Chapter 3
KATE
He’s standing there with a smirk on his handsome face, a dark brow quirked in amusement. He’s holding a wineglass out to me, and I accept it with a half-smile. His drink looks like the golden liquor he was sipping on at the bar.
I wonder how old he is. He looks like he could be early thirties. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol in my veins, but I find that hot. Mel always talks about how hot older guys are, but I didn’t get it until now.
I taste my wine. The flavor is immaculate.
“Wow, this is so good.” I down the entire glass in the next gulp. It’s too much at once, and my eyes water a tad at the intensity of the flavor.
He follows suit, drinking every last drop from his cup.
He takes my wineglass and sets it along with his cup on the dresser against the wall before turning back to face me, hands in his pockets.
I take a step closer. He doesn’t move as I reach a quivering hand up to press two of my fingers to the tiny sliver of chest showing under his loosened tie.
His eyes drift closed, and I watch his face in the light.
My breath is coming out in tiny little bursts through my parted lips, and on impulse, I lean up to press them to his stubbled jaw.
He groans at the contact, and it’s like a dam breaks. His eyes pop open, focusing on my mouth.
Strong hands reach down to grip the backs of my thighs, lifting me up like I weigh nothing more than a loaf of bread.
He’s manhandling me, and I am here for it. He takes three big steps toward the bed, eyes lasered into mine.
He stands motionless at the edge for a few endless seconds before tossing me back on the soft mattress.
He presses his body to mine. My legs are caging him in.
The air has changed around us, the tension multiplied a million times over.
I’m the only one who’s shed any clothing. He stands to inspect me.
I want to ask him to take it all off. I pause for a moment before remembering that I’m channeling my inner supermodel, so hell yeah, I can say that.
“Take off the suit,” I command.
His eyes burn over me as he slowly starts to undo his crimson tie, but he’s clearly in no hurry. My gaze rolls over his body, and when they meet his waistline, I blush at the sight of his bulging front.
I did that.
His jacket comes off, followed by each individual button slipping through the slots in the white shirt. The anticipation is both agonizing and invigorating. I could wait for him all night, but I want to tell him to hurry the hell up.
“Take your time,” I whisper sarcastically. The girl controlling my body tonight has decided we are not waiting right now.
He parts his lips as the shirt opens, and I have no control whatsoever over the gasp that escapes me.
He must go to every gym in this city twice a day.
“Your trainer deserves a raise.” I can’t help the breathy sound of my voice. Regular Kate just can’t keep her damn mouth shut.
The ridges of his abdominals flex as he begins to unbutton his pants, and I don’t even realize that I’m holding the air in my lungs until I’m forced to exhale when they drop down. The black boxers are bent out of shape, the bulge definitely larger than what I’m used to seeing.
My eyes jump to the ceiling, and I hear his low chuckle at the motion.
“Still wanna do this, Cabernet?”
I glance back at his face, the pale green immediately sucking me into their marbled depths.
I nod because my voice is unreliable. I’ll tell him he’s beautiful, a deity, if I dare to speak again.
What kind of man is chiseled like this—with enough money to buy any woman’s presence—and yet chooses to spend a night with me?
I’m not wildly insecure, but I did just get cheated on. I’m probably a solid three levels below him, maybe more.
He leans over me, and I expect him to kiss me, hoping desperately that he does, only to be disappointed as he reaches behind me to unhook my bra. I inhale the woodsy bergamot scent of his cologne.
The silky blue lace is removed. I’m self-conscious by the exposure of my breasts, barely qualifying as C-cups. There’s nothing wrong with them, but compared to my backstabbing-roommate Maddie’s, they aren’t much.
I reach up to cover myself, and his eyes narrow at me.
“Don’t.”
His thumbs brush over my sensitive pink nipples, and my breath hitches.
This isn’t what I expected it would be. I wanted it fast and hard. I thought it would be over in a few minutes, like it always was with Stephen. I’m tempted to tell him not to take any more time with me, but . . . I’m incredibly curious about what else will happen if he does.
His fingers pinch and drive me wild for a few seconds, and my eyes close as I feel myself getting more into it every passing moment. Then, his tongue gets involved, and I cry out at the unexpected wetness on my nipples.
“Ahhh . . .”
He lifts up, and I open my eyes to watch his next move. “Be still.”
“Yes, sir,” I breathe.
I couldn’t disobey if I tried as my body freezes at his command. He pulls down the scrap between my cheeks, fingers scraping over my skin. I’m helpless, melting under him like paper on a hot coal.
His hands rub over my thighs, and I want nothing more than for him to keep touching me anywhere and everywhere that he desires.
Mold me like a lump of clay, baby.
He obeys my silent instruction, and my body responds with enthusiastic agreement.
He abandons the space between my legs to walk to the end table by the bed, causing the friction and warmth that’s built up to cool a bit.
He returns with a condom in his hand. He sets it on the bed before removing his boxers. A deep V draws my eyesight down. Thick blue veins are everywhere. My mouth waters when I see how hard and ready he is for me.
I expect him to rip the condom open and get right to work, like Stephen always did.
Instead, he reaches for my hips and drags me to the edge of the bed before he kneels down on the floor. My eyes widen when he kisses my inner thigh, his gaze on my face.
He gets closer and closer with each kiss. No one has ever gone down on me before.
Stephen never did this. Not once.
I have no expectations, but I’m completely blown out of the water when his lips make contact with my pussy. I gasp, immediately jerking away from his mouth. My senses are exploding. His tongue lavishes my clit. My eyes roll back in my head.
There’s something salacious and naughty about the fact that I don’t even know his name, and his head is between my thighs, eating me like a desert bar. He licks me from the bottom all the way to the top of my clit, and I cry out from the pleasure rapidly building in my core.
I thrash on the bed as he licks me until a mind-shattering orgasm crashes over me.
My muscles tense, thighs clenching around his head as he milks every last drop of pleasure from me.
I’m embarrassed by how quickly I detonated under his rapt, undivided attention.
I gasp for air like I’m underwater, and he’s merciless, holding me down until the last quiver has run its course.
He doesn’t let up until I gently push on his head because I’m so sensitive it almost hurts. He pulls back, licking his lips.
His green eyes have darkened with arousal.
That turned him on.
The realization makes me wish I hadn’t stopped him. He stands up, still fully hard. He tears the condom open with his teeth and rolls the rubber over his thickness. My lips part in anticipation at the salacious sight.
Dear sweet baby Moses.
He jerks my shaking legs toward his hips. He grabs the base of his dick and swirls the head around my entrance. I wait in tense anticipation until he finally shoves it all the way inside me with one thrust. I gasp for air.
He leans down to brace his elbows on either side of me, shoulders flexing with every muscle God has ever created.
His pale green eyes don’t leave mine. This is another world for me, a million times better than every sexual interaction with my ex combined into one. I feel guilty even remembering Stephen at a time like this, but who knew intimacy could be this intense?
His hand reaches out to grip the back of my neck as his hip thrusts grow stronger and steadily faster. He’s so deep inside me. I roll my head to the side, trying to ground myself in the moment but feeling overwhelmed with so many sensations. My fingers scratch over his shoulders.
His lips find the curve of my neck, sucking and kissing over my heated skin.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Fuck, you are so hot.” He pants into my ear, moaning as he speeds up. “You feel fucking amazing, Cabernet.”
His breathy deep voice is making me feel like my entire body is on fire. His fingers dig into my hair, gripping my roots and pulling my head back so he can gain better access to my neck.
I let out a cry as my world shatters again right as his hips connect with mine for the last time, pressing into me like this contact is his lifeline. The high we have reached takes several long seconds to come down from.
I finally open my eyes again. He’s still on top of me, and I love the feeling of his weight over me.
Beads of sweat have formed on his skin, and I suddenly feel a tinge of guilt that he literally did all the work while I laid here like a starfish. I want to start back over and rub his legs while he lies on the bed like a spoiled brat.
His forehead is pressed to the space between my neck and shoulder, right above my collarbone as his breath comes in little bursts. With the immaculate shape he’s in, you’d think this wouldn’t have winded him. I feel another tinge of excitement that he put in so much effort for me.
His ebony waves look so soft, and I reach a hand up to run my fingers over his scalp. He relaxes into me at the contact as I massage his head.
My other hand trails over to his muscular shoulder, and I notice a tattoo of an eagle gripping a trident, an anchor, and a shotgun in its talons.
How oddly specific.
It looks military, and because of the anchor, my mind thinks it must have to do with the Navy.
I wonder if it was for him or someone he knew.
I wouldn’t have guessed he was a military man with his suave, effortless persona.
Enlisted men usually stand out to me with their poised posture.
They almost always have a rigidness about them that I don’t sense with him.
His head lifts up, and he doesn’t look into my eyes as he withdraws himself from me and walks into the bathroom.
My body is heavy and relaxed from the physical release of endorphins, but I need to get up and pee.
Should I go home?
The alcohol’s effects are still swirling in my head, and I really just want to crash.
Maybe he has a guest room I can sleep in . . .
This is new territory for me. Do you get to stay over if the hook-up is in a penthouse? Mel seems to have varying methods of post-hook-up protocol. I know she stays if she’s too drunk, but when she’s sober, she leaves. I’m somewhere in between, but I feel a strange pull to want to be near him.
That’s concerning . . . very concerning.
He walks back out in a pair of grey sweats hung low on his hips, and the V shape I noticed during intercourse seems to draw my eyes disrespectfully low. He tosses a T-shirt and boxers on the bed.
“You should sleep.”
He stands for a moment, observing me. I feel self-conscious now that it’s over and he’s clothed. I cross my arms over my stomach as I grab the clothes, slide off the bed, and continue to the bathroom.
After peeing, I feel guilty as I sneak through his drawers for toothpaste.
There’s more storage in his bathroom than what’s in my entire apartment.
I finally find the tube and rub a dab across my teeth with my finger, rinsing my mouth with water.
The shirt he gave me has the same symbol as his tattoo, and now, I’m even more curious about the origin.
It’s one of those worn grey fabrics that feels better than silk on my skin.
The boxers are huge, but I double-roll the waistband.
I wash the makeup from my face with a sliver of soap from the shower before slowly inching back out into the bedroom.
I’m surprised to find him sprawled out on the bed.
With his muscled arm curled up under his head and his shirtless torso on display, he could be on the front cover of Men’s Health.
His black hair is tousled to perfection, lips looking very kissable as he flips through movies on the enormous flat screen I didn’t notice before .
. . because it seems to have appeared from nowhere. It’s the only light in the room now.
It suddenly dawns on me that we never even kissed, and I very much wish we had . . . or will.
He turns to look at me standing on the threshold like a weirdo.
I walk toward him, and his eyes follow me.
“You look at me a lot,” I say.
“Do you not want me to look at you?” He’s still staring.
I’m not sure how to answer. I like the feeling of his eyes on me, but it also makes me wonder if he’s internally criticizing my body, like I do myself when I look in the mirror.
I climb up onto the bed, keeping a safe distance from him. I begin to feel very uncomfortable, being here with a man I don’t know, which is ridiculous, considering what we just did.
I finally shake my head, and a smile ghosts across his lips.
His eyes go back to the screen, now displaying a man shooting a huge gun at someone else while orange explosions fill the background.
I’m suddenly very tired. A glass of water has miraculously appeared on the nightstand near me, and I chug half of it before burying myself in the feather-soft mattress.
This must be the best part about being rich.
I’ve been sleeping on my grandmother’s old, tired mattress for years, unable to afford anything nicer.
If I had a bed like this at home, I feel confident I would never have trouble sleeping.
I close my eyes, feeling the bed shift as I drift to sleep almost instantly.