A Guy Walks Into My Bar

by Lauren Blakely

  His blue eyes widen, sparkling with delight. “Diagon Alley.” He wags a finger at me. “I knew you could never stay mad at me.”

  I hadn’t been terribly mad at him.

  Just irked that he thought he’d cornered the market on cool and casual. I’m as cool and casual as he is. That was why I stood my ground during that conversation. Because I am every bit as invested in this ending as he is, and he needs to know that. I’m not clingy, I’m not a hanger-on, and I’m not a star-fucker.

  It’s all for the best that we reset the rules.

  If you don’t have rules, that’s when you run into trouble.

  “I’m not mad in the least,” I say.

  I show him around the market, and he insists on snapping more pictures, and I join him in a few.

  “You’re like a teenage girl, with your addiction to selfies.”

  “Pictures are more fun when people are in them,” Fitz says. “Now smile for my cell phone, sexy bartender.”

  “Here you go, cocky athlete,” I say, giving a grin for the camera.

  He snaps the shot, then tucks his phone away.

  Along the way to the nearby Millennium Bridge, he demands more photos by the river.

  Photos of us.

  I wrap my arm around him. “Are you starting a collection now? Working on a photo album of your trip?”

  “Yes. I’m going to post stickers of unicorns next to you.” He smacks his lips to my cheek and captures the shot. Then he looks at the picture. “Aww, you look so peeved you had to pose for a selfie.”

  “Please tell me that’s not for your friend’s kid.”

  He gives me a salacious look. “That’s for the spank bank.”

  I roll my eyes again. “I seriously doubt you’re going to whack off to a shot of me rolling my eyes.”

  “But it captures your essence so perfectly.”

  I laugh as we reach the Millennium Bridge. “Here you go.”

  He regards it with eager eyes, a tourist’s delight, and it’s good fun to see him take in for the first time the sites that are so familiar to me.

  “What do you think?” I ask. I hope that he likes it, that he likes all of London.

  “Love it.” He turns to me. “London is great. I can see why you love it here.”

  “I do love it here,” I say with a smile, feeling understood. “It feels like home. It is home.”

  “That’s a good feeling.”

  We cross the bridge, and soon enough, the long rays of the afternoon sun bounce off the windows of the red phone booth next to the Tube station in front of us.

  “I need to go see Emma,” he says, a tiny hint of reluctance in his voice, then quickly adds, like he needs to clarify, “I want to see Emma.”

  “Of course you do,” I say, though the distinction is not lost on me. I wouldn’t mind wandering some more with him, walking on into the evening as it spills into night.

  But time apart is good.

  It’s wise.

  And it’s inevitable.

  After all, we have less than seventy-two hours of this tryst remaining. Wait. No. More like sixty-eight or sixty-seven, since we just whiled away several hours.

  In the blink of an eye.

  My chest squeezes as I hear the clock ticking toward tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.

  Fitz scrubs a hand over his beard. Takes a beat. “Dean.”

  “Yes?”

  “Come over tonight?”

  It doesn’t come out as a command. It’s a question. Like Fitz thinks there’s a chance I might say no.

  There isn’t a chance in hell I’d say anything but yes.

  “I will.”

  “When?” He sounds relieved but also eager.

  “When are you free?”

  “Nine. I can peel away by nine.”

  I smile playfully, keeping it light, since that’s the order of the day. Since those are the rules. “So far away.”

  He breathes out hard, rubs a hand over the back of his neck, and shifts his gaze back and forth like he’s thinking. For a few seconds, he seems lost in thought, or maybe indecision. But then his eyes sharpen, and he grabs my hand and jerks me against him on the street. “I really want to see you again tonight.”

  “You will. I’ll be there,” I say, reassuring him.

  “I know,” he whispers, but his voice isn’t cocky this time. There’s a note of urgency to it. He presses his forehead to mine, his voice going smoky, whispery. “Fucking you was incredible . . . it was better than it’s ever been.”

  The words come out like a heated confession.

  Like they can’t be anything but the truth, so help him, God.

  I feel the same, and the memory of our time in bed flickers before me in a burst of heat and desire.

  “Same,” I murmur. “Same for me.”

  His hand curls tighter around mine, squeezing my fingers. “You and me. In bed. It’s intense, man. Isn’t it?”

  “It is, Fitz.” I feel lightheaded, drugged from this conversation.

  He pulls back slightly, meeting my gaze. “You feel it too?” His eyes are vulnerable, as if he desperately needs this confirmation.

  And I want to give it to him, because I can, because it’s safe. Admitting the truth of our chemistry can’t hurt me. “I do. I do feel it.”

  Fitz’s breath shudders. “It’s kind of mind-boggling.”

  “It’s a little bit crazy.”

  “Or maybe a lot,” he says, then he lets go of my hand. “I should go, or I’ll never see Emma. I’ll just get in a black cab with you and get seriously randy.”

  He says it like it’s a joke, and it likely is, but there’s something in his voice that makes it sound like he needs to get away from me.

  Maybe to recalibrate.

  That’s not such a bad idea.

  When you want someone so badly, spending all your time together borders on dangerous.

  And with him, I’m feeling more than a little bit dangerous.

  He turns to head into the station, then he doubles back, grabs my forearm, and spins me around to face him. “Spend the night again?”

  “I will.” Some little part of me is cheering, glad he asked now, glad I won’t have to assume anything.

  “Are you working tomorrow?”

  “Later in the evening. After an early dinner with my dad.”

  Fitz runs his hand down my arm. “Spend the morning with me too.”

  “I will.”

  And I want to. And that feels like a new kind of danger. But it’s a risk I’m diving into headfirst, no parachute.

  At nine o’clock, I knock on the hotel room door. I have my gym bag with me, a change of clothes in it for tomorrow. My temporary fling opens the door, and I’m gobsmacked.

  Fitz wears only jeans. He’s barefoot and shirtless, all those carved muscles and ink on display. He’s got a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

  He lifts a brow, holding up the tumbler. “Fancy a nightcap?”

  “Why, yes, I would.”

  I step inside, drop the bag, and head to the bar, where he’s cracked open a bottle of scotch.

  “You trying to get me pissed? Don’t you know I’m a sure thing?” I ask as I pour the scotch.

  He comes up behind me, aligning his body to mine, his erection already evident as he presses against my ass. “I want to taste the scotch on your lips.”

  My skin burns. I lift the glass, knock some back, then set it down. With my back against his stomach, Fitz raises an arm, grips my jaw, and turns my face to claim my lips in a heady, electric kiss.

  It makes my head swim and my skin feel too tight for my body.

  It torches my blood.

  My God, how can kissing do this to me? I want so much more. I want all of him inside me, and yet I don’t want to stop kissing him.

  I swivel around, and I’m in his arms, my hands looping around his neck, his around my hips. Arms and hands move everywhere, grasping, gripping, feeling.

  I groan as I jerk him
closer, needing the contact, needing to feel his body firm against mine.

  We kiss like it’s all we’ve thought about since we separated a few hours ago.

  His lips are hungry, and he sucks and nibbles and torments. Then he spears his tongue into my mouth, and I groan from the wicked pleasure of his touch, since he’s grinding against me too, the outline of his cock finding mine.

  And my head drifts into a passion-fueled haze.

  Lust travels down my spine, echoing across my whole body.

  And I want.

  I want Fitz so much I can feel it in my lungs. I want him ferociously, with a desperation I haven’t known in ages.

  Or maybe I’ve never known it could be quite like this.

  This intense.

  This . . . devouring.

  And my God, I want to devour him.

  I want to toss him on the bed, strip him naked, and just have him, fuck him. Do what I want to him.

  But I know he needs us a certain way, and I can do that for him. I can give, and I can take.

  What I can’t do, though, is wait.

  I break the kiss, panting, eyes wild, I’m sure. I clasp his face and say the words. “You need to fuck me right now.”

  He growls. That’s all. Just a carnal growl that heats me up even more.

  Fitz jerks at my shirt, then rips it over my head. “Need you naked. Need it now.”

  “Same. Same to you,” I say, my breath already ragged with desire as I grab at the waistband of his jeans, unbuttoning, unzipping, pushing them down.

  I lick my lips the second I see his hard cock, ready for me, a glistening drop of liquid at the crown. I run my thumb over it, bring it to my lips, lick it, and savor the taste of him.

  “You taste so fucking good,” I tell Fitz as his blue eyes go glassy, like he can barely handle the sight of me reveling in his flavor.

  “Touch me again,” he groans, long and powerful.

  “Like I’d do anything else,” I say, lowering my hand to his shaft.

  He thrusts against my fist. “God, you’re driving me crazy, Dean. I’m so fucking turned on by you,” he says, wrapping his palm around my hand, so we’re both stroking him. “You do this to me. You just fucking do this to me.”

  Anticipation zaps through my body like a current as I indulge in several long, tantalizing strokes. Touching Fitz, sending him to this frenzied state is such a high. I don’t want to stop at all.

  But soon he swats my hand away with a feral grunt, so he can shove at my clothes, stripping me to nothing too.

  Then he takes two steps backward and sits on the edge of the bed. His hand goes straight to his cock, and he grips it roughly, savagely. “Get on me. Ride me so fucking hard. Please.”

  My dick twitches at his filthy command that’s almost a beg. Fitz grabs the lube he’s left on the bed, next to a condom. As I straddle him, he flips open the bottle, slides two quick, eager fingers into me. I stroke myself as he gets me ready, and it’s all so damn intense I don’t know how I’ll last.

  But I’m willing to find out.

  Oh hell, am I ever willing.

  For a few seconds, I let myself get lost in the sensations of what his fingers are doing, but I know something so much better is coming, so I focus on what’s next, grab the protection, and slide it on his thick shaft.

  Then I rise up, my knees on either side of his thighs as Fitz takes his cock in his hand, holding the base, rubbing the tip against my ass.

  My head falls back as the unholy pleasure begins. “Yes, fucking yes,” I groan while my body seeks him out, takes him in the slightest bit, lets him breach me.

  The second he does, wild want overwhelms me.

  And, in one swift move, I drop down on his dick.

  The world turns into a scorching blur.

  “Oh fuck,” Fitz grunts as his hands grab my ass hard, holding me in place, just holding on, so he can push even deeper into me.

  “God, that’s good. That’s so fucking good,” I say, adjusting to the delicious burn that comes first, then the way he fills me.

  My hands press against his chiseled chest. Everything about him is hard, rough, and muscled, and I fucking love it.

  My cock juts between us, and when he slips a hand down, grabbing me, I shake my head. “Don’t. I’ll come too soon,” I warn.

  “Can’t have that.”

  Fitz grips my ass again, as I lift up, swiveling my hips, then pushing back down. Every inch of my body is sizzling, sparking. Lust jolts through my cells as I show Fitz how I like it, how I intend to ride him to our next release.

  His eyes lock with mine for a hot second. In that flash, I see so much need, so much urgency in his irises. That look makes me want to give it to him harder, hotter, deeper.

  I let him know with my body, with how I move, with the grinding and the pressing as I ride his cock.

  He licks his lips, breathes out hard, and stares down at us, at where we connect. “Fuck, Dean. I’m dying here. You are so fucking hot like this.”

  His words fuel me, drive me to roll my hips expertly, to take him in deeper, then slide up, so he’s barely in me.

  He squeezes his eyes shut, and a groan seems to rip from his throat. When he opens them, he grips me harder. “I want to watch us. Want to watch my dick slide in and out of your ass.”

  I glance at the mirror on the wall. “I believe that can be arranged.”

  20

  Fitz

  I am combusting.

  I am a brush fire that shows no signs of letting up.

  The flames lick my skin, and I fan them.

  “Shift around. So I can watch in the mirror,” I tell my sexy Brit.

  We move from the foot of the bed to the side, his gorgeous body on me, my cock nestled in its favorite place.

  Inside this man.

  When we find the perfect position, his arms rope around my neck, and he whispers in my ear, “Now watch, Fitz. Watch as I fuck your cock.”

  I shudder, grabbing his back, watching over his shoulder, imprinting onto my brain the most erotic sight I’ve ever witnessed.

  Dean Collins, riding me, giving me the view I want, taking his time.

  “Oh, hell yes,” I grunt as I catch sight of him rising, my cock almost sliding out of his fantastic ass. Then, in slow motion, he lowers himself, and I can barely breathe as I watch his ass draw me in. “Nothing,” I pant out, trying to form the words. “Nothing is sexier than that.”

  “Then, you better not look away.”

  “I can’t look away.”

  Forget the brush fire. The entire forest is burning down from the Dean show and tell, from the way he grinds and dips, from how he rises and lowers, from the tantalizing way he takes my dick inside him.

  And how he shows me, making sure I can watch us in the mirror.

  What I see floors me.

  My hands are all over Dean, sliding up and down his muscled back, gripping his perfect, delicious ass.

  “You’re killing me when you do that. Just fucking killing me,” I rasp out.

  “Don’t die before you come, Fitz,” he taunts, and how he can tease me when I am hovering on the edge of the cliff is a mystery to me, but I don’t need to solve it, don’t want to solve it.

  I just want to gaze at the two of us fucking, at his body taking me over and over. “Dean, babe. We’re so fucking hot together. I can barely handle it.”

  I smash my lips to his, needing to kiss him, needing to feel his mouth on mine. He kisses me back hard, fierce, all teeth and lips and fire.

  When we break apart, I’m even drunker on him than I was before. I’m high, so damn high as I jerk my gaze back to the mirror. “I want to watch this filthy fucking view all night, of you riding my dick.”

  “Then do it,” he says, slowing down, turning the pace into a sensual striptease, a visual feast.

  My skin is tingling everywhere. Beads of sweat slide down my chest. And my hands feel so good wrapped around his ass, squeezing those strong, firm cheeks as I stare at
the two of us.

  This man owns my pleasure.

  And he’s determined to wring every last drop from me.

  That’s all I want. To be consumed by what he’s doing to me. Because he’s doing everything. He’s giving and taking and fucking my cock so damn good that the switch flips in me.

  “Dean,” I warn. “I need to come really fucking soon. Are you almost there?”

  “Seconds away,” he says.

  “Good. Let me fuck you hard now,” I say, then smack his ass. “Get on your hands and knees.”

  “Only because you asked nicely,” he says.

  Keeping the condom in place, I pull out, my dick whimpering at the momentary loss of contact.

  Then, after Dean’s in the perfect position to finish, I get behind him, slide right back home, and I know—I just know—this is how sex should be.

  It should always be this intense.

  This electric.

  This out of this world.

  Because I am out of my mind with desire, eaten alive by it as I kneel behind him, thrusting into him, taking his hard cock in my hand, where it belongs.

  And I stare at the two of us in the mirror, my body curled over his.

  But then, I get the bright idea to yank him up so we’re both kneeling, his back pressed tight to my stomach, one arm of mine looped under his. My other hand is on his dick, my cock buried deep, so damn deep in his body as I fuck this sexy, filthy, fantastic man to release.

  As I come so damn hard inside him.

  As he climaxes all over my hand, groaning my name.

  The pleasure just crashes over me in wave after wave of never-ending bliss.

  We collapse, a hot sticky mess on the bed, and I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care.

  I slide out, keeping the condom on, but not wanting to let go of him as we pant and breathe and moan.

  And I tell myself it’s just the sex I’ll miss.

  It’s just the hottest sex of my life that I’ll long for.

  And I almost believe it.

  Almost.

  But not quite.

  21

  Dean

  A little later, I down a glass of scotch, savoring the last satisfying drop. “A shag, a scotch. What could be better?”