Chapter 1 #2
My gaze dropped from his profile to his hands.
Oh, yeah, he had great fingers and nice forearms. I continued my perusal up to his biceps.
Though he was wearing long sleeves I could still see the bulge.
I was not a small woman but he’d have no problems hoisting me into his arms. Of course, I’d wrap my legs around his waist in an effort to assist with weight distribution.
Oh, who the hell was I kidding? I’d wrap my legs around him so he could fuck me against the wall.
Only after that was checked off the fantasy to-do list would I take him to the bed.
I wondered if he’d let me ride him, or if he was the sort of man who would take charge and hold me prisoner while he did dirty, filthy things to my body.
I’d be his willing captive or I’d ride him until I was breathless and exhausted.
Either way, I wouldn’t complain. I’d feel no shame begging him to take me harder.
Though I doubted I’d need to beg or give instructions to a man like him.
He oozed confidence and masculinity. It lingered in the air. I inhaled it. It surrounded me. My body knew what it wanted. My mind was fully on board. I kept my heart carefully tucked away, understanding it had no place in this adventure.
“Would you like company?”
Smooth, like warm honey.
I blinked and lifted my gaze to find the stranger standing next to my booth. My eyes flicked to the now-empty table where he and his friends had been sitting.
How long have I been zoned out?
I didn’t care how long. I was just hoping “company” was a euphuism for wild sex. I didn’t ask for clarification, I just hoped I was reading the look on his face right or this would be awkward.
“I would love company.”
I closed my laptop, slid it into my bag, made sure I’d signed the credit card slip, then started to scooch out of the booth.
The man’s lips twitched and he held out his hand.
“Your room or mine?”
Yep. It was a euphuism, all right. Wild, fantasy-fueled sex, here I come.
“Yours.”
I looked down at his hand, placed mine into his, and savored the warmth.
“You have great hands,” I whispered.
I was tugged out of the booth to my feet, the man lowered his head, then a hair’s breadth away from my ear he whispered, “You sure about this?”
A chill ran down my spine and my nipples tightened.
“I’m sure.”
I guess he liked my answer because the next thing I knew he snatched my bag out of my hand and was pulling me through the bar.
Holding my bag for me was a nice touch but unnecessary.
So was the pulling part; I’d already decided I’d follow this man straight through the gates of hell if he was one iota as good as he looked.
Yes, I was lust drunk and willing to sell my soul to the devil to spend one night with a man I’d never see again.
He turned left, walked halfway down the hall, stopped in front of a door, and looked down at me with his dark eyes. Something stole over me. Lust, sex fantasies, wet panties, tingling nipples aside, he had beautiful eyes. And right then they were kind and gentle.
“You still sure?”
“Yes.”
He inserted his key then pushed open the door but didn’t go through.
“My name’s—”
“No names,” I rasped, totally unashamed.
He graced me with another panty-melting smile and gestured me through the door. After that, there was no more talking. He’d found better uses for his mouth. One could say, this beautiful stranger was an action man.
He was better than any fantasy.
He was as rough as he was gentle.
He kissed, caressed, and licked every inch of me. He nibbled, bit, and pinched. He fucked me against the wall, on the bed, in the shower, and on the floor. I sucked him off, rode him, and yanked his hair while his face was between my legs.
It was the wildest night of my life.
He was the best I’d ever had.
And in the morning when he kissed me goodbye I was having a hard time reminding my heart we couldn’t keep him. I struggled not to ask him for a name. I fought back the temptation to ask for another night—or a week—or forever.
But in the end, my sensible side won out.
I wrapped my arms around him and told him I’d never forget a single second of our night together. He gave me a soft, slow sweet kiss that made my heart melt and cemented my decision never to see him again.
Truth be told, I was a romantic. I believed in love at first sight.
I knew soul mates existed. One more night with this man and I’d tumble headfirst from lust to love.
I was already halfway there. It was not the sex, it was the way his fingertips had softly traced the flowers tattooed up my arm.
It was the way his face softened when I explained the meaning of each one.
It was the way he’d kissed each blossom.
It was the way he smiled and laughed. We’d had mind-bending sex, but we’d also connected.
“Ocean blue,” he murmured and brushed his lips over my cheek.
I didn’t know what he was talking about and I didn’t ask.
I felt no shame walking out of his hotel room.
I felt no guilt taking what I wanted and living out my wildest dreams.
I felt no remorse.
And I didn’t lie—I never forgot a single second. Not one. Every day I was reminded I’d had the best night of my life with a stranger.
But I did have one regret—I should’ve asked him his name.