Page 24 of Naked Coffee Guy

It’s the closest thing to a command. But when he lifts his head, a small smirk at the corner of his mouth, I see no sign of an argument. He raises his body, one hand going for the headboard as the other grips my thigh. Then he fucks me hard, plunging into me like he’s aiming for the ground. I cry out, the feel of him deeper than anything I’ve ever experienced. And yet, I want more. With Mac, I will always want more. I meet him with each thrust, driving him deeper still, no longer asking, but demanding with my movements.

“Maren,” he groans, and I feel him swell inside me. Then he’s the one moaning into my neck just as another orgasm rips through me. The bed is annihilated, the blankets all over the floor. His hands find my tangled hair, becoming my pillow as I fall back on the mattress. Our bodies are slick with sweat, and I give in to my urges and lick the salty moisture from his shoulders, his arms, the tattoos on his chest. He’s spent, but I can’t get enough of him. I straddle him, the energy inside me pulsating into another quick orgasm almost as soon as I slide him back inside me. I ride the wave, his hands gripping my hips as he remains hard inside me, thrusting with every move I make until my orgasm fades into oblivion.

When it’s over, I collapse on top of him, my body shaking as I come back to reality. He slides his hand around my waist as I listen to the thrum of his heart. Just moments ago, I felt like I could rip trees from the ground by the root. Now, I feel as weak as a kitten, held in place by the security of his arms wrapped around me.

I should go, but I physically can’t move.

And so I stay, our breath slowing to an identical cadence as I slip in and out of sleep. I’m vaguely aware when he finally slides me to the mattress, covering me with the blanket. I’m half in a dream when he positions himself behind me, his body conforming to mine, his arm pulling me until I’m flush against his chest. And when I fall into sleep, I fall.

When I open my eyes again, the first signs of dawn are reflected on the ripples in the ocean outside our hotel room. Mac’s body has left mine, his arm under his head as he faces away from me. I watch the soft rise and fall of his shoulders with each breath. I study the tangles in his wheat-colored hair, longing to work them with my fingers before letting him take me once again.

He took me, I did not take him. And while vulnerability wraps around me like a cloak, I am surprised that I don’t hate the feeling.

I should. This man took away my independence the day he sold my apartment without even caring who it affected.

But the way he broke down so many of my walls…

No.

I can use him for his body, for the way he moves me, for the way he has me screaming his name. I can use him for the money he owes me for selling my home. I can fuck him just as soundly as he fucked me over.

But my heart stays out of it. Because this is just a fuck.

I keep telling myself that as I gather my clothes, my eyes searching the still dark room for every piece of my black clothing. It’s like trying to find a guitar pick in a junk drawer. But I finally do, dressing as I watch the slowly brightening sky, Mac’s deep breathing the soundtrack of the room.

Then I slip out of the hotel room and into the early dawn.

I stand at Nina’s kitchen window later that morning, coffee in hand, scanning the street even though I know there won’t be any sightings of a near naked man doing his daily coffee stroll. My lips still feel swollen, and muscles I didn’t even know I had are now screaming with every move. It’s a luscious reminder of everything that happened last night, and as much as I’m trying to keep my cool, I’m fighting the smile that keeps rising to my lips.

I can’t with Mac. We’re from different worlds. He makes himself rich by selling off people’s homes.

But the things he did, the words he said…

Can I undress you?

Never have four words been so fucking delicious to my ears, let alone my body. If this is casual, I have been doing it wrong all my life.

And if I’m not careful, I’m going to fall for the Viking.

“How’s Ragnar?” Nina asks, grabbing a mug from the cabinet.

“Who?”

“You know, the Viking.”

My eyes widen, and I feel the heat in my cheeks. How did she know?

Then Nina peers out the window and I realize she’s talking about Naked Coffee Guy—same man, different context. She has no idea I was with him last night.

“He’s a no show,” I say, pulling away from the window.

“Really?” She keeps looking, as if I’m lying to her. “He’s been doing the same thing every day for a month. I wonder where he could be.”

In bed, smelling like me. I sip my coffee to keep from grinning at the thought. Honestly, I haven’t stopped thinking of him since I closed the hotel door behind me. The way he took me. His mouth on every part of my body. How his beard felt trailing across my skin. How he was capable of tearing me in two and mending me together, just by thrusting inside me, over and over and…

“What’s wrong with you?” Nina asks, looking closer at me.

“Nothing,” I stammer, slamming my mind shut as I pour another cup of coffee, “What’s wrong with you?”