His for One Night (3 page)

“Good girl,” he said.  Maybe the two simple words of praise were slightly condescending, but I didn’t mind.  All I cared about was doing what Hayden wanted.  I didn’t know why, but I found myself desperate for his approval.  And it seemed I had it.

The next thing I knew, Hayden was on top of me.  He straddled my body and tore off my dress, ripping the silky fabric in the process.  It was a flattering knee-length cocktail gown – or at least it had been before he destroyed it in his haste to undress me.  When he found me braless beneath it, he let out a grunt of approval and immediately began to lick my nipples until they hardened.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured. 
After a little rustling, he slid his pants off and showed me his very hard – and very large – cock.  “This,” he said, “is what you do to me.  You’re killing me, Daniella.  I have to have you.  If we had more time I’d have you a thousand times, in ways you can’t even imagine.”

His words ignited a fire in me.  I wrapped my arms around his neck and spread my legs wide so he could position his body between them.  “Take me,” I whispered, half-inviting and half-begging. 

“There are condoms on the nightstand,” he told me.  Apparently he was too preoccupied with my hard, pink nipples to get them himself.  I didn’t mind.  The way his fingers flicked expertly at the erect nubs was driving me crazy with desire.  I didn’t want him to stop playing with me.  I didn’t want this night to end. 

I grabbed a condom but my hands were shaking too much to get the wrapper open.  He took it from me and captured my wrist in his hand, kissing my fingertips.  “Are you sure about this?” he asked
when he saw the way I trembled like a leaf, offering me an out. 

Even tho
ugh what I was doing was crazy, I wasn’t having second thoughts.  And my body was screaming for release despite having already had one very satisfying orgasm.  I knew if I backed out now, I’d regret it forever.  Sometimes, I decided, being a little impulsive wasn’t such a bad thing.  At least I felt alive. 

“I’m sure,” I told him firmly. 

“Good.” 

He expertly
put the condom on and then looked at me like he wanted to consume me.  His arms on either side of me, he knelt between my thighs looking down at me lustfully.  Then he positioned the tip of his thick cock against my entrance and began to push inwards with slow, controlled movements.

I was still wet – very wet –
but Hayden’s cock was bigger than anything I’d ever taken before.  Sure, I’d masturbated before plenty of times, but only by inserting a couple of fingers.  This was completely different.  Despite my immense desire, my body tensed up in fear and made the sexy, well-endowed man’s entry painful.

I winced, reflexively biting my lower lip as I felt myself being stretched.

Hayden stopped immediately the second I expressed discomfort.  Apparently he’d been watching my face carefully to ensure I was okay.  He stroked my hair and murmured sweet things in my ear until I calmed down.  When he felt my body relax, he resumed the task at hand and slid his cock deeper inside me.

He’d warned me
that he wasn’t a gentleman in the bedroom, but I didn’t see it.  Although he’d been a stranger only hours earlier, Hayden treated me like I’d expect a lover to.  He was incredibly patient and understanding, pausing several times to reassure me.  Then he began to kiss me.  Holding his cock still inside me, he reached down with one hand and began to stroke my clit with his thumb. 

The slow, teasing circles he drew a
cross the tender button were like an aphrodisiac and I quickly forgot about my fear.  In fact, I began to gyrate beneath him, my body instinctively seeking out his penetration.  Moments later when I realized Hayden’s huge erection was buried deep inside me, I was shocked.  I’d taken the whole thing without even realizing it!

It felt good…very good.

I moaned and wrapped my legs around his waist.  My arms still encircled his neck.  I clung to him as he began to move his thickness in and out of me slowly, giving me time to get used to the intrusion.  I could feel my body stretching to adjust to his girth.  The feeling of fullness was incredible. 

He played with my clit the entire time he
rocked on top of me and in some ways, it seemed like he was every bit as interested in my pleasure as his.

I got the sense that he wasn’t trying to get me off for my own benefit.  The more labored Hayden’s breathing became and the more frantic his thrusts grew the harder and faster he rubbed my engorged nub.  It seemed like he wanted to make me cum for his own
gratification. 

And I did.

The second orgasm wasn’t quite as intense as the first, but it was drawn out for much longer.  Every time I thought I was finished, Hayden would shift his cock inside me and set off another explosion.  By the time I finally settled down, he was on the verge of his own climax.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he growled as he pumped in and out of me.  Exhausted and deeply satisfied, I still managed to move my hips in time with his.  He’d given me such
extreme pleasure that I very much wanted to reciprocate. 

When Hayden let out a primal, animalistic grunt and rammed his throbbing erection into me one last time, I felt a peculiar sense of pride. 
I’d
done that. 
I’d
gotten him off.  I hadn’t expected it to feel empowering, but it kind of was.

After the sex, I laid there in bed for a few minute
s catching my breath and regrouping.  I wasn’t a virgin anymore.  In a strange way, I felt relieved to have gotten my first time out of the way.  It had been quite the experience and I was sorry it was over – but it was.  As they say, all good things must come to an end.  I’ve always hated that saying.

When I’d finally regained my energy, I sat up.  “I should go,” I said, remembering Hayden’s groundrules. 
I didn’t want to be
that
girl, the one who can’t take a hint, hangs around and overstays her welcome. 

He caught my wrist and gently pulled me back down to him.  “Stay
.  Please.” 

Confused but pleased, I obliged.

I awoke the next morning feeling like a herd of elephants had decided to stampede through my head.  Wincing, I opened one eye and found I wasn’t in my own bed.  All of a sudden last night’s adventure came flooding back in waves.  I blushed when I remembered the things Hayden had done to my body and the way he’d made me lose control for him. 

Hayden!
  I sat up with a start and then immediately clutched my head.

“Good morning,”
he said with a smile.  Already dressed in yet another designer suit, he was sitting in an armchair by the window reading a newspaper.  When he saw that I was awake he folded it neatly before standing up.  “I ordered us some room service,” he said, carrying a tray over and setting it on the middle of the bed as I clutched the luxurious sheets to my naked body.

I looked down and saw freshly squeezed orange juice, a giant stack of pancakes with raspberries and whipped cream on top and several strips of delicious-smelling bacon.  “I didn’t mean to stay
all night,” I told Hayden as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said dismissively, picking up a strip of crispy bacon and holding it to my lips in offering.  “Eat.”

It was a new experience, being handfed breakfast in bed by someone I barely knew.  Well, in some ways I barely knew him.  In other ways, it appeared I’d become intimately acquainted with him.  In any event, the bacon was mouth-wateringly good and the pancakes were even better.  Hayden seemed to have ordered the perfect hangover food because by the time we finished eating I was feeling much better.

“I, uh…do you mind if I take a shower?” I asked, feeling a bit sheepish. 
Maybe that was against protocol.  I wasn’t sure how I was expected to act The Morning After.  All I knew was that if I was going to take the walk of shame, leaving the hotel in a torn black cocktail dress that made what I’d done last night blatantly obvious, then I at least wanted to be freshly showered. 

“Not at all,” Hayden replied.  “
Take your time and help yourself to anything you find in there.”

“Okay, thanks.” 
Wrapping the sheet around myself like an improvised long, flowing dress, I picked my black dress up off the floor and made my way into the spacious bathroom, shutting the door behind me. 

I was pleased to find there was quite the array of bath products to choose from:  a large wicker basket on the counter contained countless miniature bottles of sweet smelling shampoos, conditioners and body scrubs. 
It felt like I was at a spa. 

A short while later I emerged from the bathroom feeling refreshed and rejuvenated.  The bath products I’d used had done wonderful things to my skin, leaving it smooth and soft.  My damp hair smelled so amazing I had to resist the urge to chew on it – somehow I didn’t think it would taste nearly as good as it smelled.

Hayden was seated on the bed with a small laptop balanced on his knee.  When he saw me, he set it aside and stood up.  “Did you find everything you need?”

“Yes, thank you,” I replied.  I looked at the door.  “I should be going.”

“Oh, okay.”  The words were devoid of any enthusiasm.  It seemed he was reluctant for me to go.  Or maybe I was projecting my own feelings onto him.

He followed me to the door to see me out.  I
opened it and then paused, turning to face him.  “It was nice meeting you,” I said earnestly, looking up at him.  “I hope you enjoy the rest of your time here –”

I didn’t get the chance to finish my sentence. 
The moment we made eye contact, we both crumbled.  The sexual longing was too great and our close physical proximity there in the entryway was simply too much to bear.  We fell into each other’s arms.

We kissed each other feverishly, like our lives depended on it. 
Then Hayden picked me up like I weighed nothing at all and carried me back to the bed where, only hours earlier, I’d had the first sexual experience of my life.  It seemed I was about to get an encore.

Hayden threw me down on the bed the way one might expect a caveman to take his woman.  T
hat primal gleam was back in his…the way he looked at me made me melt inside.  He could make me squirm with just one look.  I could barely stand the short wait as he put on a condom because I was so wound up and desperate for relief. 

And then he was on top of me, and inside me. 

He wasn’t as gentle this time, but I didn’t mind.  I didn’t want gentle.  I wanted the sex to be raw and passionate and all-consuming.  And it was.  As Hayden worked his hard, throbbing cock into my tight pussy, I moaned and clutched at his hair.  Even if I were to wake up to this every day for the rest of my life, it wouldn’t be enough. 

“You’re irresistible,” he growled in my ear as he rammed his length into me over and over again.
  He grabbed my wrists then and pinned me to the bed as he fucked me, rendering me helpless.  There was something about that unexpected display of dominance that excited me terribly.

“Are you going to cum for me?” he teased, making sure his shaft dragged across my tender clit with every thrust.  Even though it was phrased as a question, I knew it was really an order.  And there was nothing I could do but give Hayden what he wanted.  I didn’t know how a man was capable of igniting such desire within me, but he did exactly that.

Pinned to the bed beneath Hayden, I couldn’t even answer him.  I was too caught up in an intense, bittersweet orgasm that quite literally took my breath away.  By the time the sex was over, I was sobbing.

“Are you alright?” Hayden asked, letting me up.  “Did I
hurt you?” he asked, inspecting my wrists to make sure I wasn’t injured.

I shook my head.  “I liked it,” I assured him.  “I’m just…overwhelmed.” 

He kissed me deeply, his hands in my hair.  “I like overwhelming you,” he told me with a wink.  Then his phone rang, interrupting the moment of intimacy.  Scowling, he picked it up from the nightstand.  “I’m sorry Daniella, but I have to take this.”

Wordlessly I nodded and prepared to let myself out. 
I didn’t want the encounter to end.  As soon as it did, I knew I’d have to go, and that would be that.  I’d never see Hayden again and I’d never feel the strength of his arms or hear his groans of lust as he used my body for his pleasure. 

Why was I acting like leaving was a surprise?  This was the nature of one-night-stands:  have sex and walk away.
  Just walk away, Daniella.

I’d taken a risk and done something daring.  For one night, I’d acted like someone I wasn’t and it had been exciting and satisfying and wonderful.  But now it was time to return to the quiet, unremarkable life I’d carved out for myself. 

Before, I hadn’t thought there was anything wrong with quiet and unremarkable, but now…  Well, it didn’t matter.  It was time to return to reality, whether I liked it or not.

___

It was no wonder my social life was pretty much non-existent.  I didn’t even get the weekends to myself – I taught an 11am Sociology class on Saturdays.  Dutifully, I dragged myself to the college and prepared to spend the next couple of hours talking to a lecture hall full of indifferent eighteen and nineteen year olds with glazed-over eyes.

What I hadn’t been counting on was seeing Mark there
, but in he walked along with the students who filed in looking annoyed to be spending their Saturday at school.  He didn’t normally teach on Saturdays, I thought to myself as I went out of my way to avoid him before class started.  I snuck a peek and saw he’d taken a seat at the back of the class.

Then I remembered.  It was that time of
semester we all hated:  peer evaluations.

The college had a requirement that once a semester,
instructors were supposed to evaluate one another.  That consisted of attending a colleague’s class, quietly observing and then filling out a detailed questionnaire about the peer’s teaching strengths and weaknesses.  In the past, those questionnaires had proven to be quite important when it came to things like contract renewals and promotions.

Lecturers were matched up by way of a draw.  I knew of a few married couples in other departments and was well aware of the rule that they weren’t permitted to evaluate one another due to potential bias.  But Mark and I had gone to great lengths to keep our relationship under wraps, so
of course there had been no objection to him evaluating me.

It was just my luck that he’d drawn my name.

With a sigh, I ordered myself to focus and just try to get through the lecture.

“Quiet!  Everyone, eyes to the front of the classroom please!” I called out when the
little hand on the clock reached 11am, snapping my fingers to get my students’ attention.  Reluctantly, they stopped chatting and turned to stare blankly at me. 

“I hope everyone had a good weekend,” I told them.  “I also hope you found some time to read chapters eight through twelve, as per your syllabus,” I added with a wry grin.  I knew very well that many of them hadn’t bothered – frat parties and the like took priority over readings. 

In some ways, I couldn’t blame them.  Looking back, I sometimes wished I’d spent less time studying and more time socializing.  Coulda woulda shoulda, huh?

Very much aware that Mark was seated at the back of my classroom staring at me, I took a moment to flip through my notes and calm my nerves.  “So as per the syllabus,” I announced
as I located the spot where we’d left off last week, “today’s lecture will focus on…”

I cringed when I saw what was on the agenda.  “The virgin-whore complex and how it has manifested itself in popular media throughout history.” 
Great, I really wanted to discuss
that
in Mark’s presence.  Suddenly my mouth felt dry.  “First of all, can someone please refresh our collective memory and tell us what the virgin-whore complex is?”

I waited and as I’d expected, no one volunteered an answer. 
I hated when that happened.  I was certain at least a few of my students knew, yet they all apparently thought they were too cool to participate in class discussion.  It drove me batty – and made me feel like an idiot as I stood up there expectantly while they all stared back at me in silent defiance.  Would it really kill someone to answer?

Then to my horror, Mark raised his hand.

“Uh, class, we have a special guest joining us today.  This is Mark Warren,” I said, gesturing to the back of the lecture hall.  “For those of you who don’t know, he teaches the Tuesday afternoon Introduction to Sociology class.  He’s going to be sitting in with us today.” 

I paused and then, feeling stupid, called on him.  “
Did you want to say something?”  Ugh, looking at him was painful after being humiliated by him last night.  I hated that now I was forced to acknowledge his presence. 

He s
neered.  “Since your students seem to have forgotten the definition of the virgin-whore complex, I thought I’d better step in and help out.”  Addressing the rest of the room, he explained, “It’s the tendency to categorize a woman as either being virginal and pure or else sexually promiscuous and, for a lack of a better term, slutty.  Sometimes it’s referred to as the Madonna-whore dichotomy.  That’s ‘Madonna’ as in the Virgin Mary,” Mark added with a wink, “not anyone else you may have been thinking of.”

A chorus of giggles sounded throughout the classroom.  I scowled.  Mark had my
students fully engaged – why?  I was every bit as good an instructor as he was…better, even.  But one lame joke from a guy who wore jeans to work to show how “cool” he was and he had the students eating out of the palm of his hand.  It was infuriating.

I tapped my pen against the podium to try to get my students’ attention. 
It was hilariously ineffective so I raised my voice to speak overtop of the whispers.  “Can anyone give me some examples of the virgin-whore complex from eras gone by?” I asked.  When silence greeted me, I prompted, “How about in the present day, then?  …Anyone?”

Mark didn’t bother to raise his hand this time.  Apparently he didn’t think he needed my permission to speak.  His blatant disregard for my authority in the classroom was irritating.  I
half-expected that kind of behavior from my young, immature students but to get it from a colleague who knew better was a slap in the face.

He stood up and basically hijacked my class.  “Here’s another way to think of it,” he told my students, all of whom had turned around in the
ir seats to give him their full, unwavering attention.  “Say your buddy is dating a girl who won’t put out.  What label would you give her?”

“Frigid?” one student guessed.

“Prude?” another one suggested.

“Yes, good…those are both good ideas,” Mark said with a pointed look in my direction.  “And what about a woman who puts out on the first date?” he continued, eager to make his point.  “What might you call her?”

“A slut!” someone called out.

“A whore!” another voice chimed in. 

My face reddened as I recalled what I’d done the previous night…and again upon waking.  Mark had no way of knowing, of course, but it didn’t matter.  I couldn’t shake the feeling that some of his comments – particularly the ones about virgins – were directed at me.  I wasn’t about to let him get the best of me…and I didn’t like the direction he was steering the discussion.