The Reluctant Mate

Amanda Mature

It should have been enough that Porter was the most jaw-droppingly attractive man I had ever seen in my life, but apparently it was not. His skills were ridiculous, and he brought me to climax so many times I lost count. If my brain had been able to function, I should have had bright red fire alarms ringing in my ears, but he was worse than alcohol for messing with my inhibitions...not that I had any I wanted to make use of anyway.

But this was going to be a problem. I’d been with enough guys since I’d finally escaped Steven and his controlling bullshit, and I’d been lucky if one in three guys could get me off. And here Porter was, giving me multiple orgasms. He had some ridiculous magic, he could probably breath on my forehead and make me cum if he decided to.

My legs were weak from shaking by the time he stopped with a very sexy expression of masculine pride on his face. I was afraid he was going to try to drag it out longer, so I wiggled out from under him and flipped over onto my hands and knees. I shot him a challenging look, begging for him to just take me already.

He paused, and slight insecurity hit me, but then I looked at his dick and he was clearly as into this as I was. What was his problem? “I’m on birth control, and I was just tested last week so I’m clean, and there’s condoms in the drawer if you don’t believe me,” I said and then mentally slapped myself. “Actually, never mind, we should be using condoms.” I never did this without protection, what was it about him that had melted my brain like this? Only an idiot trusted someone they just met.

He followed my directions and got one, rolling it on. “Flip over.”

“No thanks,” I said, moving my butt to catch his attention.

“I want to see your eyes,” he said, his voice deep and stubborn.

Yeah, that wasn’t happening. The last thing I needed after having him blow my mind like this was long, soulful looks while he was inside me. “No, Porter, I want to do it this way,” I whined in the most sultry way I could manage.

He groaned. I didn’t know why he cared how we did it. I was here, and I was willing, and what more could he possibly want from me?

Since he seemed dead set on doing it his way and seemed determined to force me to give in willingly, I did so, even though it was another sign of controlling bullshit. It didn’t matter though, because I wasn’t going to see him again after tonight, and I didn’t actually have to make eye contact with him if I didn’t want to. I rolled over and waited for him. “Fine, you win. Just give me what I want.”

He was on me so fast it almost took my breath away. I could feel him lined up at the entrance to my body and I shifted my hips to try to get him in.

“Amanda,” he said. “Look at me.”

“I am.” I said, sweeping my gaze down his body to where he was still holding out on me.

He tilted my chin up, so I scowled at him as he finally pushed inside. I tried not to groan my pleasure at the feeling because I was still annoyed by his controlling behavior. I didn’t find it attractive, and it reminded me of things I didn’t want to remember. Unfortunately, my annoyance with him was quickly drowned in the feeling of his perfect size sweeping inside me and hitting me in just the right spot, he was just too good at this. He’d probably had a lot of practice, but that wasn’t my problem at the moment as long as I didn’t end up catching anything gross from him.

Porter hit the perfect rhythm, and I could feel myself quickly getting close to the edge again. Twice more he pushed me over. And just as I toppled over into another orgasm, he caught my eyes again, before shuddering and following me. He let too much of his weight rest on me for a second, but I didn’t complain, letting my eyes wander anywhere but his face while he gathered himself. He pulled out, and I watched him look around for the waste basket before he returned and lay back down in my bed beside me, way too close for comfort.

If I had been smart, I would have handed him his pants and kicked him out right then, but I was just too tired to put up any sort of decent fight. I was just going to close my eyes for a couple of minutes and then I would get rid of him.

Instead, I woke up in a room filled with natural light from the window, feeling ridiculously good, warm, and comfortably pillowed against a chest, with something heavy slung over me.

I inhaled, and with horror realized what had happened.

I’d let Porter sleep in my bed all night.

What was he even still doing here? Didn’t he know that he was supposed to make himself scarce afterwards? I hadn’t brought him home for breakfast, I had already gotten exactly what I wanted from him and vice versa. It had been a fair trade.

The best thing to do would probably be to just get ready and go about my day and ignore him. I very carefully dislodged myself from him, which was hard, because his sleeping subconscious clearly did not want to let me go. Still, I managed to wiggle out with a bit of effort, and I quickly threw on a baggy old t-shirt and ugly sweatpants so he’d hopefully be horrified once he saw the slobby chick he’d slept with and quickly leave when he finally woke up. A part of me wanted to just get dressed and go out for breakfast to escape, but I wasn’t going to leave Lisa with a strange man in the house, and I also wasn’t going to take her with me and leave him unattended with our stuff to rob us blind.

Maybe I should wake him up and kick him out, I thought as I looked that the sleeping sample of male perfection in my bed. He really was just my type, and I hadn’t even known that I had a type, other than that I preferred my men un-Steven-like. And even if I was looking for something long term, those little signs of bossy possessiveness I’d noted during his fantastic performance weren’t quite un-Steven-like enough for me.

I decided to just leave him where he was and get something to eat. Hopefully once he woke up alone he’d get the hint and take off without any intervention from me. I actually felt really good this morning, I never felt this good after a night of drinking. Although I hadn’t really drank much after I’d gotten to Angie’s, had I? Once I’d met Porter I’d spent most of my time there not drinking with him. Which made my lack of judgment of the previous night even harder to explain.

In the kitchen, I considered making an omelet, but if he woke up he might think I was cooking for him, and that would be a problem, so I poured myself some cereal, doused it in milk, and sat at the counter to eat. I would have liked some coffee, but again, that might encourage him to try to stay so I’d just have to get by without.

While I munched, I tried not to think about how good he had been between the sheets and between my legs and how much I’d like to feel that again. I’d never been tempted to want a repeat before, and that was another bad sign. Again I scolded myself for not kicking him out last night. I did not need these attachments.

Noise down the hall made me stiffen nervously. This was why they were supposed to not sleep over, it avoided all the messy awkwardness of the next morning. I resisted the urge to look. After a minute I heard the toilet flushing and water running, and then footsteps. I kept my gaze fixed on the task of fishing out the last couple pieces of cereal in my bowl.