Free Get Lucky by Lila Monroe

orgasm building inside of me, and as she spasms harder, her pussy tightens on my dick, I know she’s just as close. I need her to get there first, or at least when I do. I press down on her clit, and it’s the last whisper of my name that has the world exploding around me, a spinning void of light in the darkness.
    “Fuck,” I growl, unable to hold off anymore, my cock jerking as I spill inside her. Her pussy is convulsing around me, pulling harder and harder and she’s saying my name like she’s afraid she’ll forget it. The sound of it— Nate, Nate, Nate— escalates until her voice has nearly drowned out the slaps our bodies make.
    I pin her to the wall, panting hard, our hearts hammering against each other. Slowly, eventually, I return to myself long enough to lower her to the ground. She wobbles a little, still in those sexy, impractical heels. She leans her head against my chest, gasping.
    “I didn’t think I had it in me,” she says.
    “The dance? Fucking me?” I tilt her chin up and kiss her, hard. She groans deep in her throat.
    “Both.”
    “I’m glad you had it in you,” I whisper into her ear.
    “I’m glad you had it . . . in . . . me?” she says, sounding confused. Then she starts giggling. It’s a throaty, sexy sound. And I can’t help it. I laugh along.

10

Julia
    “ S o we  . . . ” Nate says, trailing off as we stand in the stark daylight outside the world’s most depressing looking strip club. The Palace Veil. Probably looks a lot better at night, with a ton of neon and the sound of loud music inside.
    My temples are throbbing again, but it’s not because of the hangover. It’s the memories that’ve come flooding back since we stepped out of the car. I don’t have everything yet. The memories are coming in mostly flashes, but they’re there. Me dancing onstage, doing acrobatics I hadn’t attempted since I was in pep squad. That explains why my legs were so sore this morning. Thank God yoga keeps me limber.
    Then, of course, there’s the janitor’s closet after that. And all the things that happened in that closet. I could make a joke about getting dirty around cleaning materials, but I just don’t have it in me right now.
    Heh. In me.
    Oh my God, what am I talking about?
    “We went in the closet, and . . . ” Nate pauses again. He seems as embarrassed about the whole thing as I am, which is at least one nice thing.
    “You partook of my virtue, m’lord,” I say, not meeting his eyes. When I get nervous, I go straight to Renaissance Faire speak. It’s just easier to handle reality when I imagine I’m in a corset with a turkey drumstick, I guess.
    Heh. Drumstick.
    I’m going to hell.
    Nate makes some kind of noncommittal noise. I peek over at him. He’s the same as he was this morning, I remind myself, even though we now remember fucking. Same chiseled profile, same gorgeous but douchey hair, same dark blue gaze full of judgment. Same bad personality. Same insults. Insulting people isn’t hot. I don’t care what Lizzie/Darcy shippers believe; it’s just common sense. But now my body is tingling in the slightest ways, my panties dampening the tiniest bit. Because I remember how that was, and it was hot.
    Nate looks over at me as well, and maybe I’m crazy, but I think he’s remembering it, too. Like, envisioning it.
    “So. We know we came here. Where did we go next?” he says to me, studiously avoiding my gaze. Fine. I cross my arms.
    “Before we go any further, I need one thing. Can you go inside and see if my, uh, purse is in there? I still can’t find it.” Or my laptop, but let’s tackle one problem at a time. “It’s got my ID, so I’m freaking out a little.” I’m also blushing to the roots of my hair, remembering the taste of his mouth, the way he thrust into me so deep I could have passed out from pleasure. Purse, Julia. Remember the purse. “Also I, uh, have a lunch meeting I need to get to. Like right now. Lunching.