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Designs on the DJ Episode 2

Drew﹒

When the elevator dinged on the top floor, I offered my arm to Sydney. Anyone who observed our stroll along the hallway might contribute our unhurried pace to her high heels, but they’d only be partially correct. The culmination of our game awaited us, the build-up more intense as we danced long past the ball dropping on a new year.

Entertained with her stealth glances and efforts to ignore the stage area, I maneuvered her so she always had an obstructed view of the DJ. A tiny reward for her rare indulgence in my silly game.

Initially, I’d mistaken her resistance to participate as concern I might become jealous or angry, but the truth was, it took someone special to capture her attention. The woman possessed high standards, standards she carried even into our party pastime. 

During a slow song, I held her close and dropped a kiss on her exposed shoulder. “I’ve never seen you so taken with someone.” 

Her head whipped up, her sky-blue eyes wide. “I’m not.”

She was.

Jameson Ryder ticked all of her boxes. Trim, athletic, muscular without the hulk-bulk. Stylish with a little bit of rebellion. But no matter the exterior—and bonus points for the bad boy British packaging—Sydney would never go for a guy without some smarts in the attic. I should know; I’d ticked those boxes first.

A quick twirl out, then in, and I hugged her back to my chest. The subject of her captivation straight ahead.

Who was I kidding?

The atmosphere charged and my instincts hummed like a radio turning on when he arrived. With his brash looks and confident stride, I wondered if he might catch Sydney’s discerning eye. When I finished with Roman, I went hunting. When I found them on the balcony, flirting with each other, the blood thrummed through my body at the Haley’s comet occurance.

I chuckled in her ear as we swayed to the music. “He ticks my boxes, too. I’ve been envisioning him between your thighs, tasting you.”

As if my words carried to him, Jameson looked up from his station and we locked eyes. At first a mutual appraisal then a subtle shift to something more intense, and neither shied away. 

Growing up with sex therapist parents afforded me and my younger brother a sexual education free from pious and puritanical restrictions. Early on, we learned to value the human body regardless of the form it took, and intimate liaisons occurred with mutual respect and consent.

Jameson desired Sydney. The knowledge didn’t bother me, she garnered attention wherever we went. The yearning leaking out was more challenging to ignore, and as if revealing an innermost secret, he jerked his gaze away. But for the rest of the night, he tracked us, his hard stare on our backs when we left the party.

Sydney reached into my pocket for the key card, her fingers grazing the part of me eager to get behind closed doors. The coconut-scented fragrance clinging to her soft, chestnut hair filled my nose. She was sultry without effort. Smart without arrogance. Driven but not obsessive in her career as an architect. 

 As she led me inside the room, I was grateful her high standards included me.

The suite was decorated in art deco, an homage to The Ainsbury’s Roaring Twenties origins. I’d seen pictures during the renovations, but nothing prepared hotel guests for the luxury exuded in the black and turquoise color scheme, gold accents, and crystal chandeliers. Roman had done a spectacular job on recreating the decadence of the era.

After a contentious Thanksgiving with Sydney’s warring parents, I called my college friend and investment client to beg for a room during his New Year’s Eve grand opening. I’d have taken a broom closet, but he’d delivered the best room overlooking the beach. Major bonus points for the themed costume party and a private tour so Sydney could geek out on her favorite age of architecture.

In the separate bedroom, a room service cart had been set up with a bottle of champagne on ice and chocolate-covered strawberries.

“Hungry?” I nodded to the bubbly.

“Yes,” she purred as she ran her hands over my chest. “But not for food.”

The best part, the last part, of the game.

She hooked her fingers beneath my suspenders and slipped them off. Next she undid my button-down to the waist. Fisting the shirt at my hips, she yanked the ends free of my pants and swept it off my shoulders to the floor.

I gripped her wrists when she reached for my pants. Instead I unzipped her dress and let it flutter to the carpet. I slid her panties off, the gusset wet from her arousal. With a devilish grin, I tossed her on the turned-down bed and straddled her naked body.

“You stayed past your bedtime tonight,” I said.

A faint tint rose on her skin.

Leaning forward I dragged my index finger over the soft fullness of her lips, the strings of her lacy underwear skimming her neck. “Tell me what you fantasized about the most tonight.”

“You know.” Her voice was breathy.

“I do. But it’s fucking sexy when you say it out loud.” I trailed my finger lower, pausing between her breasts. Tap-tap-tap. An assurance her most vulnerable organ was safe with me.

“Instead of him deejaying, he’s dancing with us.”

I circled the tight bead of her nipple. “Pressing in from behind while I hold you close?”

“Yes,” she moaned as I sucked in the sensitive bud and shudders rippled through her.

She grabbed my pants. Again I halted her movement. Tossing aside her panties, I clasped both wrists and held them over her head. The position arched her back, an offering I couldn’t resist. I lavished and nibbled her other breast.

“What else?”

Goosebumps erupted on her skin. “You’re both…rock hard. Ready for the evening to end so we can be together.”

“That’s not a fantasy,” I said, my voice husky. “That’s the truth.”

I claimed her mouth, lowering my body to hers. Tangling my fingers through her hair, I ground the proof of my words against her lips and between her legs. 

“And what did you think about him?” she asked when I grazed my teeth along her jaw.

She was intelligent and observant. Of course she noticed my more than usual interest. When I asked her to marry me six months ago, I didn’t think I could love her more. Desire her more. But she always managed to surprise me, tempt me. Her question held no more censure than mine had when I found them on the balcony.

I rocked against her, an echo of our earlier dancing. “I was torn between closing the party down and coming to the room. Relieved and excited when you were reluctant to leave too.”

She bent her knee, pressing it against my hip. A plea for more as the fabric of my pants rasped against her bare skin. I was happy—almost desperate—to oblige after two hours of dancefloor foreplay.

I reached between us, teasing her swollen and tight clit. Then I slipped lower where she was slick and ready. My intention to draw out the fantasy for both of us disappeared in a storm of need. She always tested my control, but tonight’s game added a sexy twist. I unfastened my pants, notched my cock at her entrance, and plunged inside.

Our moans mingled as the hunger Jameson evoked in us clashed, then multiplied. I thrust two fingers between her lips, a simulation of him filling her mouth with his dick. Tingles teased my balls as she greedily sucked and twirled her tongue around them. This round would be urgent and dizzy.

She locked eyes with me, arousal glazing her baby blues. They held no artifice, only an ocean’s depth of trust. When she tensed in my grip, I released her. She scored her nails down my back, leaving a delicious burn in their wake. I pushed her knee to her chest, driving deeper to the exact right spot to send her spiraling.

Her groans grew around my fingers. She teetered on the edge. I stuffed a third in her mouth. As I pounded her, my balls slapped against her. “If he were here right now, we’d both explode inside of you.”

Bingo.

I removed my hand as her shout tore across the room. Her walls tightened around my cock and my own orgasm blasted through me. As my cum spilled inside her, I rode it out on a satisfied groan. When the waves subsided, I collapsed to the side, hauling her against me.

“I love you,” she murmured with post-sex relaxation. It had been a long, adventurous night for her. She’d be asleep soon.

I kissed her shoulder. “I love you, too. Go to sleep.”

Easing out of bed, I put on my shirt and pants and left the room, too keyed up to fall asleep yet.

 

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I write contemporary romance and romantic suspense why-choose stories.

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