With only the glow of Las Vegas illuminating our lovemaking, I pushed myself inside of her, letting out a small huff as her heat surrounded me. She worked herself backwards, pushing to get as close to me as she could. I started out at a calm pace, sliding myself back, almost to the point of dropping out, and then doing a long stroke back in. Sascha moaned, and myself along with her. She turned her head and kissed me again, slipping her tongue between my lips. I kept my pace slow and intense, and Sascha reached her arms behind herself to grab my head. She gripped my hair between her hands, as her moans got louder.
I felt as she started to shudder around me, an orgasm gripping her body. I pulled out of her, and carefully turned her to face me. I backed her up against the window again and kicked my pants off and away entirely. I crouched down until I could face her pussy and stuck my tongue out and began to lick. Sascha’s hands flew to the back of my head and massaged my hair as I licked her, tasting the juices from her orgasm still lingering. She whined as I worked, writhing in response to my movements. I continued to lick and suck, alternating between poking my tongue in and out of her entrance and licking her clit. I waited until I could feel her gyrations worsening, right as it seemed like she may come again, I stopped.
“No, Ryland, please!” Sascha moaned.
I stood up, placed my hands on either side of her neck and dragged her into a passionate kiss. I was thrilled when I felt her hands grab my cock and guide me back to push inside her. I grabbed under one of her knees and pushed it up, keeping my lips fastened to hers. I thrust into her, after my own goal now. I continued to opt for full, but slower strokes to completely feel everything as our bodies moved together.
She wrapped her arms around my shoulders, gripping onto me as I moved in and out of her, and soon, I started to grunt. I could feel an orgasm galloping towards me. She let out a scream of pleasure as I pulled out of her just as my seed came spurting forth. We continued to hold onto each other, breathing in the afterglow.
Sascha started to giggle. “That was amazing.”
I kissed her, a smile of my own. “Glad I could be of service.”
Once I was back home after spending the night with Ryland, I couldn’t seem to get my mind straight. In less than a week, I’d fucked both of my bosses. What the hell was I thinking? They were my bosses. Was I really doing this? My mind started to compare Ian and Ryland’s bedroom styles. They were both amazing at it, but Ian was more rough and tough, while Ryland was more soft, but intense. Ian was all right in the moment, while I couldn’t shake the feeling that Ryland had been working on seducing me from the second he picked me up. It made me wonder how things were going to go with Carson.
Monday came along with its own set of dread. I felt conflicted about this bizarre arrangement when it first began, but now after being out with Ian and Ryland, I feel even more conflicted. Was it fair to confuse my mind with a third person, let alone someone like Carson with very little patience?
We went directly from work, as opposed to him picking me up at home. I was originally concerned about what I would wear that would satisfy both work professionalism and date attire, but Carson assured me that, as long as I was comfortable, I’d be fine. Still, a date was a date, and I decided to go with a pair of dressier pants, some stiletto heels, and a blouse. When Carson saw me, he asked with concern if it was what I was wearing that evening. When I confirmed that I was, he gave me a curt snicker and continued on his way. It became obvious why he was so amused when we got to our destination.
We went to a less-than-reputable looking part of town and Carson held open the most run down doors for me. Nervous, I entered, but was surprised by what I found on the inside. It was a warehouse that had modern lights hanging from the ceiling. The huge, open space had a collection of mini-bars dotted around in a few rows and columns. Some of them had pairs of people behind them, others didn’t. There was some contemporary pop music thumping through the space and everyone was chattering and laughing.
“What is this?” I asked Carson.
He, who was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a jacket over it, placed his hand on the small of my back and led me forward. “It’s a mixology class.”