Page 7 of Sex Love Repeat

I didn’t notice the heated floors or the custom blinds or the six thousand dollar rug. I only noticed the heat of our bodies, the perfect fit, the exact blend of control and fury that took my body from above, from behind, and from below.

Forty-five minutes after setting foot in his condo, he straddled me. Breathing hard, his face tight in concentration, his hands running over the skin of my br**sts, he leant forward and kissing me, pushing away my hands when I reached for him. His c**k bobbed between us, brushing my stomach, a plastic slap of latex against my skin. “Don’t.” he groaned. “I’m too close. Give me a moment.”

But I wanted it, was high on orgasm and his f**ks, and anxious to see the result of our work. I smiled at him, reaching down with a firm hand and sliding the condom off, his slick head exposed, my hand working up and down and I looked up into his face.

He squeezed his eyes tight, his breath coming out in short spurts. “Madison, I can’t, you’re-“ He bucked his hips, groaning my name, my hand hard and fast on his shaft, watching in excitement as he came, multiple shots on my chest, his head dropping back as he finished, a long sigh coming out. He collapsed to the side, his limbs heavy on the bed, his eyes closed, a smile on his face.

I rolled, unmindful of the sheets, resting my head on his bicep, closing my eyes and relaxing, my body relaxed from an hour of orgasms and pounding.

Minutes passed, no sound other than our breaths and the whip of the fan, no need to speak, no need for compliments or unnecessary conversation.

Then he moved, rolling to his side, our faces close, his eyes studying mine. “How are you single?”

I looked into his eyes, at the bright blue sparks of his pupils. “I don’t need a boyfriend.”

“Women rarely need the things they want.” He smiled, running a free hand gently along the inside of my arm.

“I’m not exactly normal,” I offered. His mouth curved at the words, light entering them, a sarcastic response at the tip of his tongue. I waved his comeback off. “I don’t mean that in a good way. You and I? Having sex so quickly? It wasn’t because I was blown away by your penthouse or your gorgeous blue eyes. It was sex, great sex, but just for pleasure. What we just did...I’m not expecting anything from you because of it. I don’t need to make ‘this’ anything more than what it is right now.”

He frowned. “So you want to use me... using me. For sex.”

I laughed. “Oh please, it’s every man’s perfect scenario. Don’t give me that guilt trip.”

His frown twitched slightly at the corners. “And what if I want more?”

“I don’t think you have time for more.”

I knew, from the start, what I was signing up for. And I made sure he knew the same. That I was a sexual creature, who wouldn’t stand by and wait to be beckoned. I lived my normal life, with bits of Stewart’s c**k sprinkled in when he had time. And that lasted for a bit, till he started getting attached and decided he didn’t want me screwing strangers any more.


“I want you to find a boyfriend.” Stewart said gruffly, while I was pinned against the wall of his office, his rigid c**k inside of me. It was nine o’clock on a Tuesday night, everyone with any sanity gone, a uniformed cleaner already sticking his head in and catching us in the act.


He thrust upward, making me moan, pulling my hips downward slightly, till the depth made me ache. “A boyfriend. Someone to f**k you when I am busy, someone who can take you on dates, and rub your feet, and listen to you talk about your day.”

“I f**k when you’re busy.” The statement caused his eyes to darken, his thrusts to increase in force and speed.

He knew this. Knew I wasn’t exclusively his. It was a choice he made, his addiction to success and files and stock prices too time consuming to allow for more than a night or two a week of f**ktime. And our sessions were often like this – squeezed in at a time when stress lines his face, and meetings or emails are only a step or two away.

“I don’t like you f**king a bunch of strangers. It’s not safe. And you deserve more than that.”

I wished he would stop talking, the words causing his movement to stop, his serious expression putting a damper on my arousal. “Let’s talk about it later.”

He continued on, ignoring my suggestion. “You deserve someone who will be there for you everyday. Who will rub your feet and take you to dinner, and take you to the doctor when you’re sick.”

“So you want me to ditch you for someone with more time?”

He growled, gripping my skin and lifting me, my arms wrapping around his neck for security, as he carried me across the room and deposited me on his desk. “Fuck no. I will never allow someone to take you from me.” He ran his hands possessively down my front, pulling up my tank top and caressing the bare br**sts beneath, his hands firm and strong, cupping my br**sts like he owned them, dropping his face down and taking one in his mouth. “But I will lose you soon enough to someone who can shower you with time and affection. You need an everyday man to satisfy those needs.” He glanced up as his pace resumed, that dark glitter of intensity that I loved returning to his eyes. “But I will always own your heart. And this man would be second to me in your heart.”

I smiled, wrapping my legs around his hips and squeezing. “You can’t control my heart, Stewart.”

He lowered himself to me, bending over the desk as he f**ked me, deep, possessive f**ks that shot drugged pleasure through me with each stroke. Gripping my arms and pinning them to the desk, he took a long, deep taste of my mouth before breaking away and staring into my eyes. “I can sure as hell try.”

I closed my eyes, gripping his hips, and let him f**k me through another two orgasms before he came, in my mouth, his eyes glued to mine as he pumped himself onto my tongue. I thought he would drop the ‘boyfriend’ talk, thought that it was mid-sex ridiculousness that would never be spoke of again. But he pressed the issue, revisiting the topic enough times that I realized his sincerity. He worried about me. My safety, my happiness. Worried about losing me due to lack of attention. He wanted me to have a steady f**k, wanted someone to make up for the slack he couldn’t provide. He wanted someone safe, friendly. Someone I wouldn’t leave him for, but that would make me happy. He wanted Paul, I just hadn’t found him yet.

So I continued f**king strangers, my libido as aggressive as ever. And then, on that day in Santa Monica, I met Paul. I f**ked Paul. And he was different. Paul was, as he stared into my eyes and f**ked me in the surf, someone Stewart would approve of.