JON

I hold off for as long as I can from entering India's body, wanting to build her up far enough so that she'll come again. She's still wet and ready. I want to hear her cry out when she comes on my cock.

That will be sweet victory.

I want to come while her body spasms around me. Timing it just right will take skill, but I'm determined to succeed. I enter her just enough to stretch her out while my thumb does slow circles around her hard, swollen clit. In and out, circle and stroke.

"Tell me when you're close," I say, watching her body for signs of her impending orgasm. She's breathing fast and shallow; her nipples are swollen and her eyes are half-lidded. She is magnificent – beautiful and hot and my cock is so hard now, I know that a couple minutes of fast thrusting will push me over because she's so tight, despite how wet she is.

She hasn't been fucked for a while. The thought that I am her first in a long time makes me even harder. I want to claim her as my own. I want to possess her cries of pleasure, see her eyes roll up in her head from how intense it is.

I slide deeper inside her, thumbing her clit, one hand squeezing her breast. Now, I'm completely inside of her and she moans beneath me. She likes how thick I am and I know that once I start to thrust, it won't take long. The skin on her chest is mottled, and it’s rising up to her neck.

She's so close.

I begin to thrust, slowly, deliberately, pulling out each time to stroke my cock over her slit, her clit, before pushing inside again. I repeat this over and over, until I'm very close and I have to breathe deeply to prevent my own orgasm.

"Tell me when you're ready," I say, thrusting several times before I pull out and stroke her entire slit with my cock. "Tell me to fuck you hard," I say, wanting to see her let go.

I thrust harder, longer, and pull out again, push inside again.

"Oh, God," she says, "fuck me harder."

I do, filling her up, thrusting deep and hard, until my balls slap against her ass, her thighs lifted up and spread wide. I keep my thumb on her clit while I pound her and then I see it – see her lose control. Her eyes roll up and I thrust faster, turning myself over to my own orgasm, certain of hers. Her cunt spasms around my cock as I pound her, and then my orgasm begins, the pleasure almost blinding me, my balls tightening, my cock pulsing with spasm after spasm as I ejaculate.

"Oh, fuck…"

I ram myself deep inside of her, the pleasure peaking as I come, waves of pleasure washing over my body from my balls to my thighs to my head.

I finish and lean over her, my arms on either side of her shoulders, my face beside hers. Both of us are breathing hard, lost in the sensations.

It was so fucking good…

So fucking good.

My cock spasms and I feel her cunt convulse around me. I rise and rest on my hands, watching her as she lies beneath me. Her nipples are hard buds but her body is otherwise slack, her thighs spread wide, my cock still buried inside her.

She's so beautiful.

She's mine now.

This is happening. Finally.

When she opens her eyes, there's a moment of recognition on her part that we've done this. We're into it now. No more delaying. No more excuses.

"Jon," she says, and I know what she's going to say, but I stop her, my finger to her lips.

"No, don't say a word."

She looks in my eyes and I know she wants to protest or say ‘we can't do this’ or whatever she thinks has to be said. It doesn't have to be said. I already know all her excuses and reasons why we can't be a couple.

It's all bullshit.

This – this great fuck – this fantastic fuck – just means that we should be together.

And we will be. We are.

"You're mine," I say.

"But –"

I bend down and kiss into silence what I know will be her meek protests. I kiss her deeply, emotions welling up inside of me. Possession. Ownership. Lust.

We kiss like we both mean it and when I pull back, she's silent, not protesting, and I think that maybe she realizes that this is happening and there's no stopping it now.

I'm going to indulge myself in her body until she's so satiated from my mouth and my cock that she's almost drunk on it.

After our meeting at the Pentagon.

Then I come back to the present and look at the clock radio beside my bed.

Damn. We have exactly forty-five minutes to get dressed, go over the presentation, and drive to the Pentagon.

It'll be close.

"We better get ready," I say, kissing her breast, biting gently on her nipple. "As much as I'd like to make you come again, we have a contract to negotiate."

"We do," she says, smiling softly up at me.

My cock is still semi-erect and I could come again if we had time, but we don't.

"I don't want to pull out of you," I murmur against her neck, kissing her throat. "But I have to."

"You do," she replies and when I lean up, she's smiling, her eyes closed. She runs her hands through her hair and I know she's basking in the delicious after-effects of her two orgasms. "I don't know if my brain will work after what you did to me."

I laugh, and suck on her nipple once more, running my tongue around the hard areola. She squirms beneath me.

"Don't," she says in protest. "How will I be able to focus if I'm still aroused?"

"You'll have to deal," I say, grinning widely. "Maybe I better do the presentation today."

She opens her eyes. "Do you want to?"

"No," I say, and kiss her on the lips. "I want to watch you give it and remember how your face looks while you're coming on my cock."

"Probably ugly," she says with a laugh. "My eyes all screwed up, my jaw slack like I'm brain dead."

"Hardly," I say, and roll her over on top of me and smack her butt. "You could never be ugly. A woman in the throes of an orgasm is a thing of beauty."

"Oh, yeah?" She makes this wacky face that looks nothing like her during an orgasm and I can't help but laugh.

"I'm sure I look handsome and dashing when I'm coming."

"Oh, you do. You look like a raging bull."

I laugh again and then I stop and just look at her. "There's nothing else to compare. Seriously," I say, enjoying the way her hair falls over us. I imagine it draping over my body later as she sucks my cock. Which she is definitely going to do later, after our meeting. I'll reserve the room for another night so we can spend the entire night eating, fucking, and sucking ourselves into oblivion. "I could watch you coming forever."

She smiles and leans down to kiss me once more.

We kiss, and it's so much more meaningful than any kiss I've had in a long time.

Maybe forever.

Once we're dressed and have tidied ourselves up, we do a quick run-through of the presentation and then haul our computers and files into a waiting Uber to take us to the Pentagon. I think the driver doesn’t really believe us when we ask him to take us there, but he does anyway. I think about how we must look to him – two fashionable millennials. Me with hair a bit too long and a bit too much scruff on my jaw, India far too beautiful for some stuffy military facility.

But we're the dynamic duo. Brains and beauty. Ambition and lust all mixed up into a hot beautiful mess.

The presentation goes smoothly – as usual – and if India's orgasms scrambled her brain, it doesn't show.

In the hallway as we're walking out of the facility, escorted by a civilian employee who’s there to make sure we get out safely, I lean over to her.

"Obviously, those two orgasms weren't enough to throw you off your game," I whisper. "That's good to know."

She gives me a horrified look, like the walls might have ears and learn that we're fucking and not award us the contract. I laugh at the expression on her face.

"Jon," she whispers back. "Don't talk like that in here."

"Why not? Don't you want to give the eavesdroppers working in those small dark rooms somewhere in the bowels of the Pentagon something spicy for a change?"

I wag my eyebrows at her, amused by her expression.

"You're incorrigible."

"I am," I say. "You already knew that."

She tries to hold back a smile but fails. "I did."

We bump shoulders together as we walk down the long hallway behind our escort. We say goodbye and haul our stuff into the trunk of a vehicle waiting to take us back to the hotel.

"I'm ready for more to eat," I say, eyeing her suggestively. "That little tidbit I ate this morning wasn't nearly enough."

"Jon," she says, her eyes wide.

"Feel like a nice thick sausage?"

"Jon!"

She punches me in the arm and I mock-wince. I slip my arm around her shoulder.

"This is going to be so much fun."

"It's not supposed to be fun," she says, and frowns at me.

"What do you mean? Of course, it's supposed to be fun. Otherwise, why do it?"

"No, I mean, it's not a joke."

"What makes you think I'm joking?" Then I lean closer, my mouth at her ear. "I really do want to know if you'd like a nice, hot, thick, juicy sausage, because I have one for you," I whisper, so the driver doesn't hear me. I want to spare India any embarrassment.

Or at least, too much embarrassment.

Some embarrassment has to be expected.

We drive the rest of the way to the hotel without further comment, because I want her to think about sucking my cock the way I've been imagining her doing for years. On her knees at my feet, my hand guiding her.

But that's for later. It's now been five hours since we ate and I'm hungry. I need some protein if I'm going to keep her busy all night long the way I plan.

While we're driving, she gets a text. I look out the window while she reads it and then she covers her mouth with a hand.

"Oh, God," she whispers.

I glance over. "What's the matter?"

"My mom," she says. "She fell while painting the house. She's in the hospital."

She dials her cell and looks at me, her eyes wide, waiting for the call to connect.

"Dad?" she says, her voice panicked. "How is she?"

There's a long pause while she listens to what he's saying.

"When? How long?"

She listens more and I'm frustrated, because I want to hear what's happening. India's parents are flakes, but they're lovable flakes.

"I'll catch the first flight out," she says, and I can hear the fear in her voice. "See you as soon as I can get there."

Then she hangs up and looks into my eyes. "She's in surgery. She had some kind of head injury and was moved right from the ER to the OR." She leans forward and asks the driver to redirect. "Drive me to the airport. I have to go back. I'll take whatever flight I can get out as soon as possible."

"Your luggage –"

"You can send it to me. I want to go right there."

"Okay," I say and pull her closer, hoping that Joanne survives whatever's happened to her. India is nothing like her flaky parents, politically, but she's her mother's daughter. Smart. Funny. Loving.

I know how devastating it would be if anything happened to her.

We arrive at the airport and India goes up to Virgin Atlantic counter, trying to get on the first flight out, but it won't be for an hour. There's a three-hour layover in Charlotte, North Carolina. She won’t arrive back in San Francisco until nine p.m. local time.

"We may have enough time to drive to the hotel and get the bags."

She glances at me, her eyes wide. "I'll stay here. You go, okay? I don't want to leave in case I miss the flight because of traffic."

"Okay," I say. "I don't want to miss saying goodbye. Just in case."

She nods and we embrace, hugging each other tightly. Her eyes are wet, and she's really upset.

"Maybe I should stay," I say, concerned that she'll be alone, panicking about her mother. "I can call the hotel and get them to send our suitcases and they'll get back tomorrow. I don’t want to leave you alone."

She forces a brave smile. "I'll be fine. You go and try to get everything. If you miss the flight, it won't be such a big deal, but I can't miss it."

I agree, and kiss her once more, squeezing her tightly, then I flag down a taxi and we drive off in mid-day traffic to the hotel.

I end up missing the plane. I call India from the taxi when we're caught in traffic and there's no way I'll get back.

"Hey," she says when she answers. "Let me guess: you're not able to make it back."

"I'm so sorry," I say. "I wish I was with you and you didn’t have to go on your own but there was an accident and we're being redirected."

"I wish you were with me, too," she responds. "I'm glad I didn't go back to the hotel with you. Catch the next plane out and come and see me at the hospital when you get in. I expect I'll be staying there all night depending on how she does."

"I will. Text me when you get in. I'll be thinking of you. Give your mom a hug and kiss from me. And your dad."

"I will."

While we're stalled in bumper-to-bumper traffic, I sit and re-read her texts. All of them from the last couple of days.

I wish I was sitting beside her on the plane right now, holding her hand as we take off.

I sit and stare out the window as the streets of Washington pass slowly by.

I get to the airport, swap my ticket for one leaving in a couple of hours, and spend the rest of my time sitting in Virgin's first class lounge, reading a copy of the Wall Street Journal and watching CNBC on the television screen.

JON: Any news about your mom?

INDIA: Nothing, but she has to have surgery to relieve the pressure.

JON: How are you holding up?

INDIA: I'm holding up. I think all my adrenaline ran out and now I feel like a rag doll. But I won't be able to sleep. I'll probably watch a movie or something to keep busy.

JON: Text me when you can. I'll drive to the hospital as soon as I get in.

I try to keep my mind occupied, and not think about India's mom, hoping that things are going well for her and they're able to prevent any lasting damage. India won't get to SF until after nine and then she'll probably go right to the hospital.

I try to keep occupied on the flight, glad that I upgraded to the first-class section, able to at least stretch my legs out and enjoy some decent food. I think of India cramped in economy, sitting beside people who have no sympathy for her. I hope she's able to distract herself as much as possible during the trip. She'll probably watch the inflight movie, but knowing her, she'll chew her fingernails down to the quick as she worries about her mom.

Much, much later, after we land in LAX for our one-hour stop, I get a text from India.

INDIA: Just called my dad. She's out of surgery but they're keeping her sedated. The doctor thinks that she has a pretty good chance of a full recovery, so it's just a matter of waiting to see how she does when they take her out of sedation.

JON: That's good news, at least. How's your dad holding up?

INDIA: He's really upset. He blames himself – he wanted to hire a painter but my mom insisted they could save money if she got up on the ladder and did it herself. He's afraid of heights and tried to stop her but she's very stubborn.

JON: Sounds like someone else I know…

There's a silence, and I feel bad for teasing her at a time like this, but I was teased mercilessly when I was growing up by my father and older brothers.

JON: I've always admired that in your mom – her independence. She's a trouper.

INDIA: She is. She's a top scholar in her field.

JON: I know. You got your brains from your mom and dad. And your dad says you got your beauty from him.

INDIA: I know. He's kidding, of course.

I think of India's dad. He looks like Jeff Daniels in Dumb and Dumber.

JON: He's great.

INDIA: I know. Oh, God, I don’t know what he'd do if anything happened to her. She's such a rock.

JON: She is.

INDIA: Gibraltar. He's lucky to have had her all these years. He admits that all the time. Says that without her, he would have likely smoked and drank himself into an early grave.

JON: They're really happy together.

INDIA: They are. *sigh*

JON: Keep strong. Your dad will need you.

INDIA: I wish you were with me.

JON: I will be soon.

I get back on my flight and spend the next hour thinking of India and how our lives have become so entwined.

I don't know what changed, except seeing the two idiots that Marina had the audacity to match India with – two guys so totally wrong for her that I realized how right she was for me. And then meeting Heather and realizing that was not the kind of woman I wanted to become involved with, except for a quick fuck. An alternative to masturbation. Tits and ass and pussy and that was it.

India is so much more.