By: Candace Blevins

“Yes Cara, come for me, let go and come on my cock. I want to feel you coming apart on my cock this time, not just my fingers.”

She sucked in a lungful of air and stopped breathing as her lower body was suddenly no longer under her control — spasming and moving and humping, her back attempting to arch but not able to with her legs trapped by his arms. Her weight pressed her shoulder blades into the mattress as she pushed her pussy closer to him and tried to get him deeper, trying for more of something, anything.

He released a leg and fondled her nipple briefly before running his hand down her stomach and between her thighs to her clit.

Her upper body went limp as her climax kicked into high gear and she sucked in air as the sensations overtook her. There was pain, whatever he was doing hurt, but it also felt good and she bucked against him as he arched his back, drove into her violently, and came with her — his eyes boring into hers as he emptied himself into the condom.

He took five or ten seconds to get his breath, and held the condom as he pulled out, casually walking to the bathroom to dispose of it. He strode back and stood by the bed, completely at ease with his nudity as he looked down and said, “You kicking me out now or can we talk before starting round two?”

Round two? Oh yeah, that sounded good. She motioned for him to lie down and he shook his head and reached for the armless wooden chair beside her desk, pulling it near the bed to sit in it backwards with his arms over the back and chin resting on his hands as he looked down at her.

“You like rough sex.” It didn’t sound judgmental, but a statement of fact. An observation.

Still, she made a point of frowning as she answered, “I don’t like being analyzed.”

“Deal with it. If I’m going to please you I need to know what you like, which means we need to talk about what did and did not work for you.”

She sat up and moved some pillows around, scooting up to lean against them so her face was even with his as she tried to show she could be just as comfortable with nudity.

Ah hell, she wasn’t comfortable with it. She casually shifted a pillow into her lap before reaching to tug the hairband from her destroyed ponytail, smoothing her unruly hair as best she could before pulling it into a ponytail once more.

“You want to talk? How about you explain why you can’t make dinner conversation, but become Mister Talkative who’s full of commands and telling how it’s going to be when it comes to sex? Or why you can roll a condom on like second nature but don’t seem to have encountered a woman’s bra before.”

He looked at her long enough for the silence to hang uncomfortably between them before finally saying, “Okay, I can see how that might raise questions.”

More silence, and Cara eventually said, “Are you gonna answer the questions?”

He sighed. “I don’t suppose you’d sign a non-disclosure agreement?”

“You mean something saying I won’t share what you tell me with anyone?”

He nodded.

“Do we really need to get attorney’s involved? It’s just sex.”

“What if I want it to be more than just sex?”

She didn’t know what to say, and the silence hung between them as they sat and looked at each other. Finally, Cara said, “I think maybe you should go.”

Travis stood and stepped into his boxer briefs before retrieving his pants. “I have a breakfast meeting tomorrow morning but should be able to get away by around 8:30 or 9:00. Would you like to take a day trip to Six Flags?” He casually tucked his shirt in before fastening his pants, as if he were used to conversation as he dressed after sex. “I promise you’ll be safe with me. I enjoy my sex a bit rough, but only if it’s consensual. You tell me to stop, and I will. Every time; no exceptions.”

Papa Bear had met him and likely made a note of his license plate number. She had his card, had checked him out online; he was probably safe. There would be the two-hour drive and conversation might be an issue but she could bring music to keep them from drowning in the silence. And while at the park they wouldn’t be talking much anyway, beyond what to ride next. A day at Six Flags was perfect.

“I’m not scheduled to work again at the NetCafe until Thursday, and I don’t have any graphic deadlines looming over my head. I’d planned to paint tomorrow but if I take my camera and get some shots for inspiration it can still be a fruitful day.”

Fully dressed and sliding his feet into his shoes, he said, “Okay then. I’ll pick you up between 8:30 and 9:30. My cell number’s on my card; if you text me I’ll have yours and can call you when I’m on the way.”