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NSA

I park my car in the lot of the Crowne and Rose Hotel. My fingers linger on the steering wheel before I finally grab my purse and step out, heels clicking softly on the asphalt as I slow my pace toward the white-washed building. Jody had already sent the room number, 217. My pulse skips with anticipation—nerves and excitement dancing in rhythm beneath my skin. It had been a while since someone stirred me like this, awakening the hunger I thought had grown dormant.

He’s everything I crave—tall, dark, and deliciously handsome. A gentleman with just enough edge to make keep things interesting.His intelligence sharp, his confidence owned rather than borrowed. The kind of man who could wrap you in his arms and rewrite your limits with a single glance. This was supposed to be NSA. No strings. But with Jody? That was easier said than done.

Still, I remind myself—I’m a big girl. I walked into this with eyes wide open. I came for a good time, and he had everything I needed to make the night unforgettable.

I enter the room, finding him seated across from the bed. I lower myself onto the opposite mattress, my body humming with nerves. I can feel my heartbeat in my throat, pounding so loud I’m convinced he can hear it too. The edible I took in the car isn’t doing a damn thing to calm me down. The last thing I need is for his hands to touch me and for my body to betray me with a tremble.

I excuse myself, slipping into the bathroom like it’s a sanctuary. In the mirror, I meet my own gaze and whisper a steadying mantra: You’ve got this. I take a few deep breaths, summoning the confidence I know lives in me. I’m not here to play small. I’m here to indulge, to feel, to burn. And Jody? He’s the flame.

I step back into the room and cross the distance between us. I settle beside him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin. I want to taste him again—those soft, full lips that had teased mine earlier in the day, igniting a low fire deep in my core.

He doesn’t make me wait. Jody crashes his mouth into mine, urgent and hungry. Our tongues meet in a kiss that deepens quickly, unraveling restraint with every breath. His arms find my body, strong and possessive, as he peels my shirt away. I unfasten my bra with practiced ease. His mouth seeks my breast, his tongue teasing, licking, sucking—each touch sending tremors through my spine, feeding the blaze within.

Before I can register what’s happening, he spins me around, lifting my shirt over my waist. My panties are tugged down, and I barely have time to catch my breath before his tongue is flicking over my clit, sending a violent shiver through my thighs. Then—his lips. His mouth. He’s devouring me like he’s starving, like my body holds the antidote to every hunger he’s ever known. I cry out, surrendering to the sensation as his tongue works magic. My climax hits fast and hard, crashing over me as I pour myself into his mouth—an offering, a surrender.

When he slides his dick inside me, my body opens for him like it had been sculpted just to take him in. Every inch of him fits like fate. He feels so right, so complete—like every lover before him had only been a rough sketch of this masterpiece. He grabs my neck, turning me to face him, and kisses me with the kind of intensity that makes time blur.

Then he pulls out, and I feel the sudden emptiness—an ache that only he can fill. He lays me back on the bed, spreading my legs and slipping back inside me. Each thrust is a prayer, each movement a poem written in flesh. He hits deep, coaxing moans from my lips and waves of pleasure from my core. I already know—I’ll be seeing him again. The strings I swore wouldn’t attach are already curling, threading through me like silk.

I raise up, our eyes locked, and he knows. Without a word, he leans back, letting me take control. I straddle him, lowering my dripping heat onto his pulsing length. “Ohhh—” I moan, the stretch divine, the fit perfect. I move my hips in slow, deliberate circles, feeling every nerve spark, every inch of me claimed. The slick rhythm of our bodies meeting is an erotic symphony, each thrust sending another tidal wave through me. I ride him until I feel him pulse inside me.

“Oh shit, I’m about to cum,” he groans.

Without hesitation, I slide off him and take him into my mouth. My lips close around his shaft, my hand stroking the length, working in tandem with my tongue. He erupts with a guttural cry, his release filling my mouth, warm and thick. I swallow every drop, savoring the taste of him like honeyed sin.

He grabs my face and pulls me into a deep, devouring kiss, and in that moment—something shifts. One string, invisible and unspoken, ties me to him. And I know, even if I try to lie to myself—I am his.

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