5. Surprise Me
SURPRISE ME
CHLOE
Ordinarily, I’d do the usual routine before a date—FaceTime my friends, show them the outfit, get their approval.
The clock is ticking though, and I don’t have time for a proper clothing check.
I quickly text my besties Ripley and Bridget in Darling Springs to let them know I’m staying in the city overnight courtesy of Florence and also that I met a hot guy.
As I use the lipstick from my clutch as both blush and lipstick—life hack for the win—I fire off a final text.
Chloe: If you don’t hear from me in a couple hours, say a prayer because I’m being banged within an inch of my life.
Ripley: Dear Goddess of All the Orgasms, please rain them down on our friend Chloe tonight.
Bridget: Can I get an amen?
Ripley: But you’d better take a picture of his driver’s license and send it to us.
Chloe: In case he cuts my head off?
Ripley: Yes, Chloe. In the event of your beheading, it would be incredibly helpful to know who did it.
Bridget: Also, we already knew where you were. We do have your location.
Chloe: But no googling him unless there’s going to be a second date.
Sometimes men are more attractive the less you know about them.
I check myself in the mirror one more time, then rush off to the elevator, which takes an interminable amount of time to arrive, since everyone knows time slows to a crawl when you’re horny.
As I pace in the hallway, I’m a little tingly imagining how tonight might unfold.
And on the ride to the lobby too. But once I step off the elevator, I pause.
Am I making a mistake again because I didn’t think things all the way through?
Like I did that night in Vegas when I impulsively married my former high school boyfriend, after reconnecting with him at our high school reunion?
Look where that last-minute choice got me. Divorced and fired.
But all the more reason to keep tonight firmly in the hookup zone.
Ready for whatever the night brings, I cross the lobby and turn the corner into the bar.
My heart stupidly skips a beat when I find Sawyer exactly where he promised he’d be.
At the end of the bar, with a glass of iced tea in front of him.
Music plays overhead. Sounds like Journey. Maybe “Don’t Stop Believin’”?
And is Sawyer…singing along to it?
Well, air singing, since he’s sort of mouthing the words, drumming out a beat on the counter with his hands.
I smother a smile so I don’t look too giddy when I walk his way. But really, this is a great sign. Would a beheader sing along to Journey? I don’t think so. I march over, eye the stool next to him, and say, “Is this seat taken?”
Sawyer rises, a knowing look in his eyes as he sweeps them up and down me in a shameless tour of my body.
But he doesn’t answer my question with words.
He answers with actions when he cups my cheek, strokes his thumb down my jawline, then comes in close, dipping his face toward mine. Giving me time to say no.
I don’t. I lift my chin in invitation.
He drops his mouth to mine, and for a few dizzying seconds, the kiss is as slow and sweet as a summer afternoon. It’s hazy and warm as he brushes his lips across mine in a teasing whisper of a kiss.
It’s deliciously unexpected. I’m not used to men knowing their mind, making a plan, and sticking to it.
But I think I could get used to it in the kissing department, since this kiss goes straight to my head.
And, well, my bikini. I’m aching between my thighs already.
I grab the collar of his shirt, twisting my fingers around the material so I can hold on tight.
He kisses me for a few more delirious seconds, that trim beard whisking across my face in a light scratch. When he breaks the kiss, I figure that’s when we’ll sit down, but there’s no reprieve. After his mouth quirks up in a too pleased grin, he rasps out, “Come here, Chloe.”
“I’m here,” I whisper.
“Closer,” he says, hauling me against him before he takes another kiss.
This one knocks the breath right out of me.
It’s hard, demanding, full of teeth and tongue and desire.
He kisses me like he wants to fuck me. His tongue explores my mouth.
One hand grips my face. The other ropes around my waist.
There’s no hesitation from him.
No games.
No dicking around.
I have a feeling that Sawyer is unapologetic. A man who wants what he wants and tonight that’s…me. When I’ve been kissed so thoroughly that I’m sure my lips are beautifully bruised, he ends it, but he loops a hand around the back of my neck before letting go of me.
“Want a drink, Chloe? This one’s on me.”
I do, but I also don’t want to stop for anything. “Or,” I begin, with a bob of my shoulder, “do you want to do something ridiculous?”
One eyebrow rises. “I’m listening.”
“We could…go to my room.”
In no time, he sticks up a hand, catching the bartender’s attention. “Check, please.”
I laugh. “I guess that’s a yes?”
After the bartender signals that he heard, Sawyer turns to me, confidence flashing in his dark eyes—they’re a deep, chocolate brown. “Chloe, you are an unequivocal yes.”
And he is the perfect end to a shitty day.
But just in case things go south, I square my shoulders and say without regret, “Can I take a picture of your license really fast?
“Of course,” he says without questioning me. Without acting weird.
He lets go of my waist, reaches for his wallet, and sets his identification on the counter right as the bartender returns with the check. Sawyer signs the bill while I snap the pic and send the shot to my friends.
When all that’s done, I say, “Ready?”
“More than you can ever know,” he says, then, using my words from earlier, he adds, “maybe ridiculous isn’t a bad thing.”
“Maybe? C’mon. We can do better than maybe.”
“Let’s find out how much better we can do,” he says, then takes my hand. We leave the bar, heading straight into the carpe diem portion of the night.
As soon as the doors close in the elevator, I swipe my key card, then punch the button for level ten. Before we even pass the second floor, Sawyer advances toward me, bracketing my face with his hands and dropping his mouth to mine once more.
So we’re doing the whole kissing-in-the-elevator thing. I fumble behind me for the brass bar, then find it. I wrap my hands around it. As the car shoots up, my mind goes hazy with both lust and longing as this veritable stranger kisses me with a confidence I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced before.
He kisses with purpose. With a plan. His strong hands slide up my arms, then he fiddles with the strap of the sundress, running his finger under it and across the bare skin of my shoulder.
My breath hitches.
He stops, breaks the kiss, strokes my shoulder some more. “Nice dress.”
“Thanks. Some hot Mr. Darcy-type got it for me.”
The corner of his lips curves up. “Sounds like he has good taste. He probably thought the color would look great on you.”
“He has a good eye. The bikini’s nice too,” I say.
“Bet it looks good on you,” he says with a casual nod and a cocky grin to match.
“Bet it looks good on the floor too.”
His eyes sparkle first, then his mouth curves up. Shaking his head in admiration, he says, “Chloe,” like my name contains his entire agenda for the night. “What am I going to do with you?”
“I thought we’d already made that clear,” I say as the elevator chugs, slowing down at last.
His eyes pin me with a dark, hot stare. “What I mean is…how am I going to fuck you senseless tonight?”
My thighs clench. My mind is still reeling from his words, but I manage a response. “That’s a ridiculous question.”
“How is it ridiculous?” he asks as the elevator stops and the doors whisk open.
We step out, and I spin around and grab the collar of his polo shirt. “You’re going to surprise me, Sawyer.”
His eyes darken, glimmering with white-hot lust as he takes my hand and marches down the hallway with me without even glancing at the numbers on the doors.
Before I can say a word, he stops in his tracks.
“Room,” he demands, his tone gruff. “You’ve got me so wound up, I don’t even know if I’m going the right way. ”
I smirk. “Well, I guess someone’s already senseless.”
He snakes an arm around my waist, jerking me against his firm, hard body, and…yes. That is very nice, the ridge of his erection right there in his shorts. “Been that way since I helped you out of the lake,” he says, his gaze straying purposefully down to my chest.
The way this man looks at me.
The way he talks to me.
I’ve never felt sexier in my life. His desire fuels me. Feeds me. Lights me up. I slide my teeth along my lower lip, then tell him the room number.
He scoops me up in his arms. Well, then. “Are you a fireman?” I ask as he strides down the hall.
“I can be anything you want me to be,” he says.
“I’m getting that sense,” I say as excitement ripples across my skin. When we arrive at my room, he sets me down. I slide the key over the door, but as I’m reaching for the knob, I freeze.
He’s swept a few fallen strands of hair off my neck and is roaming his lips up the back of it.
I shiver. His touch feels so good I can barely move.
I drop my face, breathing out in staggered gasps as his sensual kisses cascade along my skin.
He moves to my ear, nips on the lobe, presses his body against mine.
Then he covers my hand with his and opens the door, catching the key in his palm.
It’s that take-charge-ness in him that’s making my chest flip.
He keeps a hand on my lower back as I walk inside.
Once the door clangs shut, he tosses the key on the nearest surface—an entryway table—and doesn’t once look at the room.
His eyes are only on me.
Who is this man? This stranger I met at a dog’s birthday party, of all places? Well, I know his name. But I don’t know who he is.
And you like it that way.
I’ve mostly dated guys from my hometown or nearby. From high school or college. Guys I’ve known for a while.
I barely know a thing about Sawyer, and that’s just doing it for me. This whole night feels like it’s happening out of time. In another world. Another place. It’s the perfect escape from my regular life that’s falling to pieces.
A part of me knows this is risky. A part of me likes the risk. Another part of me trusts my intuition, and my intuition likes this man a lot. So much my heart pounds.
Sawyer coasts his hands down my arms, his hot gaze traveling over me like he’s contemplating all his options. His full lips are parted. His eyes are glimmering.
When he reaches my wrists, his pace slows, his thumbs drawing dizzying circles on my palms. A tremble runs down my spine, takes over my whole body—all from him touching my hands.
He drags his right thumb back up my arm, then reaches for my face and drags his fingers down my jawline. I shudder, feeling off-kilter in the best of ways.
“Like this?” he asks.
My brow knits. “Like what?”
He stops his thumb at my chin. “Surprise you…like this?”
I swallow then nod, desperation coursing through me. “Yes. More of this. More surprises.”
He slides his thumb across my lower lip, like he’s opening my mouth for him. For his cock? His tongue? His fingers?
I don’t even know.
Or maybe it’s just to show that he’s in control. That he’s setting the pace. That he’s surprising me. He pushes his thumb against the corner of my lips, and I turn toward his touch, a murmur bubbling up inside me, then escaping in a soft moan.
He makes a pleased sound.
I lean into his hand as he rubs the pad of his thumb along the inside of my bottom lip. It’s slow-motion seduction, and it feels ludicrously good. It’s like…oh god, it’s like he’s slowly opening me up.
“Your mouth,” he praises, then pushes his thumb in a little farther. I wrap my lips around him and give a deliberate suck—loud, firm, purposeful.
“Yes,” he whispers hotly, then lets his thumb drop from my mouth.
I miss it. But not for long. He catches my chin in his hand. “Turn around. Put your hands against the wall.”
“Is that my surprise?”
He leans closer, his lips barely brushing mine as he whispers in a rough, gravelly voice, “Don’t ruin the surprise, Chloe.”
Yes, sir.
A red-hot pulse beats between my thighs as I spin around, press my palms to the wall, and wait for his next move.
No job? Doesn’t matter. Car falling apart? No big deal. Who cares when I’m about to get fucked senseless?