Dawn love

POV of Samuel. Ooh f**k !… Who the f**k is this girl lying next to me? Wait… did we… f**k? s**t! And why the hell can’t I remember a damn thing from last night? Oh, by the way, my name is Samuel Lendris. I’m twenty-nine years old, not in a relationship… and not single either. Yeah, I say it like that because these sluts parade through my bed from start to finish. Putain, old man Bernard, I think I just won my little bet again. Too bad I don’t remember the details of this night… that would’ve been f*****g awesome. Especially since she’s got a goddamn pair of t**s that could make a statue c*m. One second… if I really railed her all night, then why the f**k wouldn’t I do it again? Yes, of course I can. Right now. — Hello! How did you sleep, Samir? she said to me. Samir? How the f**k is she calling me that? Are you serious? Did I really f**k a crazy b***h all night? No way. Okay, dude, keep your cool. — Hello, I answered. Then she grabbed my hand like some dumb s**t from old romance novels and added: — How did you sleep, my darling? Fine, I hope… because I, if… For real? She just called me “my darling”? No f*****g way this lasts more than one night. I was about to tell her when she stopped me by touching the bottom of my legs, like she knew that exact part — that f*****g part — was every man’s weakness, including mine. Gently, she started stroking it… even more softly. And I thought: s**t, you’re a f*****g traitor, Nextor. That’s the name I gave my majestic bet that made every girl lose her mind. My rule is never to let a woman stay in my bed longer than one night. Yeah, I said one night, because at seven in the morning I’m never still there with her. It’s my polite way of saying: “Hey babe, it was just a f**k, now you can f**k off.” Back to this bombshell who was already ready to put it in her juicy mouth… it was clear she was making an exception. After all, I didn’t remember last night, and today was different. So without wasting time, I grabbed her hair with all the fire only I’m capable of. — Yes… just like that, she moaned, already running her tongue all over Nextor. She had this perfect instinct to touch exactly where and when it counted. Then I asked her how she was called. And she, f**k, sped up, faster, sloppier, while Nextor was already at the edge of throwing up. She swallowed it deep in her mouth and told me: — Gabi. That’s all. Not very formal. And I liked it like that. Nextor then signaled he was ready for the war. Without delay, I took full control of this sensual wild mare who dared to stay in the same bed as me longer than one night. My hands slid over that dense blonde skin… it looked like a masterpiece made for real men who crave size. From where I was, I could see she was wearing tiny white panties decorated with pink hearts. Fuck, that blonde skin under my fingers… dense, hot, perfect. Like it was sculpted just so I could lose myself in it. My hands kept sliding lower, ripping those cute pink heart panties off like peeling a too-pretty wrapper that doesn’t deserve to stay. She didn’t even protest. She just spread her thighs a little wider, eyes half-closed, that mouth still shining with spit. I flipped her over in one move, face down on the mattress, and I slid inside her without warning. f**k… that heat, that tightness that wrapped around me in one stroke. Nextor growled in satisfaction, the traitor. I stayed still for a second, just to feel every millimeter of her clenching around me. Then I started moving. Slowly at first. Deep. Every thrust calculated so she felt exactly who was holding the reins. My hands on her hips, fingers digging into that firm flesh, I pulled her back with every thrust. She moaned into the pillow, those muffled little sounds that made me smile. I leaned in, my lips right by her ear. — Tell me… where did we meet yesterday? She didn’t answer right away. Just a longer moan when I pushed harder. Mysterious one, that. She kept the silence like a secret. I didn’t push. I just kept going, deeper, more precise, savoring every shiver running down her back, every clench of her muscles around me. Her body was an artwork in motion, and I was the only audience allowed. A few minutes later, while I was holding her even tighter and she was arching back to take me better, she finally let out, voice hoarse, almost choked: — At the bar… last night. Hotel Normeau. That’s where we are. Ah. So we didn’t even leave the room. Classic. I didn’t slow down. On the contrary. My moves stayed the same: precise, dominant, almost delicate in their controlled violence. I asked her, voice calm despite the rhythm: — And why do I remember nothing, then? She laughed weakly, a broken laugh cut off by a moan when I hit the perfect spot. — Normal… with all that you drank… and the rest. You weren’t really there. I didn’t add anything. I just kept f*****g her, savoring every second of that perfect body giving itself to me. Her t**s crushed against the sheets, her hips rising to absorb every thrust, that heat building, building… until Nextor decided it was enough. I flooded her with one final deep thrust, teeth gritted, fingers buried in her flesh. When it was over, I pulled out without a word. She stayed there for a moment face down on the mattress, panting. Me, I was already up. I grabbed my underwear, my pants, my shirt. Automatic moves. Clean. Efficient. She finally stood up, a little unsteady, and murmured she was going to take a shower. I watched her disappear into the bathroom. The moment I heard the water running, I finished getting dressed, grabbed my phone, my keys, my wallet. No words. No kiss. No promise. As I left the room, just before closing the door behind me, I thought about her under the water, still marked by my hands. I’m not a f*****g wreck. We had a f*****g good time, but I’m not a horse you can tame.