Chapter 3

Dawn

A quarter of a million dollars. I already had it spent. I would put aside 30 percent for taxes. Then I would pay off all my credit cards. After that, I'd buy a certified used truck and pop-up camper and drive cross country. I'd never be homeless again. The fact that I knew fuck-all about RV living bothered me. I was the type who liked to research shit to death before doing something. But the deal was I had to get the heck out by the weekend. I supposed I could rent a hotel room until I found the perfect camper.

The best-kept secret I had from the good townsfolk of Haven was that I lived in my store. That was so against my lease that if the town selectmen ever found out about it, they wouldn’t need to send in guys to lie about me selling drugs to them.

I had always been a bit of a nomad. Even before I got evicted from our apartment, because Jack didn’t pay the rent like he was supposed to, I didn’t like staying in one place for long. This store was the only exception. After college, my parents had kicked me out when they saw my tongue ring. My father offered to pay for the laser surgery to cover my tats. I took the money and put it down on a ten-year lease on the store. Ten years seemed like forever to me. But at the time, they didn’t have the traffic they did now and the landlord had wanted a guaranteed income.

Larry was kicking himself in the ass for that now.

I had tried to get him down to a year and that had been a no go. Three years was also a big old nope. I thought he’d go for five years—take the money and run. But in the end, greed got to him; I had a ten-year lease and paid my rent based on that contract. Oh, he raised it 5 percent every year, because he could. It was spelled out that that was the most he could crank up my rent for the duration of the contract. But I knew the stores that came after me had been paying double what I was paying.

Had been paying.

Lord only knows what they were soaking the new stores for.

I heard scratching at the back door. Glancing quickly to make sure no one was about to come in the front, I hurried into the back room.

The raggedy calico cat that had adopted me glared impatiently.

The plastic container I used as a water dish was full. "It's not dinnertime yet. Go catch a fish."

What was I going to do with her when I left? The new occupants would never feed her or let her sleep in the shop at night. She'd be back on the street.

"You up for a road trip?"

She licked her paw and I dropped a few treats by her.

What was I supposed to do? I didn't have a car. I walked to the bus station after the shop closed every night to give the illusion that I lived somewhere else. I'd go to the Y to work out and shower and maybe grab a bite to eat, or I'd hit the Laundromat if I was feeling frisky. When I came back a few hours later after the entire town rolled up its sidewalks, the cat and I would watch Netflix until lights out. I couldn't take her on the bus with me, not without a carrier, and I didn't think she'd like to be in a cage.

The bells twinkled.

Fuck.

I plastered a smile on my face and hoped it wasn't Rory. It wasn't. It was Chelsea Conner. She and Millie had a lot in common, only Chelsea's husband wasn't dead.

"Can I help you with something?" I asked.

She shook her head and clutched her sweater tighter around her. "Just looking," she whispered.

Easing into my armchair in a corner of the store, I sipped from my mug. The tea was cold, but I didn't care. In another hour or so, Rory would come through that door with a bank check. I really should be researching RVs and plotting a route across the country. I had a wild hair up my ass to visit every state in America and then maybe work my way across Canada.

I'd have to keep all my inventory in storage, though, if I did that. I tallied up a year's storage fee rental in my shopping list of things to buy. It wasn't as if I could use my parents' garage. I hadn't spoken to them in over a year and they only lived about ten minutes from Tantric Books.

Maybe my perfect sister, Stephanie, would store it. Doubtful. Better not to rely on family. They couldn't be trusted. Another customer walked in. I would miss those tinkling bells. They made me feel like I was a part of the community. That happy noise made me feel like people wanted to see me. I didn't recognize this woman, but she hung a basket over her arms and started to fill it. That was the thing about staying open until 8 p.m. There weren’t a lot of other things to do in town at this hour.

Chelsea made herself a cup of coffee from the Keurig machine and stuffed a dollar into the coffee fund jar. She could have gone to the diner or any number of the bars on the wharf, but she was here browsing in the self-improvement section. I stretched up from my seat to go behind the counter when the other shopper came up to the register. She wasn't one of my regulars, but also didn't look to be one of the boating crowd.

"Hi," I said, looking over her purchases. She had a copy of the Kama Sutra, a massage oil sampler pack, some scarves, a book on shibari, and a deck of relationship cards. Someone was in for a fun night.

"Do you have any vibrators?" she asked.

Chelsea's head snapped up and her jaw dropped.

I had a shelf of them at one point, but that had made the town council's collective heads explode. I caught so much shit for it, it wasn't worth the aggravation. Pulling a box out from under the register, I set it on the counter. "If you don't see what you're looking for, I can special order you something."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chelsea sidling closer.

"I'm only here for a few days. These will do." The woman picked up a small bullet-size one and a larger rotating rabbit style.

Chelsea's eyes grew wide.

Wrapping them up in festive tissue paper, I added them to my new customer's shopping bag. It was a great sale. She left smiling. I was left with Chelsea staring into the box like it was full of alien life forms. To be fair, some of them looked a little like that.

"What's this for?" she asked, pointing to one.

"That's a clitoris stimulator." I was hoping she wouldn't ask me what a clitoris was. But luck was on my side because she nodded and put it on the counter.

"What about that one?"

"That's for the G-spot." I took a breath, because I figured I would have to explain it.

To my surprise, she put that one on the counter too and then added a rabbit and a bullet.

"Um," I said.

"They're not all for me."

I didn't need to know that. "Um," I said again.

"I wanted to thank you for having a store like this. My friends and I are too afraid to go into the city and we're too embarrassed to order on the Internet. You know how much Marjorie at the post office gossips, and I don't think I could look Bert in the eye if he handed me a package with this in it."

"The shipments are very discreet,” I said.

She pulled out her wallet and handed me a two hundred-dollar bills. "Not having it on our credit card statements? Priceless."

I rang her up without saying another word. I would have to put in another order.

No, I wouldn't. This was my last night.

The Deloreses wouldn't get their books shipped back when their husbands stole them from them. All my authors wouldn't have a shoreline bookstore to sell their indie-published works. Joan Miller and all the other workshop presenters wouldn't get invited to any of the new stores the town was planning to open. The Millies wouldn't have a place to feel safe and read books that the library didn't carry. My lecture series would have to find another home. And now the Chelseas wouldn't have a sex-toy retailer.

It shouldn't matter. They were all adults. They would find someplace else. They would have had to once my lease was up in five years anyway. But I would have had more time to prepare both them and myself for the move.

Not to mention the damned cat, which didn't even have a name.

A quarter of a million dollars, though.

It was already spent in my mind. I would have a truck, a camper, and enough for gas and food to cross the country—and then what? Start again on the coast in another store? But my customers were here.

"I don't want to start over."

My voice was loud in the empty store and it rattled me. This shop was my home. It was proof that I could survive in this stupid town against my stupid father's expectations. I loved every book, every shelf, and every statue in it. I wasn't ready to go. Not yet. Not even for that crazy amount of money that I would never see again in my lifetime.

Take the money.

Only this time, it was my father's voice.

I had wanted to go into psychology. He wanted me to go into business. The irony of where I ended up didn't escape me. It didn’t take the few undergraduate classes in Psych 101 to know that I had daddy issues. Was I really considering turning down a quarter of a million dollars just to spite him?

No, but if I was being honest, it was a real big checkmark in the pro column.

Bottom line, it felt like a bribe. Probably because it was one. Everyone had their price, and apparently a quarter of a million dollars was mine.

“What will you do when the money’s gone?” I asked aloud.

The store didn’t answer me, but I could feel the anticipation in the air. The store knew I was going to turn down the offer, even if I hadn’t completely convinced myself.

“Where are we going?”

It would have to be somewhere warm, so I wouldn’t freeze to death in the winter living in the camper.

“How are you going to survive until your new shop is established?”

There was the question. It would mean not buying the truck and camper and using that money for rent on a place and the first year’s inventory. Pieces of the jigsaw puzzle started coming together. The buyout was not for me. I didn’t have the financial security to take the risk. Still, it was a better offer than I was going to get in five years.

You’re a fool not to take the money and run.

Hi, Dad.

Rubbing my temples, I thought hard. This decision could not come from a place of fear or vengeance or any other petty nonsense. In five years, my lease would up and I would be put out on the street. Taking the buyout—bribe, my subconscious piped up—I had more starter money than I could ever hope to have.

“That’s it then.” I stood up, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans.

So why did the decision feel so dirty?

“Just afraid of change.”

I looked around the store, wondering how to begin packing up the last five years of my life. I didn’t even have boxes. Or a place to put the boxes, not to mention a way to transport the boxes.

Rolling my head, I cracked my knuckles and went for a pen and paper. First stop tomorrow, the bank to cash the douche’s check. Second stop, U-Haul. I threw the pen down.

“I can’t do this.” My breathing was too fast and I had to sit down in the armchair again. Resentment filled me. I shouldn’t have to do this. The decision also shouldn't be made because some pretty rich boy wrote a big check. This was my shop and my home for the next five years. A lot could happen in that time. I would certainly be better prepared for a move.

“Hell no, I won’t go,” I said, and it became a chant inside of me.

I almost felt sorry for Rory when he walked in at 7:59 p.m. on the dot. He carried a bottle of champagne in one hand and an envelope in the other. I raised my eyebrow when he locked the door behind him and flipped over the closed sign. My body perked up a bit. In another time, this could have led to some hanky-panky. His smile was wide and perfect, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“I brought something to help celebrate.”

“Did you?”

He tossed the envelope onto the counter. Unwrapping the foil on the bottle, he popped the cork, managing not to spill the champagne on the hardwood floor.

Well, there was no sense wasting the champagne. “I’ll get some glasses.”

When my shit got tossed to the curb, most of my plates and cups broke. But I managed to save two wineglasses from the carnage. They’d have to do. Pulling them out of a cabinet in the back room, I washed and dried them, hoping I’d figure out how to tell Rory I had changed my mind.

He poured us both a generous amount of champagne. It was crisp and cold and it went down so easy I had another right away.

“Let’s sit down,” I suggested, and led him toward the couch at the front of the store. The display in the front window partially hid us, but it gave us a nice view of the town square. There wasn’t any reason we couldn’t be civilized.

“Why did you kiss me before?” he asked, running his finger up my arm.

So much for civilized. My nipples puckered from the light caress. Maybe we could fool around a bit and that would take the sting out of my refusal to sellout to him. Oh, who was I kidding? I was looking for an excuse to straddle his thighs and forget all about any of this real estate nonsense.

“I wanted to,” I said, stroking the stubble across his cheek. I didn’t want to get into Millie’s issues with him. It was none of his business.

“After you sign the contract, do you want to go out to dinner?”

Yeah, that was the sticking point. I wasn’t going to sign the contract. But if I told him that, we’d argue, and I didn’t want to fight. I wanted to fuck. I wanted to fuck him in my store and look out into the town square while I was doing it.

The image made me giggle.

“What’s funny?” he asked.

I told him.

He sucked in a deep breath, the lazy attraction in his eyes flaring into need. Yeah, like that.

“Do you always act impulsively?” He caught my fingers and kissed them.

I nodded.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Life’s too short to play bullshit games. I want something, I take it.”

“I’m the same way,” he said.

“Do you want me?” I batted my eyes at him.

He slowly nodded and a thrill of desire coursed through me.

“This is probably a bad fucking idea,” I said.

“The worst,” he agreed.

Scooting closer to him, I met him halfway in the kiss. It was civilized, or at least it started out that way. Our lips touched and slid over each other, getting to know the curves and bumps. He tasted like champagne and I licked him, eager to be inside his mouth again. He deftly plucked my wineglass out of my fingers and put it on the table next to his. Then he rested his hand on my rib cage while our tongues played.

“Fuck,” he breathed, resting his forehead against mine. “I needed this.”

“Me too,” I admitted. “Although I’m not sure I like you.”

“What do you do to guys you like, then?”

“Maybe you’ll find out.” I brought his hand up to my breast.

“I’m not sure I’ll survive.”

“You might not.” I arched into his caress. “You can use both hands if you want.”

“I want.”

We were kissing again. I couldn’t help myself. When he massaged my breasts, I went a little wild and straddled his leg. I was wearing a skirt and I knew he could feel how wet my panties were when I rubbed against his naked leg. There's something to be said about men wearing shorts. I could feel the muscles of his thigh between my own.

Moaning, I kissed him harder. I didn’t think about the contract or that we were probably going to be enemies tomorrow. I needed this escape tonight, and let’s face it: Rory owed me for all the aggravation he had put me through these past few months.

“You’re on fire, sweet thing,” he whispered when we came up for air.

“It’s been awhile and I’ve had a really shitty couple of weeks.”

“It didn’t have to be, if you had just accepted my offer.”

I yanked his hair and forced him to look at me. “I’m trying to get off here. Don’t ruin it.”

“I’m all yours, kitten. Use me.”

My thighs trembled at his husky growl. His hands were on my ass now and his teeth were nipping at my breasts through my T-shirt. Rocking my swollen clit against his leg sent delicious sparks all over. I caught my breath and stared out over his shoulder. A few people sauntered by without a care in the world. If they turned their head they’d see me. My eyes were probably wide and my mouth was open in a silent moan. Shivers overtook my whole body and pleasure burst inside me.

“Coming,” I groaned, throwing my head back, riding the sensation. Fuck, that felt so good. It took the edge off, but I wanted more. I probably shouldn't go for more. This had disaster written all over it. But then again, I was good in train wreck situations.

“Wow,” he said as I drooped a bit.

“Thanks.” I reached over and handed him his champagne.

I could see his cock was stretched against his shorts and felt the heat rising from him. Taking my own glass, I hopped off him, but remained close.

“That was fucking amazing,” he said, running his hand up my thigh.

“I usually scare the fuck out of guys,” I admitted.

“Pussies.”

I laughed, surprised. I was also surprised he wasn’t all over me or demanding that it was his turn to get off. Rory seemed content to stroke my leg, look deep into my eyes, and drink champagne. I could get used to this.

“Think anyone saw us?” he asked.

“At this hour?” I drained my glass and wiggled it.

“Why are you open so late on a weekday then?” He poured me a refill.

“You’d be surprised at the after-dinner crowd I get. There’s not much to do here after five. I was considering having a poetry slam or an open mike night on Thursdays, staying open to eleven.”

Rory frowned. “That wouldn’t have flown.”

I tapped my forehead. “I’m not dumb. I checked my lease and the blue laws. As long as I don’t serve alcohol, I’m fine.”

“The crowd after dark is dangerous.” He topped off his glass.

I laughed at him. “No it’s not. We’re not a busy city. This isn’t Hartford or Bridgeport. The crime rate is almost nonexistent.”

“Because all the stores close at five.”

“You’re living in the past.” I rolled my eyes at him and took a deep drink. Champagne was so good. Why didn't I drink it more often? Probably because I couldn't afford it. Pleasure still hummed through my body. Rory traced circles on my arm with his fingertips and I was content to wait and see when his demands would start. I would enjoy his attentions until then.

“Well, the store that I have planned to replace yours will be locked up tight by sunset. And this window”—he stretched up to tap on the front window—“will be gated.”

“In Haven? What do you plan to put in here, a bank vault?”

He put down his champagne glass and pulled out his phone. He scrolled for a bit and handed it to me.

“Toujours,” he said.

“Sláinte.” I raised my glass and took another sip. “What am I looking at, aside from really ugly clothes?”

“Ugly? That’s a three-time Coty-award-winning designer.”

“Let me guess.” I tossed him back his phone. “That plain beige blouse that I can see through is three hundred dollars.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Seven.”

I shook my head. “You’re a whore.”

His head reared back like I slapped him. Yeah, three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach and a mind-clearing orgasm loosened all of my filters.

“You’re buying me out for a quarter of a million. I’ll bet my last cabala amulet you’re leasing the store to Toujours for at least double that. And then you’re going to make people pay seven hundred dollars for a blouse that will show their nipples?”

His eyes dropped down to my chest and then quickly flashed back up to my eyes. “That’s business, baby.”

“So’s pimpin’.” I drained my glass and stood up. It was going to be easier than I thought to tell him to cram his quarter million dollars up his ass.

“Who are you to call me a whore?”

Oh he did not just go there. Did he?

I whirled to face him, crossing my arms over my chest. “Go on.”

“What?”

“Tell me it’s my purple hair or my tongue ring that make me a whore?”

“I didn’t call you a whore.” He shook his head like he was trying to expel cobwebs.

“Or maybe it’s because I like sex. I like it a lot. I like it dirty and rough. I like to use toys and gadgets. I like to fuck often. And I don’t care who knows it. Does that make me a whore?” I spread my arms wide.

He swallowed hard. “No, I think it makes you the most perfect goddamn woman around here.”

“Because I’m sure you know that a man who admits the same thing is just one of the guys. Or maybe it’s because I sell stuff to women to make them feel good about themselves. Empower them in the bedroom. Why is that so awful? Why is that so fucking threatening?”

“It’s not. It’s actually a turn-on.”

I wasn’t ready to hear him yet. I wasn’t even remotely done. I paced around in front of him. “Who am I to call you a whore? Who the fuck are you? Do you even know? Or is it easier to be what everyone has always expected you to be. A rich boy who can’t see that a whole store of shirts that cost as much as a month’s rent is the height of privilege and elitism.”

Rory snorted. “Where do you live that seven hundred dollars would be a month’s rent?”

I ignored him. “Every damn day since I was in high school I had to hear that if I only stopped dying my hair and took that shit out of my face I could have a normal life. Fuck normal. I don’t want normal. I am me. And that means you and this shitty town have to accept me as I am. Because I’m not changing.”

“Are you talking to me or your father right now?”

Oh, he didn’t know when to shut up, did he?

While I was trying to keep my head from exploding, he finished off his champagne. “Dawn, there’s nothing wrong with making money. If people won’t spend seven hundred dollars on a shirt, I’ll replace the store with something they will spend their money on. But if you think that selling twenty-dollar stroke books and incense is going to ever make you a decent profit, you’re deluded.” He leaned forward. “Look, I admire you. I like your fire and your enthusiasm. This doesn’t have to end in a fight.”

“It kinda feels like it does,” I said. Taking a deep breath to tell him I wasn’t going anywhere, my eyes lit on the green light on the store’s camera. Great. This should be fantastic to watch later.

"You will sell to me because it's the right thing to do for your business. Once you see past all the baggage you've been carrying around since high school, you'll make a sound financial decision. Don't let your pride fuck you over. You don't have to prove shit to anyone. You can laugh at them all the way to the bank and set up shop in a town that puts you in the black every day instead of every summer."

Suddenly my throat closed up. Rory wouldn’t give up. Not if this deal was going to make him a shit ton of cash. I’d have to up my game. He wouldn’t be sending wharf rats to pretend to buy drugs. He’d set an investigator on me. And it wouldn’t be long before they realized that I was living here and they’d have a reason to evict me. I had to get out and get my own apartment. But it was the beginning of the summer season and things were a little tight. I needed to buy myself some time.

“I’m not your enemy, Dawn. I’m certainly not my father or yours. I’m just a businessman. Why don’t I go get another bottle of champagne?”

With a final glance at the camera, I sank to my knees in front of him. Rory snapped back against the couch. A warm coil of desire curled up in my stomach. This was going to be fun. I rested my elbow on his thigh and eased my cheek on my palm and looked up at him. “I don’t think we need another bottle of champagne, do we?” I teased a circle on his inner thigh.

"I'm going to get whiplash from your mood swings," he said.

"You can always leave." I buttoned his shorts and pulled down the zipper.

“What are you doing?” he asked. His voice was rough and growly. It sent tingles down my spine, and I shivered. If he thought I was a whore, I was going to act like one. The joke was on him, though. I liked sex. I liked putting him in this position. And as a bonus—it was going to be filmed.

“I don't want to talk business anymore. How does a blow job sound?”

All the air left his lungs in a rush and I almost laughed at his expression.

“You want to. You know it.”

“Of course I do. Last time I checked, I had a pulse. What the hell brought this on? I thought we were arguing.”

“Emailing, arguing, it’s all foreplay and I’m tired of talking. Aren’t you?” I eased his shorts down past his hips. He let me. His cock was still hard. I tapped the tip of it with my tongue ring.

“Aren’t you worried someone will walk by?” he said through his teeth.

“They can’t see us because of the front window display.”

“Done this before?” he gritted out when I licked around the head.

“It’s not my first rodeo. What about you? First time with a girl on her knees?”

I sucked him deep into my throat and then dragged the bar of my tongue ring up to the top.

“First time it was so easy,” he panted.

“Now I’m easy?” I was amused.

“No. Jesus.” He closed his eyes. “You make me crazy. I’m saying everything all wrong.”

“Yeah, talking isn’t your strong suit. Shut up and let me suck your cock.”

I deep throated him again. Rory groaned and reached for me. I swatted his hands away.

“One other thing,” I said, tapping my tongue ring all over the sides of his cock.

“Anything. Anything,” he muttered.

“You don’t get to hold my head and fuck my face. Not until you get to know me better. And we both know that’s not going to happen. So you can keep your hands on the couch or on my tits, if you prefer.”

I tossed off the T-shirt I was wearing and unclipped my bra.

“I’m dreaming. That’s the only reason for this. Shit, that’s good champagne,” he panted.

Leaning in, I let him play with my nipples until my clit started to throb. “That’s just right,” I said, my breath catching on a moan. It was almost too good.

“Why aren’t they pierced too?” Rory was breathing through his teeth, rolling my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.

I bit my lip to hold back the whimper. “They’re very sensitive. So’s my clit. Sometimes I’ll wear a chain that connects all three. I like to be on top so when you pull on the chain, I go crazy on your cock until I come.”

“Fuck,” he spat out.

Pushing him back to the couch, I resumed sucking him, bobbing my head fast. He tasted good and was so thick I was having a hard time getting a good seal on him. Just when I thought he was close, I pulled away and took him in my hand. I stroked him slow until the glazed look left his eyes. The promise in them almost screwed up my rhythm. My body responded by swaying closer. Just a blow job. Just one for the camera as insurance in case things got ugly. This was nothing more than that. Except I didn't want it to end.

“You’re so beautiful,” Rory panted.

I had to hand it to him. He was making this fun. I was almost as ready to come as he was. It didn’t take much longer. A few more strokes, some more tapping with the bar in my tongue and me humming in pleasure as I licked my way up and down him. His whole body tensed and he tried to contain his roar of pleasure, but it came out in savage grunts that I felt in my clit.

Leaning back on my heels, I gave him a satisfied smirk. I was expecting shock or a sleepy satiated smile. The sheer determination in his eyes shook me as he lifted me up and carried me across the shop.

At first I thought he was going to sit me on the counter. But he switched directions and plunked me down on the armchair. I didn’t even get a word out before he tugged open my thighs and ripped off my panties.

Ripped them off.

Holy shit!

My eyes locked on the camera. This was not part of the plan. Then he dove headfirst into my pussy. His tongue lapped at me and I was already so close.

“Fuck,” I shouted, writhing. I wasn't sure if I was trying to get away from his eager mouth or get closer.

He moaned back and the vibrations curled my toes. Closer. Definitely closer. I arched my entire body for more of his talented mouth.

Smiling for the camera, I lifted my hips. Artfully, this time. The thought that we were making a movie was very arousing. I acted out, grabbing his head with both hands and grinding my pussy against his face. Taking the very thing I had denied him, I fucked his face, all the while my eyes locked on the camera.

“You like this? You like this?” I didn’t recognize my voice, high with excitement.

I was trembling all over. His mouth sucked on my clit and that was it. My whole body went limp. My hips bucked and my hands pulled at my nipples. I was coming so hard it felt like each suck of his mouth was draining me dry.

“Fuck me,” I whispered, looking at the camera. “I need you. Fuck me.” My voice grew louder as he continued his assault on my pussy.

He went back to licking me, which wasn’t enough until he thrust two fingers inside of me.

“More,” I begged, tugging on my breasts. I couldn’t get enough of the roaring pleasure soaking through my skin.

He obliged with another finger and I closed my eyes in bliss. Clamping down on his fingers, I let him fuck me with them until I was spent and whimpering, another orgasm claiming me for the camera.

“Tell me you have condoms in this fucking place,” he growled.

“What color?”

He hauled me up and I guided him behind the counter. Handing him a glow-in-the-dark one, I looked over my shoulder at him. “Hard and fast,” I said.

Bending me over the counter, he kicked my legs wide apart. “You’re under the impression that you’re calling the shots.”

I winked at the camera, even though it was hard to do at this angle.

I cried out when he plunged inside me.

“Yes,” he gritted out between his teeth.

He took me hard and fast, and it was amazing. “Fuck me,” I screamed for the camera, for me, and for him. Rory was relentless, holding my hips to him as he pumped his cock in and out of my willing body. I was losing control over the English language. My hands gripped the counter and my hips tried to match his rhythm. In the end, he had me pinned and I was helpless against the orgasm that came over me.

I almost fainted when even that didn’t slow him down.

“Rory, Rory,” I called out until I was hoarse.

“Yes,” he roared, slamming his body into mine in five hard smacks before holding me close while he came.

“Fuck,” I said in shock, looking at the camera. I was going to make a copy of this one for myself too.

Rory kissed down my back and bit my ass. He slapped it when I squawked about it and I almost jumped him. Tossing the condom into the trash, he straightened my clothes.

“Now, how about dinner?”