That One Night: A Pucking Around Prequel Novella (Jacksonville Rays)
That One Night: Chapter 8

After Mystery Boy graciously gifts me two of the best orgasms of my life, we take turns in the bathroom getting cleaned up. While he’s in there, I order down to the restaurant for room service. It’s almost dinner time, and I’m starving. But there’s no way I’m leaving this room. It feels like the moment I do, the magic will break.

I slip on my white hotel robe, pulling my hair up into a messy topknot. When I took my turn in the bathroom, I did the bare minimum to wipe the makeup off my face and remove my contacts. My vision isn’t great, but its good enough to get by without bothering with my glasses. As long as he doesn’t ask me to drive him anywhere tonight, I’ll be good.

He comes out of the bathroom naked, totally at ease in his own skin. Sauntering across the suite, he snatches up his discarded briefs and tugs them on, which does the bare minimum to conceal the perfect roundness of his ass. Lord have mercy, how many squats does it take to get glutes that juicy? All the ladies need to know.

I stifle a grin, busying myself with looking for the TV remote.

He joins me on the sofa, sinking down with a soft groan. He sits right next to me, not caring that there’s a whole other end. He grabs my legs, flipping me until I’m partially in his lap. His calloused thumb rubs little circles on my ankle as he visibly relaxes. He just needs to be touching me. I understand the sentiment; I’m feeling the same way about him.

“I ordered down for some room service. Hope you don’t mind steak.”

He smiles, his head tipped back against the back of the sofa, eyes closed. “Sounds perfect.”

I flip the channel to SportsCenter. Below the TV, the electric fire burns. I took the time to turn on a few lamps too. This end of the suite is now bathed in golden light, while the far end near the windows is dark and stormy. The shadows of the rain dance across the rumpled white bedspread. I love the contrast of feeling warm and bright in his arms while a cold, grey storm rages all around us.

I feel his eyes on me and flash him a soft smile.

He’s casually rubbing my foot, working his thumbs in circles over my arch. “Tell me something else.” He reaches over with one hand, flicking at my robe. The “V” opens a bit more, and he brushes his finger down my chest tattoo. “Tell me about this. What does it mean?”

I huff a laugh, stretching out a bit. “It means I was fifteen and high on shrooms at a music festival and a guy named Hector had a tattoo gun.”

He stills, glancing my way with a raised brow. “Fifteen, huh?”

I shrug. “I had a rather unorthodox upbringing.”

I don’t mention that the festival was Coachella or that my dad’s band was headlining…or that the shrooms were stolen from my dad’s personal stash. What can I say? I was a rebellious teen. Angry and bitter, I was practically a caricature of a rock star’s spoiled rotten kid. It took a while for me to figure out the balance between privilege and purpose. I wasted way too many years thinking everything in life was going to be handed to me because of my last name.

Harrison caught on much quicker. He may have used daddy’s name to secure himself a start in the culinary industry, but he’s built everything he has on hard work and skill. I’ve spent years playing catch-up, fighting tooth and nail to prove I can earn my own way too.

That’s why losing this fellowship hurts so fucking much. I wanted it. I fought for it. I powered though college in two and a half years with a degree in kinesiology. I finished med school in four, specializing in sports medicine.

Now I’m finishing up my second year of residency at one of the best hip and knee centers in the country. It’s an amazing blend of physical therapy and orthopedic injury care, which is perfect for me. I love the balance of using proactive physical therapy to protect against injury, rather than only cleaning up the mess once injuries happen.

The Barkley Fellowship was going to be the thing to launch me fully into the highest level of sports medicine. It pairs doctors with sports teams from the NBA to the NHL. Ten months of hands-on experience working with the best orthopedic specialists and physical therapists in the world, who work on the world’s top performing athletes.

The last three applicants to apply from my program all won. All three now have permanent positions on pro teams. And my mentor said I was a shoe-in. He says he’s never seen a more natural talent. I don’t know what I’m going to say to him. How will I tell him his record is broken, thanks to me?

Fuck, my therapist is going to have a field day with this. My debilitating fear of disappointing authority figures rears her ugly head again.

“Hey…”

I raise my gaze off my knees. He’s looking at me with such tenderness, such open curiosity.

“You wanna talk about it?”

I shrug. Maybe I’ll feel better if I spill my soul. I open my mouth and there’s a sharp knock at the door.

“Room service!”

He smirks. “Saved by the bellhop.”

As I go to get up, he puts a hand on my knee.

“Stay. I’ll get it.” He wiggles out from under my legs, trotting over to the door. He disappears behind the corner, and I hear him talking to the delivery person.

A skinny guy in a hotel polo shirt comes in pushing a cart. “Evening, ma’am. Where do you want it?”

In minutes, we’ve got a feast spread across the low glass table—filet mignon, broccoli and loaded potatoes, fresh bread with butter, a sharable salad, a bottle of pinot noir with two glasses, two large bottles of electrolyte water, and two orders of blueberry bread pudding drizzled with caramel sauce. We sit on the floor between the sofa and the table, sharing it all.

For over an hour we talk about everything and nothing. Amy is his only sibling. They had an older brother who died of a rare heart condition before he and Amy were born. Apparently, his best friend has a dog and he wants to steal it. He swears the dog likes him better.

I tell him a bit about Harrison’s wedding. He’s curious about the way we blended in Thai customs to honor Somchai’s family. There was a beautiful making merit ceremony yesterday morning to start the festivities. Nine monks from the downtown Buddhist temple came to chant prayers and offer blessings.

“And don’t get me started on the food,” I say.

He hums, his mouth full of bread pudding. Once he swallows he says, “I assume it was pretty good then?”

I grin, taking my time with my own food. I’m actually cutting my steak. He just inhaled his. “I think the word that comes to mind is orgasmic,” I reply with a wink.

“Oh, don’t play with me,” he groans, setting his fork down. “If you’re about to say your dinner last night was better than the three orgasms I’ve given you tonight, you’re gonna make me cry.”

He lunges, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me into his lap as I laugh, squirming to get away. I mean, I don’t try very hard.

“Is that what you want?” he growls, his hand diving inside the open slit of my robe to cup my breast and tweak my nipple. “Do you want to see a grown man cry into his blueberry pie?”

I giggle, still squirming. “It’s bread pudding—”

“I don’t care what it’s called. It’s fucking delicious. But you taste better,” he adds, nipping at my ear. His other hand slides up my thigh, cupping me between my legs.

I sigh. This doesn’t feel so playful anymore.

“Open,” he growls, his lips sucking on the sensitive skin behind my ear.

My legs fall open for him as if I’m a genie who can only do her master’s bidding.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, playing with my clit. “So wet for me. Are you always this wet? God, I hope not,” he answers. “I want you like this for me. Only me. Say that you’re mine.”

I shiver, fighting the urge to move my hips in time with his fingers. “I’m yours.”

“Fuck, I have to have you again,” he groans. “Please say I can have you again. Need you.” He’s already pushing me off his lap as I pant out a desperate yes. “Hands and knees, baby girl,” he says, jerking on the tie of my robe.

We’re wedged between the sofa and the coffee table, but I’m determined to make this work. I can’t wait another second to have him either. I scramble onto my hands and knees, facing the windowed wall. Behind me, he flips up my robe, exposing my ass. He bends over me, his hand curling between my legs to finger me again.

“Spread a bit, baby. You know how big I am.”

I flash him another teasing grin. “Someone’s feeling cocky.”

He laughs, grabbing my jaw and giving me a kiss that tastes like caramel sauce. “Yeah, you. Right now. You’re about to be so full of my cock. You’ll feel me everywhere. I want you just like this. Down on your elbows,” he says, putting a little pressure on my back with his hand. “Show me this sweet pussy.”

I drop down to my elbows, my face resting on my folded forearms. It leaves my ass sticking up in the air, his for the taking. God, I love this angle. Some girls say doggy style is over-rated, but for me? Lord, I live for it. I love feeling a dick driving in so deep. With his gorgeous cock, he’s going to hit me just right.

“Such a good fucking girl,” he praises, notching his cock at my entrance. My pussy clenches with eagerness as he pushes in. I gasp at the fullness, fighting a whimper as he holds tight to my hips. He works himself in me slowly, letting me adjust to his length as he goes deeper.

“You feel amazing,” I murmur, ready to chase this feeling of fullness, of being made whole. “You make me feel amazing. Please don’t stop.”

He stills, bending over me. His fingers brush gently along the line of my jaw. “Look at me, baby.”

I glance up at him, my heart stilling in my chest. He’s towering over me, owning me. We’re locked together with more than just our bodies. I feel him everywhere.

“Say the word, and I’ll never stop.” His voice is so earnest, his tone so eager.

Tears sting my eyes as I gaze up at him. “Never stop.”

And he doesn’t.

After our marathon floor sex, which turned into sofa sex, we collapse against each other, me pinned under him, bearing his full weight. It’s like snuggling under the world’s sexiest weighted blanket. My nipples are sore from the way he’s been tweaking and sucking them, and his cum is sticky between my legs. I love it.

He falls asleep mumbling something about a bad call on the TV, his face nuzzled against my breasts. I must fall asleep at some point too because I wake up a few hours later to replace him gone. I’m alone on the sofa, my robe draped over me like a blanket. The TV is off, but the fireplace is still on. I sit up and my robe falls around my waist, my bare breasts pebbling in the cool air.

Did he leave without a word? My heart squeezes tight. One night with this guy, and I feel ready to rethink everything. I wanted him to know my name. I wanted to give him my number. Maybe this could have been more. Maybe—

But now I’ll never know.

I fight the tears stinging my eyes, but that’s when I hear the toilet. After a few moments, there’s the sound of running water at the sink. He’s just in the bathroom. The air slips gratefully from my lungs and I glance over the back of the sofa. His jeans are still in a pile on the floor next to his shoes. So is my jumpsuit and his shirt.

I sink back against the edge of the sofa with relief. Well, my heart feels relief. My mind is buzzing like a hive of bees. This is beyond crazy. I’m feeling way too much for this guy. I feel weightless, like an untethered hot air balloon.

Meanwhile, my whole body feels boneless from too much amazing sex. Is there such a thing as too much sex? There’s a pleasant soreness between my legs and I’m losing count of my orgasms. Five? I think there may have been a sneaky mini sixth one in there. I was mid-orgasm, and the jerk slapped my clit. Boom went the dynamite.

That was the “something” he learned about me during this last round. Now Mystery Boy knows I appreciate choking and slapping. If we get to bondage tonight, I suppose I should just pack it in and marry him. I’ll learn his name at the altar.

I slip off the sofa, my robe dropping to the floor, and tiptoe naked over to the bed. I check the time on my phone. 3:00AM. I have to leave for the airport in four hours.

I’ve missed a ton of messages. My roommate Tess sent a text and called twice. Daddy texted. And mom. They were both asking what happened to me at the brunch, wondering if I’m okay. Two texts from Harrison. A “U OK?” and a GIF of Moira Rose wearing that weird head pillow thing. Good, I’d rather him think I was too hungover from the wedding last night and not too embarrassed by my fellowship failure.

I shoot off a quick round of texts. One to Tess saying I’ll call her tomorrow and one to the Price Family group chat with mom, daddy, and Harrison. I smile when I see someone has already added Som.

I make sure my phone alarm is set and put it back on the charging pad. I gaze out the wall of glass. The storm is over, but everything is still wet. The whole city glistens, the lights of downtown Seattle hazy around the edges. I pad around the bed over to the window, arms crossed under my breasts.

Behind me, the door to the bathroom opens.

“Shit, did I wake you?” he calls.

I shake my head.

He joins me at the window, wrapping me in his arms. I settle against his warm skin. The juxtaposition of his warmth with the cold air from the glass wall gives me a chill. He rubs my arms, bending down to kiss my shoulder.

I sigh, so comfortable in his arms.

“I love cities at night,” he murmurs in my ear.

I smile. “Is that your new something?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s one of my favorite parts of all the travel I get to do. I love skylines. I love the way they have a shape…like a silhouette, you know. Like, a woman’s body. You can memorize it. You can see just the silhouette of Seattle and you know it.”

I hum low in my throat. “Because of the Space Needle.”

“Yeah.” He kisses my shoulder again.

I lean forward a bit, peering through the buildings. “I think you can see Pike Place from here.”

He presses in behind me, following the point of my finger against the glass. “Yeah…I think you’re right. Hey—” He brushes his hand over my hair, giving my messy topknot a little tug to tip my head back. I gaze up at him and he’s smiling. “You wanna go there in the morning before your flight? You still owe me a dragon fruit tea, remember? I mean, I’m gonna make you change the order to a grande americano, but still—”

“I can’t,” I say quickly. “I have to be to the airport in four hours.”

My words settle between us. My head spoke them faster than my heart could scream stop.

He’s still as stone behind me, his body tense. After a minute, he lets out a heavy sigh, his body curling around me. “Stay.”

I close my eyes tight, heart racing.

“Stay the week with me,” he says, kissing my shoulder again, his warm breath fanning over my skin. “Change your flight. I’ll pay for it. The hotel is already reserved. I’ll cover everything. Just—don’t leave yet.”

I shake my head, my body at war with itself. “I can’t stay. I’ve got a job and a life and…obligations.”

Yeah, like the obligation to let Doctor Halla know I’m a failure and that I won’t be his next sports medicine rising star. He was planning on me winning the fellowship, so he was already interviewing candidates to take over my residency position. Now I get to crawl back to Cincinnati and beg him not to give my spot away.

“Well…then stay one more day,” he urges, turning me in his arms. He puts a firm hand under my chin, tipping my face up. “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want this to end so soon. Give me one more day.”

Why does it feel like my heart is breaking? I wrap my hand gently around his wrist. “Listen, my life right now is…chaotic. I got some really shitty news today about a job, and I honestly don’t know what comes next. I have to go home. I have to deal with this, and I can’t—”

I go quiet. I can’t possibly let him know what I’m really thinking right now. The truth is almost too painful for me to admit to myself.

I can’t have one more person in the audience watching me fail.

He sighs and I know he’s not going to fight me leaving. He’s too sweet for that…but that doesn’t mean he won’t still fight.

As if we’re sharing a wavelength, he leans down, brushing his lips against mine. “What we have here is magnetic. I know you feel it too. And I can’t let you just walk away. Give me your name.”

I shake my head, lips pursed. It’s easier this way. I won’t get hurt this way. “My name is Mystery Girl.”

He groans, kissing me for real, his lips working feverishly against mine. I let him lead, loving the taste of him. He breaks the kiss, sucking in air. “Give me your number, baby. Please—”

I silence him with my own kiss, my arms wrapping around his neck. He grunts in frustration, but kisses me back, pouring his need into me. I feel him hardening in his briefs. I want more of him, and I don’t just mean sex. One more day wouldn’t be enough. One week wouldn’t be enough. I know with a surety marrow-deep that he’s an addiction I’d never be able to break.

But I wasn’t lying to him before. My life is in utter shambles. I can’t start something new with a guy. I have to go home and pick up the pieces. I have to figure out if I even have a job come next week. For all I know, Doctor Halla already found my perfect replacement.

He breaks our kiss with another groan of frustration. “I’m goin’ for broke here, gorgeous. Just give me your state of residence. I can work with that.”

I laugh. I can’t help myself. He’s just so genuine. He wants me, and he won’t bother trying to hide it. But I’m not going to break. I can’t. And I’m a zodiac girl, remember? My Mystery Boy is a Taurus through and through. He’s attracted to all things love and sex. He’s going to be bull-headed about this to the bitter end.

Unluckily for my sweet Taurus, I’m a double Cancer. I know when to draw a line in the sand, and it doesn’t get crossed. It’s time to retreat back in my shell. I might be crushed on the inside, but I won’t let him see it. Whatever this is between us, he’s not going to be the one to walk away first. It has to be me.

But I still have four hours.

I wrap myself around him, desperate to stay lost in his scent. “Please—”

“What do you need, baby?” he pants, our warm breath passing between our open mouths. “I’ll give you anything. Say it, and it’s yours.”

I whimper. “Just make it all stop. Be here with me.”

“I’m right here,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Be with me. Give yourself to me. Take everything.” I feel like I can’t catch my breath. This is taking all the energy I have left. My heart is breaking.

“Okay, baby,” he soothes. “Okay. Here, turn around.”

I’m trembling in his arms as he turns me. He takes my hands and lifts them, pressing them palm-flat against the window. He’s pressed in right behind me, his hands trailing down my arms, down my ribs, to settle at my hips. He kisses a line across my shoulder before I feel his voice in my ear.

“Look out the window, baby girl. Keep your eyes open. Seattle is our place. Here in this room, in this city, nothing can keep us apart.”

I let his words wash over me, warming me from the inside out as I look out at the blinking city lights.

His hands are roving, warming me up. “You’re mine. My dream girl. My perfect mystery. Say it.”

My hands are cold against the glass. It grounds me. I’m at a crossroads in life and in fact. The heat of his arms and the cold of the city. One door closes and another opens.

“Say it,” he growls, his cock notching at my entrance.

I tip my head back with a desperate sigh, my eyes locked on the shape of the Seattle skyline and I sink my hips back against him, burying him inside me to the hilt. “I’m yours. Only yours. Nothing can keep us apart.”