He slips his fingers out of me and stands. I watch him peel off his dress shirt and t-shirt, and toss them to the dresser. I don’t think I could ever get enough of his hard, muscular chest, his skin smooth and tan, his nipples tight.

“Sit up,” he commands, unbuckling his belt and unfastening his pants. His knuckles skate across my lips “I can’t meet people with a raging hard-on.”

He wants a blow job. I shyly reach up to push the wool material of his pants away, my palm grazing against the prominent erection beneath his cotton briefs. It jumps in response. I don’t know how to do this.

“I have complete faith in you,” he whispers, as if he can read my mind. “Start by pulling it out.”

I gingerly push his pants down to his knees and then gently curl my fingertips around the elastic of his boxer briefs, tugging them down, stretching them around his front. His cock emerges, a long, thick rod, angled perfectly toward me.

I never expected to think of a cock as a beautiful thing, but Henry’s can only be described as such. It’s a healthy pinkish-purple, and smooth, the tip soft. I don’t know how my body will ever stretch to fit it inside me, but the pulsing sensation in my belly—only minutes after that mind-blowing orgasm—tells me I’m desperate to find out.

“It’s so big.” I sound like a silly girl when I say that, but it’s true. It was sizeable when I saw him in the shower, across the room. Now it’s literally staring me right in the face.

He smirks, waiting, his eyes blazing with heat and anticipation.

I wrap my hand around the bottom of it, my fingertips barely meeting. I imitate what I watched Henry do to himself, sliding my fist up and down along its length, enthralled with how silky and impossibly hard it feels.

“Exactly like that. Tighter.” I squeeze him and then look up to find him staring at me through hooded eyes, his lips parted. I lean forward and trace the tip of him with my tongue, where the bead of moisture sits on the end, tasting the saltiness.

“Do that again, but look up at me this time,” he demands, his voice turning husky.

I lean in and lick him again, my eyes never leaving his, earning his appreciative smile. He mouths “again,” and I do it again, only this time I take my time, twirling my tongue around his tip. I open my mouth wider and run it along the entire underside.

“Fuck,” he hisses. He curls his large hand around the back of my head and pulls me to him. I open wide to give him access to my mouth, hoping I’m doing it right as I close my lips over it. “Suck,” he commands and I do, feeling a gentle pull against my hair, his silent instruction for me to mimic my hand earlier. I grip his base tightly and slide my mouth up and down as far as I can go, which is surprisingly farther than I thought.

His grasp of my hair tightens and his hips begin to thrust.

“You have a pretty little mouth, Abbi. It’s so warm and wet and tight. Perfect for fucking.”

His words are so filthy and his cock is in my mouth and I can’t believe I’m doing this. And enjoying it immensely.

My mouth strains to fit him all over and over again, bits of drool escaping around the rim, but I don’t stop sucking on him. Sometimes my teeth scrape, but he only moans when that happens, so I think he’s okay with it.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, naked and with Henry’s cock pumping in and out of my mouth, my lips swollen, heady desire is building in my body again. While a little sore, I’m already desperate to spread my legs for his fingers—and more—to plunge inside me again.

“I’m close,” he whispers. “I need to come in your mouth. I need you to take it all in, Abbi. Swallow all of me.” His voice is pleading and desperate as if me not swallowing would ruin something monumental.

Of course I will. Right now, I’d do anything for this man.

His dick swells even more and his thrusts come harder and faster, until my eyes are watering from the strain. Then suddenly he cries out, and holds my head down, and a flood of warm salty liquid hits the back of my throat in burst after burst. So much cum.

He stills and then pulls out of my mouth, allowing me to swallow every last drop of it as he strokes the hair back off my face slowly, affectionately. I peer up at him in awe.

I just made Henry Wolf come with my mouth.

Now what?

The feel of his dark, hooded gaze drifting over my heavy breasts coaxes me to lie back and give him a better view. And, hopefully, to entice him. I’m still afraid this is some marathon dirty dream and I’m going to wake up before I feel him inside me.

“Oh, babe.” He chuckles as he steps forward to grip my bent knees, pushing against them until my legs are back and my pussy is spread wide, his eyes on it. “We need to give that beautiful, tight little hole a rest before I fuck it raw.”

I clench in anticipation, that deep throb intensifying again. He inhales deeply, and I know he can smell the muskiness in the air. Of me, ready for him. His words, coupled with his eyes, could make me come.

Releasing my legs, he takes several measured steps back, his cock still erect and bobbing. “I’m going to the gym before dinner. You can call it a day.” Just like that, the steely calm is back.

I watch his superb backside as he disappears behind the pocket door of the bathroom, pulling it closed all the way.

I slip on my panties and skirt, grab my pantyhose, and duck out, keeping my head down all the way to my cabin, my mind in a whirlwind over what I just did.

Chapter Twenty-One

Katie’s perfume announces her presence behind me. “Did you know they were going to fire her?” Her tone is accusatory, but her eyes bleed sadness.

“I just heard about it today, I swear.” I force myself to swallow a mouthful of sweet potatoes that I’d normally devour, but now can barely taste. All evidence of Rachel was already packed up and gone when I arrived at the cabin. She was shipped off on the first ferry out, apparently, as Henry had demanded.

“They’re a bag of dicks,” Katie grumbles.

That has been the general consensus around the staff lounge, the murmurs carrying to my ears. Everyone knows that Rachel is gone, and everyone knows exactly why. Rachel broke rules. Wolf Hotel is strict on following rules, and Mr. Wolf is a hard-ass who waltzes around with all his money, looking down on everyone, and not giving anyone a break.

“I’m so sorry. I know, it sucks.”

“I don’t see why it’s such a big deal. Come on, it was the lead singer of Death Jam! Wolf wants him telling everyone about how awesome this place is. And thanks to Rachel, he will. How can you have a rule about sleeping with guests, anyway? What she does off-shift is her business. Seriously! I get having rules about fucking your boss, but...”

Just keeping chewing your food, Abbi. Hopefully that will keep the guilty panic from showing on my face. Not that Henry and I have had sex but, if what he said today is true, it’s only a matter of time before we do.

The thought of it gives me heart palpitations.

“Did you try talking to him? Reasoning with him? He knew she was your roommate, right?”

“I’m not sure. But I know she gave that guy a bunch of high-end alcohol for free without getting permission.”

She rolls her eyes. “A few drinks and that’s stupid. They could have written it off, easily. You don’t fire someone over a few drinks.”

The way she looks at me, I feel like I’ve failed her. “I’m sorry. There wasn’t anything I could do. Plus, I was too busy begging him not to fire us.” That may not be completely true but it’s close. “Wolf found out about us using the spa room. A guest complained to Belinda.”

“Shit,” Katie mumbles. “What happened?”

“I got written up, but I told them that I made you do it, so hopefully nothing will land on you.”