Prologue - Menlow #2
She tastes like gin and something sweeter underneath. Her mouth opens for me, and I take full advantage. My hands find her waist, pulling her against my body so she can feel exactly what she’s done to me over the past few hours.
She gasps against my lips and inches closer instead of pulling away. The contact sends heat racing through my veins, pooling low in my stomach.
I walk her backward toward the bedroom, never breaking the kiss. Her fingers find my tie, where she loosens the knot with surprising dexterity. The silk slides free, and she drops it without looking.
“I want to see you,” I tell her between kisses. “All of you.”
She responds by stepping back just far enough to pull her sweater over her head.
Her bra is simple. Navy blue cotton. Nothing designed to seduce. But on her, with her flushed skin and quickened breathing, it’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. The fabric strains against her breasts, and I want nothing more than to tear it off with my teeth.
I run my hands up her sides instead and take my time, really feel the way she shudders when my thumbs trace along the underwire, brushing the soft skin just beneath.
I let her undo my shirt buttons one by one, torturously slow. Her fingers graze my chest with each one she frees, and by the time she pushes the fabric off my shoulders, I’m harder than I’ve ever been in my life.
She splays her palms against my bare skin and traces the lines of muscle across my stomach. Then lower, following the trail of hair that disappears beneath my waistband.
I reach behind her and unclasp her bra with one hand before I let it fall to the floor between us.
God. She’s perfect. Full breasts with dusky pink nipples already peaked from arousal. I cup one in my palm, testing the weight, and she makes a sound that goes straight to my cock.
“You’re beautiful,” I breathe.
“Less talking.”
I lower my head and take one nipple into my mouth.
She arches into me with a moan as her fingers latch onto my shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
I use my tongue to circle the stiff peak before I graze it with my teeth just enough to make her gasp.
Then I soothe the sting and move to give her other breast the same attention.
“The bed,” she pants. “Now.”
I lift her easily. She wraps her legs around my waist, and the position puts her core right against my straining cock. Even through the layers of fabric between us, the pressure makes us both groan.
I carry her into my bedroom and lay her down on the mattress, where I stand at the edge of the bed and just look at her for a moment. Hair is fanned across my pillow, her chest heaving, and her lips are swollen from my kisses.
She reaches for my belt and unbuckles it with eager fingers before she works my pants and boxer briefs down my hips until my cock springs free, hard and aching.
Her eyes travel down my body and stop at my erection. She licks her lips greedily, and I nearly lose control right there.
“Your turn,” I manage.
She lifts her hips and shimmies out of her jeans, taking her underwear with them. Now we’re both naked. Both exposed. Both breathing harder than we should be.
I settle between her thighs and press a kiss to her knee. Then another, higher up. Working my way toward where I can already see how wet she is for me. I lower my head and drag my tongue through her folds, slow and savoring, learning her for the first time.
She’s sweet. Addictive. So responsive that every stroke makes her hips buck against my mouth. I hold onto her thighs to keep her steady and explore thoroughly, finding the spots that make her fingers twist in my hair. The rhythm that makes her breathing turn ragged.
“Right there,” she gasps. “God, don’t stop.”
I focus on her clit and circle it with the tip of my tongue and suck gently until her entire body goes taut beneath me.
“I’m going to—” She can’t finish the sentence. Her thighs start to tremble.
“Do it.” I don’t let up. “Come for me.”
She shatters. Her back bows off the mattress, and she clamps her hand over her mouth to muffle her cry. I work her through every wave, drinking her in, until she’s pushing weakly at my shoulders.
“Too much,” she gasps. “I can’t—”
I kiss my way back up her body. Let her taste herself on my lips when I capture her mouth again.
“Your turn,” she whispers against my jaw.
Before I can respond, she’s pushing at my chest, rolling me onto my back, and straddling my hips with a confidence that makes my cock twitch against her stomach.
She strokes me slowly as she watches my face, and she adjusts her grip based on my reactions. Tightens when I groan. Twists her wrist at the top in a way that makes my vision go white at the edges.
“You’re holding back,” she observes.
“If I don’t, this will be over embarrassingly fast.”
She grins, leans down, and brushes her lips against my ear. “Maybe I want to make you lose control.”
***
I wake up alone.
My bed is empty except for me. Her clothes are gone. No note. No number.
She left without waking me. Without saying goodbye. Without giving me any way to find her.
I should feel relieved. One-night stands are simpler when they stay simple.
But I don’t feel relieved. I feel cheated.
The next week passes in a haze of meetings and paperwork. The Vasiliev acquisition requires constant attention. Contracts need reviewing. Personnel decisions need making.
Through it all, I can’t stop thinking about her.
The curve of her smile. The quickness of her wit. The sounds she made when I touched her.
I return to O’Malley’s three times that week, sit in the same spot, and watch that fucking door.
She never comes back.
The truth is, I don’t understand it myself. I’ve had plenty of one-night stands. Never once have I felt the urge to track a woman down afterward.
This woman—whoever she is, wherever she went—has gotten under my skin.
And something tells me I haven’t seen the last of her.