I roll her over. "Let me look at this firm little ass of yours." I give it a slap. Her ass is all toned muscle, like her thighs. So spankable.
I prod her legs apart and rub her pussy with my fingers. I let my thumb quest again for her anus.
She squeezes her butt again.
"I know, baby. You're an anal virgin, aren't you?"
She doesn't answer, but I'm sure she is.
"I'd love to take this ass. I'll bet it's so fucking tight. But I'm not going to do it now. We'll save that for when you've been naughty and need another spanking."
Her bottom clenches again and I chuckle.
But I shouldn't have mentioned what happened back at the club, because it must remind her of how she felt after. I think I made her feel cheap and used-something I never wanted to do.
She rolls over and sits up, pulling the bedspread over her waist. "I, um… I don't know if this is a good idea." Her eyes travel down to the bulge in my jeans and guilt flits across her face.
I adjust my cock. Down, boy. "No, you're right."
I can't be in a relationship with this girl, and she deserves so much more than a one night stand.
I back up. "I'll just, ah… You know, I should probably go. I'm gonna take your car to my friend Tank's shop. We'll get it all fixed for you at my expense, okay? The accident was my fault."
She stares at me with those guileless blue eyes, so wide and alert, it's all I can do not to go back to her and kiss her senseless.
"Can you Uber until I get it back to you? I promise I'll make it happen fast."
"Um, yeah. Okay. Thanks."
"It's the least I can do. What's your phone number?"
I enter her number into my phone and remember I still have her phone in my back pocket. I toss it to her. "Get some sleep. I'll text you with an update on the car." After I stow my phone, I shove my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her, settling instead for dropping a kiss on the top of her head.
"Goodnight, angel."
"'Night." Her voice is soft and sweet and that single syllable makes me want to go right back and worship between her legs again, but I force myself to leave.
Dammit. I fucked up again. I hope she doesn't hate me for this.
Angelina
I wake up at noon and pad to the bathroom on auto-pilot. Then I see the huge black, blood-crusted t-shirt on my floor and it all comes flooding back.
Jared and his super strength. His super healing abilities.
What the hell? Was I on drugs? I accepted his explanation so easily last night, but in the light of day, it sounds insane.
Jared, the superhero.
Except he does have all the qualities of a superhero, doesn't he? Hero. Strong. Protective. Giving.
Oh boy did he give last night.
And I gave absolutely nothing in return.
Because I really don't want to be another notch on his bedpost, or whatever the dumb cliche is. Jared is a player, through and through.
But then again, I already went pretty far with him. What's the difference between having sex and what we did, really? Would it have been so horrible for him to get off, too? Considering I did, twice. I could've at least blown him. I'll bet his cock is as impressive as that hard body of his...
Oh God, what am I even thinking?
I need to erase this man from my mind. He may be hot, charming and endowed with superhero powers, but-
No, really. Why am I trying to erase him? He's better than a movie hero. I carry his bloodstained shirt to my laundry closet and toss it in the washer. The least I can do is wash his clothes for him.
That brings up all kinds of lurid images of domestic servitude. Me, in a fifties housewife outfit (nothing but an apron and panties and a pair of red heels, of course) waiting for him with dinner when he gets home.
Me, naked except for a pair of pearls and a raincoat, surprising him at work…
Except he works at a bar. And that just fizzled my fantasy completely.
No, this guy isn't husband material. Or even boyfriend material. He's a hot finger-bang at a nightclub. A ride home after a car crash.
The guy who fixes your car for free.
Okay, that's beyond attractive to me.
Because, seriously, my dad would've shit when he found out about the crash. He would've lectured me on and on about insurance rates going up and about how irresponsible I am driving home at three in the morning from a nightclub.
Of course, I'll probably still have to tell him about the crash tonight. My parents live here in Tucson and insist on Sunday dinners. Sometimes I really wish the best dance program in the country wasn't at the university in my hometown.
I smirk, imagining bringing someone like Jared over to meet my parents. His appearance alone would shock their Foothills sensibilities to the core.
They keep dropping hints about getting me to meet some local multi-millionaire software mogul.
Not. Interested.
And it's only because my dad wants the guy to acquire his small niche software company. Sure, Dad, pimp your daughter out for your own gain. These are definitely still medieval times. Grrr.
I start the washing machine and check my phone.
Jared's already texted. Your car is in good hands. I'll have it back to you tomorrow, and you'll never know the difference.
And my resistance melts a little more.
I text back, Thank you. What about your motorcycle? Do you need me to pay for the repairs?
Not that I have any money, but I should offer. I will figure it out, if I need to. Maybe I can pick up another teaching gig at a local dance studio.