The Diary of Brad De Luca Read Free Page A

bedroom. He woke five hours later with a headache and sheet imprints on his face. He rolled over, rubbing his face, and sat up, wincing at bright light that poured through the windows.
     
    Jacking off helped, his hand stroking his cock under the hot spray of the shower. He directed his thoughts to Bethany, his latest fuck, thinking about her soft breasts against his body, the slap of them when she rode him to completion. He avoided any thought of the brunette one room over, gritting his teeth as he came, the evidence of his satisfaction washed down the stone walls with the spray of water.
     
    He was proud of himself, of his control, his resolution fully in tact. He walked in the bedroom, wearing boxer briefs, and headed to his suitcase. He stopped, just inside the door, his eyes on her, his feet moving and carrying him to the side of the bed, his hand gently lifting the covers slightly until her face was revealed.
     
    Dark hair cradled a sweet face, impossibly perfect in its features, relaxed and angelic in sleep. No hint of her feisty personality shown. In sleep she looked innocent and untouched. He glanced at the clock, his desire to join her in the bed tempting.
     
    He shouldn’t. He should dress and leave her, putting a door or two in between them until she was awake and dressed. But he had never done what he should, the appeal of danger much more interesting. He pulled the sheet back, settling his body over hers, one knee on either side of her body, and leaned forward, pressing his lips to the open skin of her neck. He promised himself that if she stiffened, if she resisted, he would roll off. Stand up. Walk out of this suite and away from this woman.
     
    A moan. The woman moaned, and it was the most carnal sound he had every heard. Her body shifted beneath him, her pelvis lifting up slightly, and he lowered his body to meet it. He moved his lips to her ear, wanting to reassure her. “This isn’t about sex, I promise.”
     
    She giggled, her hands startling him when they touched his thighs, sliding up until they reached the cotton of his underwear and she squeezed, his muscles jumping under her touch. He lifted slightly off of her, taking her touch as permission, and ran a gentle hand down her body, trailing the lines of her bra, her skin soft and smooth beneath his fingers, her breath catching as he slid his hand lower, down the slope of her stomach, before marginally sneaking under the lace hem of her panties.
     
    He should stop. He should slide off of her and curl his body around hers. Turn this situation into a sweet, innocent one. But he couldn’t. For the same reason that he was lying on top of her right now. He. Couldn’t. Stay. Away.
     
    “If this isn’t about sex, what are you doing?” she asked softly, making a sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan.
     
    He moved, shifting his body, feeling the heat of hers as their skin brushed. “It’s about proving you wrong … and pleasing you.” Three nights earlier, at the office, over pizza and sodas, she had confessed to never having experienced an orgasm. That she couldn’t. A ridiculous statement, and one that he intended to disprove.
     
    His fingers continued their sweep, traveling over the tiny material of her panties, running up and down her mound.  She moaned and responded immediately, pulling her smooth legs free and wrapping them around his waist. She arched back, pressing her breasts into him, and he took advantage of the movement, moving his free hand underneath, firmly grabbing her delicious ass, squeezing it hard, and loving the feel of it in his hands. He had been wanting, dreaming, of this ass, of having it in his hands, bent over before him. She gasped, pushing against him, and he released her, sliding his hand up and gripping her long hair, pulling it until her eyes were staring into his.
     
    They caught the morning light, brown embers burning playfully, her mouth curved into a smile, her eyes dancing over his, a challenge