Blast From The Past 2 by Faith Winslow

no time, I was back to where I’d been only a few moments earlier, when J.R.’s fingers were inside me. I was on the brink of an orgasm, and there was no stopping me now.
    I threw my head back and arched my chest toward J.R.’s face as we continued to grind together. He buried his head between my tits, licking and sucking whatever flesh he could, and my legs started shaking.
    The sounds that came out of me next weren’t words exactly. They were more akin to cries—cries of pleasure and passion—and J.R. was soon matching them with his own. While I was still squirming and squealing on top of him, he started breathing very heavily, very quickly, and began mumbling something under his breath. His words weren’t words exactly either, though I did hear some familiar syllables.
    “Oh God.”
    “Fuck.”
    “Yeah.”
    J.R. grabbed my ass one last time and thrust me back and forth against him as if his life depended on it. Then, just as fervently, he pulled me of off him and threw his head back against the couch as he erupted all over me, shooting his load on my stomach, legs, and torn panties.
    He grabbed hold of my head again and pulled me toward him, planting a wet kiss on my lips and telling me, “You’re amazing.”
    I felt weak in the knees—literally—as I remained straddled atop J.R., and I worried that my body was going to cave beneath me.
    I was still trying to catch my breath when J.R. looked up at me and said, “I’m not done with you yet, you know.”
    I looked down at him and laughed before dismounting. “I don’t know how much more of that I can take,” I said. “You really wore me out.”
    “Well, we have the rest of the afternoon to figure out how much more you can take,” J.R. said, sitting up. “But, before we get to that, I have two questions.”
    “Okay,” I said. “Shoot.” I realized I’d said the exact same words earlier.
    “First of all—can you get me a towel or something to clean up?” he looked down at the mess still glistening on his lap. “And, second of all—is there any Chinese food left? I’ve worked up an appetite, and could use some more energy for later.”
    “Just use this,” I said, tossing my nightie to J.R. I’d already used it to clean up myself, and figured more sex stains wouldn’t harm it. “And, yes, there’s still plenty of Chinese left—in the kitchen.”
    J.R. dabbed away at himself, wiping up what was left of our drying juices. Then he stood up, redid his pants, and walked with me to the kitchen. We both went straight to the fridge and started looking through the leftovers. I went with chop suey, while J.R. opted for lo mein.
    I reached into the drawer, pulled out two forks, and handed one to J.R. He dug into his food and started eating it right out of the container.
    “Hmm,” he hummed, looking over toward my table. “How’d you find that loser?” he asked.
    I turned and looked at the table. My laptop was still sitting there, and Tommy’s social media profile was still displayed, with a big picture of him staring right back at us.
    “What do you mean?” I asked.
    “That dumbass on your computer screen,” J.R. said, eating his noodles. “That’s the guy I was telling you about… Gigi’s unruly boyfriend—the one we had to kick out of the event at the hotel last year.”
    I felt my stomach turn, and it wasn’t because of the day-old Chinese food I’d just put in it.
    “That’s him?” I asked, making sure I had things straight.
    “Sure is,” J.R. answered. “No doubt about it. I’d recognize him anywhere.”
    My heart and my mind were both racing. I didn’t know how to respond to this new information—but I knew that J.R. couldn’t be there when I did. I had to sort through this on my own before I could share it with him.
    “J.R.,” I said, walking over to the table. I shut my laptop lid with a snap. “I know this is going to sound weird, but there’s some stuff I need to take care of… What just happened between us