After dinner, during the goodbyes, when the topic came up of who was doing what tomorrow, Preston pulled Ashley aside and murmured, “You’re coming up with me,” and she had just enough wine in her that she didn’t even pretend to consider it.

The last hour or so of the meal had left her aching, throbbing, with his hand sitting on her upper thigh, fingers stroking the sensitive skin there, steadily driving her insane with how much she needed him to drag that hand up, just two or three inches, the slightest touch to relieve the ache. But he didn’t, and she’d caught the gleam in his eye, the mischief mixed with lust.

She needed him to finish the job now, and by the looks of it, he knew it.

He had the keys to the penthouse, he told her as he helped her to the elevator. “I had them clean it up for me today after the guests in there checked out.”

She didn’t care if he had keys to a whole castle—she just needed him in a bed, preferably naked, ready for her. But what came out of her mouth was a shy-sounding, “Okay,” and he frowned at her as the elevator doors swished open.

He took her arm and led her inside. “You don’t have to come up,” he said to her. “I can take you back to your room.” It was obvious in his voice that it was the exact opposite of what he wanted her to do, and she was glad to hear it. She didn’t know if she could cope with a night alone now, without his touch to ease out the kinks. And then he said, “But we both know you want to,” and it was decided.

So instead of trying to convince him, she kissed him. And he was fully on board with that response—groaning into it, grabbing her, pushing her against the elevator wall as her crutch fell to the wayside, crashing with a metallic thud, and his hand skimmed down the center of her chest to press into the valley between her breasts—

The elevator dinged, someone else got in, Preston pulled away, and Ashley pressed her thighs together, searching friction for her aching pussy.

She barely took note of the penthouse, figured she’d have a good look at it in the morning—she could scarcely think beyond the way he was kissing her neck and ridding her of her dress, sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her across the room as if she was weightless.

He laid her out on the bed and said, “Don’t move; don’t push that ankle.”

She smiled. “It’s just a sprain.”

“I said, don’t move,” he told her, heat in his voice, and she didn’t dare disobey. She just stayed there and watched him strip, taking in the sinful sight of each part of his body as he revealed it. His shoulders were her favorite, she thought idly—so broad and strong, golden skin rippling with muscle as he slipped off his shirt.

Although something else came a close second, maybe even edging ahead, her mouth watering as he unbuckled his belt and let his dress pants fall to the floor. He wasn’t wearing underwear, his cock thick and proud and straining towards her, and her heart stuttered.

She expected him to rush back to the bed, climb over her, maybe even feed that hard cock into her hungry mouth if she was so lucky—but instead he took it in hand, squeezed a little, swiped his thumb over the glistening head and made her toes curl at the sight of it.

“I could stand here and look at you all day,” he said in a voice tight with arousal, and it was on the tip of her tongue to beg, to plead, to reach out for him. But then he said, “Touch yourself for me,” and she whimpered, fingers twisting in the sheets.

“Preston…”

“Do it,” he said, fisting his cock, stroking it, standing there gloriously naked while he stared at her, eyes burning for her, making her melt with need. “Open your legs,” he said, “pull those panties aside, and show me how you touch yourself.”

She was powerless to deny him, so strung out on arousal that she would’ve done anything in that moment if it meant earning herself some pleasure.

Keeping her eyes locked on him, alternating between his fiery gaze and the way he was leisurely stroking his thick member, she did as she was told. Parted her legs, careful not to jostle her ankle too much, and then reached down, hooked her fingers into the inside hem of her panties. Hesitated.

She’d never been an exhibitionist, never been comfortable enough in her own skin to have any man stare at her, let alone perform for him. Nerves threatened to eat away at her arousal, turn the air cold and flood her brain with doubts—and yet there was something about Preston, the shameful desire in his eyes, the glint of admiration there…something almost like encouragement, as if silently willing her on, wanting to fill her with confidence like he’d been doing since the moment they met… It made her want to show him everything.

Sucking in a shaky breath, she pulled the crotch of her panties aside and exposed her bare pussy to him. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a thick swallow, his fist tightening on his cock as if trying to rein in a sudden burst of intense pleasure, and emboldened by the sight of it all, Ashley slipped a finger between the folds of her pussy and felt how wet he’d made her.

“Is this what you wanted to see?” she asked, tweaking her clit with her thumb, tracing the pad of her middle finger around her aching entrance.

A muscle in his jaw twitched as he considered her, as he watched her slowly slide a finger into herself. He put one knee on the bed, then the other, shuffling up until he was kneeling between her thighs, stroking his rock-hard cock right over her aching pussy.

“Keep going,” he said throatily, but she was already way ahead of him—sliding her finger in and out of herself, thumb rubbing her clit, the precise, pinpointed movements she used when bringing herself off alone at home.

Soft pleasure spiraled out through her groin, sparking up her spine and making her sigh with bliss, close her eyes, tilt her head back as she gave into it. She could hear the filthy sounds of Preston stroking his own cock, his breath coming quick and heavy, and then nothing at all for a moment before the bed dipped, the shift of his weight, then the welcome surprise of his lips on the inside of her trembling thigh.

She spread her legs wider, pushed in deep with her finger, and tangled her other hand in his hair, holding him close. He kissed his way up her thigh, to the outside of her swollen pussy lips, licked at the hot dampness he found there, and she angled her hand to the side, continuing to thrust a finger into herself while giving him access to her clit, hoping…

He didn’t disappoint. His warm, soft lips closed around her throbbing bundle of nerves, his tongue flicking over it, a groan rumbling out of him, and she saw stars burst in her vision. She’d been so on edge for too long that it didn’t take much to send her hurtling towards that precipice, but he didn’t let her tip over. He gave her one last suck and then backed off, saying, “Keep going, but don’t come,” then went digging around in his luggage until he came up with a condom. She was strung out on the edge, fingering herself with a hard rhythm, back arched and moans spilling from her, and he climbed back up, pulled the cup of her bra down to suck on her nipple, then murmured, “Good girl.”

Her pussy clenched.

Then he eased her hand away from herself, pressed his sheathed cock against her entrance, and pushed home. They both groaned as they joined together, her good leg coming up to wrap around him, heel digging into his ass, forcing him to move immediately, not wanting time to adjust…wanting to feel the pressure of it, stretching around him as he fucked her deep.

He kissed her, open mouthed and panting, his beautiful shoulders rolling as he lowered more of his weight onto her and got a better angle, hips thrusting to drag their groins together, skin to skin, catching her clit with each pass as his cock hit the deepest part of her. She cried out into his mouth, clutched him tight to her, and then released her thin hold on her orgasm and let it wash over her.

He let her ride it out, fucked her through it, then withdrew from her spasming pussy before she’d finished coming down, ripped off the condom and milked his own cock with his fist, painting her lower belly white.

Minutes later, with her head on his chest and his finger tracing up and down her spine, he murmured into the blissful afterglow, “If only all girls were like you.”

She stiffened, waited a beat. “What do you mean?”

He must’ve sensed something in her tone, because his next words came out defensive. “No, I just—I mean you’re not like the other women I’ve been with.”

That got her pulling away, sitting up, tugging the sheet to cover her naked body as she fixed him with a hard stare. “Different how?” she asked sharply. “And how many women?” Then something dark flooded her chest, and she added hastily, “Don’t answer that.” She absolutely did not want to know how many women he’d been with before her, and neither did she want to examine the reason why. It brought her back to her knowledge of his playboy ways, and that path of thinking led only to trouble and judgements, neither of which he really deserved.

He made a noise like a tsk, pulling himself into a sitting position to join her, then trying to take her free hand in his, but she twitched it out of his grip. He scowled. “I’m not explaining myself well,” he said. “Trying to give you a compliment, and instead—”

“A compliment?” Was he serious? They’d just had sex—made love—and the first thing he thought to do in the wake of their shared pleasure was reference other women he’d been with?

“You’re down to earth,” he said quickly, a note of panic in his voice—a man trying to dig himself out of a hole. “The other women in my life—they’ve been these high-society, polished women, always wearing a mask and always with an agenda. This is refreshing. To be with a regular girl, just a nurse, no pretenses—”

White noise filled her ears. “Just a nurse,” she said dully. A second later, she was out of bed and pulling on her clothes, without any notion of having made the decision.

Preston was on his knees now, as if half-climbing out of bed to follow her. “Come on, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know what you meant,” she snapped, a wash of red sneaking into the edges of her vision. “I’m glad I gave you a break from your glamorous world, allowed you to rough it with me—”

“Jesus Christ, Ashley, you’re taking this all the wrong way.”

“There is literally no other way I can take what you just said to me!” She grabbed her bag, her crutch, her one shoe, and said, “I’ll make my own way back.” Then she hobbled out to the door, furious at him, at idiot men in general, and at how her stupid limp ruined her dramatic exit.