Christopher

 

This is fucking ridiculous. Any other woman would be in my bed right now, either fucking me or recovering from being fucked.

 

So what’s stopping me from taking this one, just like I take any woman I want? It’s not like I’ll ever see her again. Sleeping with her wouldn’t be a big deal. I’ve done it before—many times, more than I can count. My only rule has always been “one time only.” No attachments. No commitments. The last thing I need is to catch feelings, or have a woman catch feelings for me.

 

I won’t go through that again. Not after Michelle.

 

So what is it about this girl that’s stopping me from picking her up and carrying her to my bed? I don’t know her, and once the storm’s over she’ll be gone forever. It’s the perfect setup.

 

Why am I alone in bed, then?

 

I turn to the side, punching my pillow, desperate to get comfortable and fall asleep. Once I’m asleep I won’t have to think about her anymore. Why am I thinking about her anyway?

 

Because she makes me think. The whole time I shoveled that snow, I thought about her. The entire reason I went outside in the first place was to get away from her for a minute and tire myself out. I thought that once I was physically tired out I wouldn’t be tempted by her anymore.

 

I was wrong. I got inside the house and made that crack about the cookies, and she got pissed off. And I was more turned on than ever. Something about her reached something in me I’d thought was dead. All I’d felt for women in the years since Michelle was physical want. I’d meet a sexy woman and want to sleep with her. It was never really hard for me to get one into bed once I set my mind to it. But once I got off, that was it. I didn’t want anything to do with her anymore.

 

I’d probably feel that way about Amanda, too. I’d fuck her and get tired of her as soon as I got off. The end.

 

Why aren’t I convinced? Maybe it is the way she is so quick to challenge me and call me a dick when I am being one. Maybe it has to do with the way she took the trouble to bake cookies while I was outside. Who does that? Who bakes cookies just because? So what did I do? Did I thank her? No, I made that stupid housewife joke. No wonder she was pissed.

 

What was I supposed to say? That something as simple as homemade cookies blew me away? That I felt something for the first time in forever? That I’ve never known a woman like her?

 

Maybe it’s because she’s a challenge. Women have never been a challenge before. Back in the day, it had a lot to do with the sort of life I lived. It was exciting; people wanted to be part of it, women included, or at least a certain type of woman. And that was fine with me as long as they were willing.

 

Now, even when things aren’t as exciting as they were back then, it’s still not hard to get a woman into bed. They see my face, my body, my ink, and they’re sold. They sure as hell don’t tell me off, hands on hips, eyes blazing. And they don’t make cookies and put on the tea kettle.

 

What’s making this even harder is the way she was looking at me. I didn’t give her a hard time about it because I didn’t want to embarrass her, but I saw it. I’ve seen it before. Normally, I take advantage of it. It’s instinctive. What man wouldn’t? Knowing she wants me—at least in weaker moments, maybe fueled by whiskey—means I have to go against every instinct and habit to avoid her.

 

Damn it. Why couldn’t I have found a little old lady in the snow, or a guy? No, it had to be her.

 

I turn over, punching my pillow again, wondering if I’ll ever be comfortable. I was sure that after all the exertion outside, I’d be exhausted. Instead, I’m horny. Maybe I should take care of things myself. At least that would help me fall asleep.

 

I think about her now and wonder what she’s doing. Is she asleep? I imagine how beautiful she must look when she’s sleeping. For once, she’d be peaceful, I’m guessing, and not constantly on the defensive. I remember how insulted she got when I made that crack about blowjobs. What was that all about? Had she been hurt somehow? Maybe she is just a prude.

 

If she is a prude, that was a damn waste. She has a body made for sin. Big tits, tiny waist, firm ass. Her legs are long and slim and would fit perfectly around my waist while I fuck her. My dick is starting to get hard just thinking about it.

 

I can’t stop this train of thought…and I don’t want to. Now that I’m turned on, I wanna see it through. It’s been at least a week since I’ve had sex, I realize. My hand reaches under the blankets to find my hard dick and starts stroking.

 

I imagine her. The way she smells and tastes. The sounds she makes when I suck those huge tits, playing with them, pressing them together to slide my dick between them. In and out. She licks the head every time it comes into contact with her mouth, and I groan softly as my hand moves faster along my length.

 

Then I take her, forcing her thighs apart with my knee. She gives in easily, begging me for it, rolling over onto her hands and knees so I can take her from behind. She moans when I slide into her, then starts panting the harder and faster I go. I ride her, making her mine. She whimpers and says my name over and over, her head swinging from side to side as she screams. I unlock all the passion in her and she tightens around me. My hand tightens as I imagine her coming all over me.

 

I’m close, but not there yet. I imagine her riding me now, my body stretched out across the bed with her straddling my hips. Bouncing up and down with her tits moving in time. I hold onto her waist, slamming her onto me. She begs me for more, her voice pleading and desperate. I start thrusting up into her, meeting her with each stroke faster and faster until we’re both grunting and moaning and sweating. I’m so close…so ready…

 

The crash against the roof makes my eyes fly open, my hand instantly leaving my cock. Fuck! Perfect timing. I’m already softening, the surprise ripping me out of the moment. I’m also scared shitless, truth be told, wondering what the hell just hit the roof.

 

I jump out of bed and rush to the hall. It’s dark out there, and I don’t see her coming in time to stop us from crashing into each other.

 

“Shit!” I reach along the wall until my fingers make contact with the light switch. She’s leaning against the wall, rubbing the elbow that just jammed into my ribs.

 

“You okay?” I’m looking around, seeing if there’s any damage to the ceiling.

 

“I’m fine. What the hell was that noise?”

 

I struggle to hold back the frustration I’m feeling. “If I knew, would I have come running out into the hall like I did? It sounds like a tree limb fell onto the roof. I guess it makes sense. The snow’s probably pretty heavy.”

 

“It sounded so loud. I was just about to fall asleep.”

 

“I guess it was even scarier, then,” I admit. “Honestly, I’m not getting my clothes back on just to go out there in the dark. If nothing came through the roof, it’ll wait ’til morning.”

 

“Okay,” she says, biting her lip. She crosses her arms over herself, looking fretful.

 

“Are you gonna be all right?” I ask, now extremely aware of her and the fact that she looks cute as hell in my t-shirt and boxers. They’re several sizes too big, and she’s swimming in them. She’s not wearing a bra either. Her nipples are standing out against the cotton tee, hard as bullets from the cold.

 

“Sure,” she mutters, looking away from me. She won’t make eye contact. I glance down to make sure I got myself back into my boxers all the way before running out here and realize it might have something to do with the way I’m dressed, in just the boxers and nothing else. It’s obvious she’s avoiding looking at my chest and shoulders. Not just because they’re inked either.

 

“Well, um, I guess I’d better let you get back to bed,” I say, wanting to let her off the hook.

 

Her cheeks are getting red now and it’s obvious she’s embarrassed. “Yeah, okay. Thanks. Sorry if I hurt your ribs.” She takes a few backward steps and slips into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

 

Damn it. Why does she have to be so…her? Could she possibly make it any harder for me to leave her alone? Plus, now that I’ve seen her in that shirt, I can’t get the image of her hard nipples out of my head.

 

At least I have new material for my spank bank.