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Loved You on a Monday

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This honestly wasn’t the plan. But when a hot guy with a great (albeit short) body and hair she just wants to grab eyefucks her while she’s high off performing, and then it turns out that Charlene, one of the few people she trusts intrinsically, pushes him her way? Plans are meant to be changed, after all.

They trip together into Darren’s room, and with a quick glance around to make sure he wasn’t lying about the roommate, she shoves him against the door, fisting her hand in his hair and kissing him deep and rough and dirty. He moans low, arching into her and returning the kiss with just as much ferocity.

His t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers are simple enough to shove off, and wow. Hands mapping over his body, lingering on his muscled stomach and tracing down his arms. A brush over his nipples leaves him jerking and moaning, and she smiles wickedly. This is the best part.

Walking them backwards to the bed, she lets them drop and roll until she’s straddling him, pinning his hands above his head. He doesn’t struggle, just burns into her with his eyes until she dips her head down, kissing and rocking.

He’s hard already, and she grinds against him more insistently, reveling at the friction. A twist of her hips has him breaking off from the kiss to toss his head to the side, gasping and whining.

There’s not too much out there that’s better than rocking a stage, but the power of making a guy fall apart just with her body? That’s the pinnacle.

She rolls off of him to fumble for the purse she dropped on his floor somewhere between his door and the bed. It’s just out of reach, and she has to – reluctantly – walk the two steps to grab it before coming back to sit on the edge of the bed to sift through her keys and cell phone in search for the condom she knows is in there somewhere.

Intent on her search, she doesn’t even notice Darren crawling up behind her and jumps slightly when he flips her hair to the side to start kissing her neck, sending little electric sparks down her skin, jumping and settling low in her abdomen. He wraps both hands around her waist just as her hand – finally – closes around the foil packet. She doesn’t move, though, suspended by his arms around her, one hand reaching up to take off her top, the other moving down to rub at her thigh, over her stockings.

She knows from experience that waiting for a guy to figure out how to divest her of her more complicated outfits can be quite the mood-killer. Standing, she efficiently finishes removing her one-piece, leaving her in only underwear and fishnets. His eyes grow darker, hazel shifting shades, as he watches her unclasp her bra.

He tugs her back to sit bed, returning them to their previous position. She can feel his cock against her back, not pressing, just a solid heat.

At the urging of his hands, she lifts her hips, allowing him to slowly peel down her fishnets, dragging his fingers down the expanse of her legs as he goes. And suddenly, the tights are on the other side of the room and all either of them are wearing is underwear.

Starting at her ankle, he begins the slow drag back up her legs, fingers dancing and gripping in random intervals, scratching nails turning into callused fingers turning into smooth palms. Her ships start shifting, small jerks that she tries to still and can’t.

His finger finally reaches the edge of her underwear and, tantalizingly slowly, he starts rubbing her silt over the slip of fabric. It’s soaked through enough that she can feel every slide, and she grinds helplessly into his fingers, bending tightly back as his knuckle manages to slip under and in and at just the right angle. Her mind flashes back suddenly to the guitar case he was jostling away from one of his friends as she was climbing on stage. Strong, talented fingers. It shows.

And it just feels so fucking good as he rubs and grinds and pushes his fingers against her, but this isn’t her, it’s not right. She’s never like this, the one becoming strung out and wanton and thrusting and gasping. Someone seeing her like this… rough guitar fingers don’t matter, she can’t.

She twists around powerfully, pushing him back down on to the sheets and climbing on top, devouring him with her mouth and squeezing with her legs and gripping with her arms as she struggles to recalibrate the power balance. (But it’s not just that. She knows how she gets off, and just rutting at her own pace, hard and fast, is the best way to do that). And it’s back to her (hot good sweat more yes) comfort zone, and finally, the two of them are rid of the last remaining scraps of clothing and it’s just two bodies, writhing and pressing and stretching. Together and synchronous.

Somehow, the condom is still in her hands, and she rips the packet open with her teeth, taking it out and smoothing it over Darren’s cock. The touch has him thrashing slightly on the bed, the effort it takes to keep his hips still leaving nothing left to quiet his arched neck or kicking legs. His breath is coming in short gasps and his skin is absolutely covered in sweat (which shouldn’t be sexy but undeniably is).

Finally, desperate to assuage the deep ache she feels traveling throughout her body, she hovers her hips above him before slowly, firmly sinking down. He shouts, arching again, clearly caught between needing to thrust into her and trying to let her set the pace.

There’s no need for such niceties. She rises back up and slams down, working herself as hard as she can on his cock, thrusting down and straining closer. He gasps louder, one hand tightening on her hip, the other alternating between her breasts, roaming and squeezing and pulling as she shoves her hips down and her chest out, needing more and more and more.

She angles until he’s sliding against her g-spot and everything just keeps barreling forward and she slides the hand not clawing at his chest down to her clit and starts sliding her fingers over it with every thrust. It’s all just dizzying pleasure and pushing for more and more until suddenly his hands and her hands and their hips all just clench together and she topples over, falling into her orgasm, clenching hard around him.

The aftershocks are still wracking her body when he thrusts his hips up one last time, completely undone under her ministrations and comes with a hoarse shout that fades into a long moan.

She tries to catch her breath as he rolls away, peeling the condom off with shaky hands and tossing it in the general direction of the trash. She shouldn’t be surprised when he nuzzles his head against her chest, tossing an arm around her waist, but somehow, it seems faintly incongruous with the man that just nearly tore her from the inside out with his fingers and his cock. Charlene’s introduction seems increasingly apt – this guy, multifaceted for sure.

“Snuggliness, right? I think I’m getting its importance now.”

“Mmmm. See, I told you you’d love San Francisco. And New York’s the city that never sleeps, yeah? Sleep…iness. That’s important, too. We should do that. Now.”

Mia chuckles softly. “I utterly failed in my mission to convince you of our superiority?”

“Eh. I might see it a little now. You guys with the lights – it’s all sparkly. You’re all with the sparkles.”

He’s not making any sense and a second later his breathing has evened out into sleep, but she thinks she might understand, anyway.

She really doesn’t normally spend this much time analyzing her one-night stands. If she wasn’t headed away tomorrow, it might be vaguely concerning.

But she is, so she lets herself succumb to the snuggliness in the arms of this lovely man, leaving the worry for later.

That should have been the end of it.

Mia’s well-versed in the etiquette of one-night stands, and even before she opens her eyes, she’s trying to place the location of her clothes and work out the best strategy for a quiet exit.

When she does open her eyes, though, it’s not exactly what she expected. Somehow, her clothes have gone from flung across the room to neatly folded and placed on top the dresser. Darren’s sitting at his desk, typing furiously.

“Morning?” Mia manages.

“Oh, hey, you’re up! Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you – it’s just that this paper’s due Monday and all my productivity plans for yesterday sort of went out the window and I thought you wouldn’t think I was neglecting you if you were still asleep… yeah?”

Mia’s not quite fluent in crazy man ramblings in a slightly hungover morning, so she just says, “It’s fine. So long as you’re not liveblogging your drunken sexual escapades, neglect away.”

She grabs her jacket and shucks it on, running her fingers through her hair in what she knows is a useless attempt to make herself look remotely presentable to the outside world.

(The walk of shame is so much worse in her performance clothes. She’d feel bad, but those fishnets make her feel like nothing else on stage, and there just isn’t time to change when you’re whole body is still vibrating from the music and you just need to rut against something or you’ll explode into thousands of pieces. Anyone with a problem can go fuck themselves.)

“Are you leaving?”

Mia pauses in her preparations. He’d sounded almost … sad. She knows she’s a fantastic fuck, but she’s really not the type of girl that guys want hanging around too long after they’ve gotten what they wanted.

“Yeah, you know, places to go, innocent Midwestern children to corrupt.”

Darren giggles at that (genuinely giggles, who the hell even is this guy?). “As amazing as I’m sure you are at that, you really don’t want to stay for some breakfast? I’ve got coffee, and you haven’t lived until you’ve tasted the scrabbled eggs and toast made on my hotplate. You know, pause, refuel, all the better to go on your escapades of corruption armed only with the power of punk.”

It’s not a good idea.

“Let’s stick with the coffee and toast. If my intestines don’t revolt, I’ll see what I can do about the eggs.”