched up proudly, showing off, showing him how fucking sexy I was. Showing him I was worth it. Because I was, goddammit. I was, for Aaron, an apex-level sexual tornado, and his Makayla could go fuck herself. Because I was about to fuck her man.

I just wasn't thinking about anything else but Aaron Lewis and his surging cock. Chad too, a little bit, and I still loved him. But not right then.

"Come here," I grinned, extending my arms, for the time had come to let him kiss me. He descended happily, slowly, folding his tight body into mine, and I struggled to get my legs outside his as our lips met, softly at first and then with hungry intensity. I remembered my first kiss with this man, so many years ago, sitting in his parents' basement with the Libertines playing on the cheap CD player, the sense of proprietary victory I'd felt. And now I felt it again.

We sucked at each others' lips and tongues for a few more minutes, laughing softly, but we both knew now that this was just an appetizer. The whole time we made out, his penis was a hard, solid reminder, digging into my belly; a warning, almost, about what was coming soon.

Now, in fact. Once more, I was done waiting. I removed my hand from his ass, my fingers trailing, feeling him move, and I pushed him gently off me.

"Roll over, Aaron." I saw that look come into his eyes again, the look of hard, almost predatory excitement. "I'm going to ride you like I'm a fucking slut." I lifted my head and nipped at his mouth. "You like that, huh?" He was smiling slowly, and he got off me slowly, falling to the side and lying back. His whole body was alive with lust, his dick trembling. "Better control yourself," I taunted him gently. I hoped he remembered I like to talk during sex. "I'm not in the mood for some thirty-second bunny-fuck here."

"Don't you worry," he smirked, looking at me as I uncoiled. "If it doesn't last long enough, it'll be your own damn fault. You're on top, after all." And then I was, my tanned legs alongside him, his cock hard and straight right underneath my wet pussy lips. I moved back and forth, spreading slippery funk all up and down his shaft, getting it ready.

"Whatever you have to tell yourself, limpdick." But he wasn't, of course; he was a telephone pole down there, and I felt him jump and twitch with every heartbeat as I kept rubbing my pussy along his shaft. I moved back and forth, and when I was done I rose up and spread myself open with my fingers. "Hold it up, lover," I muttered. "Put it in me."

He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't say a word; he obeyed instead, lifting himself straight up, aiming at my slit, and I settled down onto his hips in one smooth, slow slide.

He put his hands on my thighs, rubbing gently, his eyes closed while he enjoyed how I felt around him. I sat there and waited until his eyelids flapped open, feeling the muted twitching of his cock in me. And when I saw him smile lazily, staring at how my body looked above him, I leaned slowly down and rested my hands on his chest. "Definitely not a good idea," I murmured, "you getting into bed with me."

"You're telling me." His laugh was deep and secret as his fingers slid up and down my legs. He looked curiously down between us, where my mound curved under and his dick disappeared inside me, and I saw his mouth fall open. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

"Best not to think about it too much," I suggested thickly, and then I started to ride him. I didn't want one of those rapid, bouncy fucks, the kind where my hair flies around and his cock comes all the way out; this wasn't that kind of night. So I ground down into him, moving my hips back and forth in that inexorable, grinding rhythm what would give both of us what we wanted. And all the while I stared into his hard, almost vicious eyes.

He was in control of himself after my first few movements, picking up my rhythm and matching it with easy, gentle thrusts of his own. "That's it," I cooed, and then his fingers came up my thigh, tickling, and his thumb came to rest on my clit, right above the root of his cock.

Jesus.

Why don't more guys do that? It's so obvious; you all see us playing with our clits during sex. Why does it not occur to you to do it for us? I groaned. "That's a new trick you picked up," I purred.

"Here and there." He flicked me, gently, and I nearly came right there, so embarrassingly early. In that moment, I'd have agreed to do any goddamn thing he wanted me to do. Such a gentleman. Right then, I'd have taken him in the ass, or gone next door and fucked Blonde Peter, or had his child; all he had to do was ask me. I knew I'd have left Chad for him and never looked back; it scared me, him having that kind of power. But all he'd have had to do was ask.