Free Sugar by Hope Tarr, Jenna Jameson

sample each and every spicy, hot dish.

    Drained from her day at the hospital, Sarah also felt guilty about all the times her thoughts had drifted to Cole, her mind ablaze with hot scenes recalled from the previous incredible night. He had amazing cock control, serious stamina. Given how long he’d gone down on her in the kitchen, she hadn’t expected him to last beyond the blow job. The deep throating she’d added at the end would have sent more than a few professional actors over the edge but not Cole.
    Even once he’d penetrated her, he’d managed to take them to the edge and then pull back again and again. By the time he’d finally let himself pop, the sky outside her window was lightening. She hadn’t intended for him to stay, let alone to fall asleep in his arms. Both had just . . . happened. Though she wasn’t usually much for cuddling, curling up beside him had felt . . . right, as well as really good.
    Above all, Liz being so sick drove home what a mistake it was to live for “someday.” The present was all anyone had. If Sarah had doubted that before, seeing her friend hooked up to that chemo pump had convinced her.
    Unfortunately given what she’d discovered about Cole’s pedigree and position, their one night would have to last her. Mulling over those morose thoughts, she’d got Liz settled back home, grabbed some groceries, and walked back to her apartment on Elizabeth Street. She’d chosen the fifth floor loft in a converted turn-of-the-century brownstone primarily for its proximity to Liz’s, about a five minutes’ walk, and because she’d been able to sublet it for six months instead of the usual year. Six hundred and fifty square feet was a lot less space than she was used to, but high ceilings and period details made it seem roomier. Beyond the practical considerations, she just really liked the funky, artsy vibe of Soho. After a decade in LA, she appreciated how easy it was to walk almost anywhere rather than being in a car stuck in gridlock. On her block alone, there were numerous art galleries, boutiques, and cafes, most of which she’d yet to explore.
    Approaching, she spotted an athletically built, dark-haired man sitting on her top step, head downturned and muscular arms extended forward in a stretch. Sarah tensed. He was too well dressed to be a deliveryman even if he hadn’t been empty handed, and she didn’t think he was one of her neighbors. Was it possible he was a reporter? Even though she’d held off from reporting the previous evening’s mugging, any number of bystanders might have snapped her photo. She hadn’t noticed anything unusual on her Twitter traffic, but still . . . Slowing her stride, she took several seconds before registering that the waiting man was Cole.
    Relieved, she drew up at the base of the steps. If possible, her sexy rescuer looked even better in daylight. Today’s ensemble was a collarless T-shirt, Diesel jeans, and sandals. She’d never thought of herself as having a fetish for feet, and yet the sight of his long, slender toes struck her as unbelievably erotic.
    Lifting his head, he unfolded his long body and stood. “I’m not stalking you if that’s what you’re thinking.”
    The joke struck a chord of genuine alarm. “That’s not funny.”
    “Sorry,” he said, walking down to meet her. “I just want to talk to you.”
    She crossed her arms across her chest, a shield against her heart’s wild pumping. “So talk.”
    Joining her on the sidewalk, he gestured to the building at his back. “Can I come in for a few minutes? I won’t stay long—unless you ask me to.”
    As much as she hated to concede it, his in-your-face confidence was totally justified. The night before, he’d been amazing, a fucking machine. But if she were honest with herself, it was the frequent flashes of tenderness that had really gotten to her, as much or more than the size of his cock and the fact that he really, really knew how to use it.
    “Ha, dream on!”