Always Forward

Back in my hotel room, I poured a generous splash of Crown Royal into my last plastic cup. Even after my cold shower, my body still felt overheated, like I needed to cum more. I rolled my eyes and swore when I realized that I didn't have any ice. I didn't bother to put on shoes before I strolled down the hall in my burgundy spandex shorts and oversized, dark orange men's tank top. My black yoga bra was on full display through the giant armholes.

When I got to the designated alcove across from the stairs, I placed my metal bucket under the dispenser and hit the button. Nothing happened. I slapped at it again, but the machine only made a sad, sputtering noise. I sighed, then bent over in defeat. I reached for the receptacle, my ass in the air, cursing under my breath. Unfortunately, before I could successfully maneuver, I heard someone male distinctly clearing his throat behind me.

When I stood and turned around, I saw Gabe cradling an identical ice bucket in his strong hands. His thick hair was still wet and unstyled; the heavy strands flopped down over his forehead. He had on a pair of dark green basketball shorts and a faded black t-shirt. Gabe looked so gorgeously disheveled that I inadvertently sucked in my breath. Feeling his eyes slowly sweep over me, I could feel the blood rushing directly to my cheeks and my clit.

Everything about his primal expression said, "I've seen you naked, and I liked it. I made you cum harder than you ever have in your life; I can do it again, whenever I want."

I thought that Gabe was going to say we should talk, but that didn't happen. We just stood there in heavy silence, looking at each other. As the moment stretched out, when neither of us said anything, Gabe deliberately placed his ice canister on top of the broken machine.

I have no idea who moved first, but we practically crashed into each other. His warm lips settled on mine, and we both opened our mouths. Our teeth clacked together gently as our tongues tangled. I already had my hand wedged under the elastic of his shorts. I found his cock hard and dense as concrete. He was still leaking from his last orgasm, but Gabe was definitely ready to go again. Apparently, since breaking the sex seal, we couldn't keep our hands off of each other.

Gabe lifted me up like it was easy. He made me feel weightless. When he backed me up against the humming vending machine on the opposite wall, my legs wrapped naturally around his waist. His fingers dug firmly into my ass, groping me as he tore at my leggings with one hand. I pulled at one end of the bow holding up his shorts. As Gabe braced me, the baggy gym wear fell from his hips, the mesh pooling gently on top of his leather flip flops.

Gabe bit my neck, and I moaned as he sucked hard enough to give me an obvious, obnoxious hickey at the base of my throat. I briefly thought about my brother's wedding photos, then decided that I didn't care. I viscerally wanted to be marked by Gabe, for this interlude, us, to be real. I rationalized that I was paying to have my make-up done. Surely, the woman could do something creative with concealer.

At the time, I was on animalistic autopilot, apparently getting used to the idea of an audience. For the third time in two days, I didn't bother to consider the possibility of pregnancy, or the million devastating scenarios in which the man I'd loved since I was a child was just playing around with me. As Gabe finally navigated my clothes and penetrated me bare with his painfully hard cock, I wondered if it was significant that we hadn't yet had sex in a bed.

He breathed in my ear. "My God, Fox. Jesus. I know you have to be sore, but you're taking me so good. You're so hot and tight around my big dick. Do you like that, baby? Do you want to hear about wet you are?"

I writhed against Gabe, feeling him sink in a little further, expertly grinding his erection into my abused cervix.

Gabe adjusted his angle, and the tenderness started to recede. His thrusts became pleasurable as I lubricated around his cock. We found our rhythm again.

I don't know if I actually heard something, or it was some sort of sixth sense, but at one point I briefly opened my eyes and saw Bash walking by. Gabe's brother's arms were comically full of individually-wrapped oatmeal chocolate-chip cookies. He had clearly pilfered the little plastic bags of dessert from the omnipresent stacked tray in the lobby. When Bash saw us, he slightly fumbled his perfidy. However, to his credit, he didn't drop anything. His stride didn't falter.

Knowing that we were being watched made my all bad girl neurons fire at once, and I came again. I tried to do it silently, but as my body shook and I swallowed my moan, Bash definitely knew.

When Gabe's brother passed us, he gave me an exaggerated, toothy smile and an obnoxious thumbs up, but then he was kind enough to keep it moving. Gabe didn't seem notice. His eyes were closed. His face was buried in the crook of my neck. He appeared to be completely absorbed in the contractions massaging his shaft.

Gabe was breathing hard when he suddenly shuddered and came. His sharp chin dug into my shoulder, and I felt his knees bend slightly. His legs shook, and I worried for the first time that he would drop me.

When I was sure that Gabe had finished ejaculating, and he seemed steady on his feet again, I said, "You know that Bash saw us, right?"

Gabe met my eyes. Then, without any warning, my lover was laughing, his throat vibrating against my collarbone with each uncontrolled, crazy burst.

Gabe obviously had trouble getting the words out, he was laughing so hard. "We've been having so much...sex...in public that...someone was bound to catch us...Better Bash...than your dad...Fuck...Can you imagine?"

I couldn't help myself from chuckling with him, suddenly picturing the horrified look on my dignified, placid father's face. I was overcome by the ridiculousness of the idea. Gabe laughed so hard that tears ran down his cheeks. I gently wiped the droplets away with my thumbs.

When we finally managed to stop giggling, Gabe said, "Sorry, babe...Sometimes, when I have a really intense orgasm, usually after I've already cum a few times, I just get kind of, like, punch drunk, and that happens. Like, I laugh so hard that I cry."

Gabe pressed his sweaty forehead to my lips. He was clearly drained. When his breathing normalized and he pulled back, I grinned at him, still focused on the fact that I had made him cum, really, really hard. I was thrilled that Gabe was willing to be vulnerable with me.

I slid my legs down his body, firmly planting my feet on the floor, then we each fixed our clothes. Once I made sure that we were presentable, I grabbed and stacked the ice buckets; Gabe piggybacked me to my room, wearing the containers as a jaunty hat. I could tell that he didn't want to talk about our new level of intimacy. He seemed much more comfortable flirting and joking.

Gabe easily maneuvered my key card, then he dumped me carefully in the middle of the King-size bed with a wink.

"I'm fucking starving...Or, it is starving from fucking? Whatever...semantics are not important. Want some food?"

He didn't wait for my answer. Gabe picked up the room's landline and ordered a ridiculous amount of room service. He ran his wide index finger down the menu, seemingly adding anything that struck his fancy, which turned out to be beef tallow fries, chocolate milkshakes, southwest eggrolls, balsamic roasted sprouts, crab rangoon, and sliders with bacon jam. I lay there, fucked out and noncommittally listening, feeling sleepy and satiated.

Once Gabe billed the food to his room, he poured a few fingers of my Canadian whisky into a coffee mug for himself. While we waited, Gabe sat behind me, supporting my dead weight against his chest and mindlessly rubbing my shoulders. I internally purred, enjoying his continued attentions.

When the food came, we stretched out on the crisp white sheets, leisurely feeding each other ketchup-smothered french fries, like we had all the time in the world.