Jet lag had turned me into a zombie.

I was up in the middle of the night, unable to relax. I tried to will sleep to come for me. I tossed. I turned. No dice.

I’d read the advice for getting over jet lag: Immediately thrust yourself back into your normal schedule. If you arrive home at 8 a.m., have breakfast and go about your day. You might be more tired than usual when you hit the bed at night, but you’ll be back to your old self in no time.

The problem was I arrived home at 10 p.m. Sleep, the article had advised. But how do you convince yourself to do that when your body thinks it’s morning? It would have been so much easier for me to force myself through a day of work than a night of sleep.

First, I read in bed. Then I shut off the light. Nope. I was still wide awake. I fantasized about Tim, a handsome rep my company does business with from time to time. Inspired, I stroked my pussy until I came, then I rolled over and instructed my brain to turn off. Nothing happened.

Ultimately, I got out of bed and attempted to distract myself, to make myself think of anything other than the fact that I couldn’t drift off.

I unpacked my suitcases, and I caught up on correspondence. That’s how Tim knew I was awake.

“Who emails at 2:30 in the morning?” came the immediate response to the memo I’d sent him.

“Look who’s talking?” I responded. My goal had been to reach the bottom of my inbox by dawn. As I typed another email, a ding announced I had a new message. I checked. It was Tim again.

“I’m an insomniac,” he wrote. “What’s your excuse?”

“Jet lag. It’s morning in Paris.”

I thought that would be all, until my phone started to ring. Who calls someone at 2:30 in the morning? Tim.

“The sensation made me feel as if I were about to burst like fireworks.”

“You’re answering work email in the middle of the night.”

“So are you,” I shot back.

“I’d rather be doing something else,” he said.

I closed my laptop so I could focus on the conversation. “Like?” I drawled.

I’d already come that night while thinking about him. Could I make it twice?

“You,” he responded.

I shut my eyes for a moment and pictured my hunky acquaintance. I hadn’t known he was into me, but I was thrilled that he’d made a move. He’d always been business first, buttoned up and professional in all of our interactions. What would he be like with his buttons undone? I licked my lips and then gave him my address.

He arrived quickly, but my pussy had plenty of time to get wet for him. I answered the door in my nightie — this was clearly a booty call, after all — and Tim looked me up and down. His eyes locked on my breasts, then they drifted lower. I hoped he could see my pussy through the filmy fabric.

I briefly wondered if horniness was a secret symptom of jet lag. I drew Tim into the apartment, and he pressed me against the back of my door. I could feel how hard his cock was through his drawstring pants.

Tim kissed my neck and held my wrists together over my head with one hand. I arched against him as he reached beneath my nightgown and played the fingertips of his free hand over my shaved pussy. He lazily kissed his way down my neck, finding my breasts through the fabric, tugging on one nipple then the other. The sensation made me feel as if I were about to burst like the fireworks I’d seen exploding above the Eiffel Tower. I was desperate for him to continue, yet loathe for him to stop what he was doing. He seemed to understand, because he continued to kiss me, but at the same time, he parted my slippery pussy lips with his fingers.

I would not have been surprised if my juices were dripping into the palm of his hand. I could almost imagine my honey making rivulets down the insides of my thighs. I could not remember ever being that aroused.

“Oh, fuck,” I whimpered as he thrust two fingers inside me. I wanted to feel his cock in me, but I also wanted his tongue on my pussy and clit.

As those thoughts drifted through my head, Tim said, “I’ve always felt the best cure for jet lag was a solid fuck.”

“Really?” I was breathing hard, and the word came out as a breathy whisper.

“But then I think that’s a good cure for almost anything.”

His magic fingers were working inside me, stroking my inner walls. He’d released my wrists, and now I gripped his strong shoulders to stay upright, trying not to melt against him. I could hardly think. I was so far gone from his touch. But he seemed interested in keeping up the conversation, such as it was.

“So, what I’m going to do — just to help you out, you understand — is make you come on my fingers, and then my tongue, and then my cock.”

In fact, I came on his words right then, contracting around his digits as he plunged them in and out of me. Tim then lifted me up and cocked a brow at me. I pointed toward my bedroom. He carried me there and spread me out on the bed. I thought of Tim during our business meetings. He always did everything by the book, methodically ticking off items on his to-do list. Apparently, he was like that in the bedroom, too, but I appreciated his style just a little more in that locale. He’d already crossed one task off of his list. I knew what the next was: his lips on my clit until I shivered through another climax.

I lay back in the bed and looked up at him, hoping I appeared hungry and not desperate. But I was desperate. Desperate for dick.

He didn’t ask me what I wanted. He climbed on the bed with me and began to stroke my body. I hummed and squirmed. Lick me, my body said. Suck me, my pussy yelled. He seemed to hear my silent urging. He moved between my thighs and started to tease my clitoris with his tongue. I ran my fingers through his hair as he moved a little higher. I shut my eyes when I felt his lips close around my jewel for the first time. I was thrilled, and my moans told him so. My clit was large and swollen with need. He moved on the bed so I could reach his cock. I spit in my palm and began to stroke him, while he continued to work me.

I thought I knew where the situation was going to go, but he surprised me. Right as I hit my peak for the second time, he asked, “Do you have lube?”

“I let myself go, being louder than I’d meant to when I came.”

I nodded and gestured toward the nightstand. The bottle was in plain view. He grabbed it, held it up and then looked at me. I heard his unspoken question — and I knew my answer.

“Yes,” I responded, rolling over on the bed and parting my ass cheeks for him. He poured a slippery river of lube between my cheeks. I got on my hands and knees, pushing my butt back toward him. I felt his cockhead push against my pucker.

Hours before, I’d been trying to sleep on the plane. A day before, I’d been walking along the Seine. Now, I was poised to take Tim’s cock in my ass.

“Are you ready?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” I said on a sigh.

He pressed a little harder, and I willed myself to relax. In no time, he was in — and in deep. I was being pummeled in the most delicious manner possible. I couldn’t even stay on my hands and knees. I let Tim drive me right into the mattress, and my hands gripped the sheets as he fucked me like a madman.

Tim held me steady as he pumped his hips, driving his dick in and out of my asshole. Then he reached beneath me to tug on my clit, working in time with the thrusts of his cock. I couldn’t think after that. I couldn’t speak. I simply came.

Tim followed a beat later, filling me up with his cream. Then he pulled out, and we lay back in the bed as he wrapped an arm around me. I could feel my heart beating fast, and I had to work to catch my breath.

Suddenly, I felt weary, and after so many restless hours, sleep finally found me. I knew my dreams would be about Tim, and I knew later on, he’d make each one come true.

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