Free Club Himeros by G Doucette Page A

her from falling over, it seemed, even as his right arm continued to squeeze her waist.
    Once it was clear they had found an ideal balance point between their bodies, he pulled out of her, and stopped, held himself out for something like forever, and then slid back in.  Slowly.  Very slowly.  He was strong, and steady, and it never felt like he was going to lose control and drop her, but his initial thrusts were gentle, and fully in control.  He was holding back, slowing them down, working back up toward something for them to share together.
    Harder , she thought.  She wanted to grab that chain again, but not badly enough to risk unbalancing them.  And the command never made it past her lips.
    He was teasing her. Every time he pulled out it seemed an eternity before he pushed back in again.  Each absence made her tingle, and each return brought her right to the brink, each time a little bit closer but not over the edge.  She felt like all it would take was a gentle breeze on the right body part and she would burst like a balloon.
    When he picked up the pace again Lindy basically forgot to breathe.  He was driving so hard and so fast into her that it was a legitimate wonder they didn’t either break the couch or push themselves right onto the floor.  She spent most of that few minutes before he came with all of her muscles locked, stretched to the limit of her strength and dexterity.  Something snapped and broke loose inside of her, an orgasm that had to touch every nerve in her body before it faded.
    And when he came it was like he found a new reserve of strength.  His hips locked and lifted, which raised her hips and then—with the help of his arms—her whole body.  He squeezed her as tightly as he could, as if it was possible for his climax to punch a hole through her.  And he made an adorable, high-pitched gasping sound, and held on until he was done.
    Then he let her down, slowly, and pulled his arm out from behind her hips.
    “Good?” he asked her quietly.
    “Yeah, I’m good,” she said.
    “Cool.”
    He pulled out of her, rolled over, and sat back on the couch, legs splayed, her feet resting in his lap. 
    She stayed where she was, pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to move for a little while and hoping nobody minded. 
    A few seconds later someone was handing them towels.  She looked up to see the dark-mask man from halfway across the room.  Up close the mask looked purple.  She thanked him.  He nodded without speaking and produced a water bottle for her, then left.
    “Wow, the service here is pretty good,” she said. 
    Mocha laughed.
    “So,” he said.  “I don’t know if you know this, but I was really looking for a conversation.  That was a whole lot better, but… I don’t know, I just wanted to say that.  I wasn’t on the make or whatever we call it nowadays.”
    “You mean you didn’t want to have sex?”  She tried to sit up, decided it was too much work, and lay back down again.
    “No, that’s not what I meant.”
    “Good, because if that was you being reluctant, non-reluctant you would probably kill me.”
    “I mean I’m not the kind of guy who does this kind of thing.  I guess.”
    “As we already established.  And I’m not that kind of girl, either.  But as it turns out, Ms. Burgundy is that kind of girl.  And Mr. Mocha is definitely that kind of guy.  And I’m okay with that.”
    *   *   *
    It was difficult to say how much time she and Mr. Mocha spent together because while in the club there was no real communication with the outside world.  The windows were all blacked out, there were no clocks, and when she started asking other guests what time it was, she discovered the people with watches had been asked to leave them at the door along with the phones.
    It seemed like a long time.  When they weren’t making out or actively having sex—against a wall one time, another in a bean bag, a third time on one of the rugs on the floor in front of a