by Sadie Moss
I keep an eye on him, and about ten minutes later, he comes up to get another drink. My knees go a little weak when I see him up close. I don’t usually flirt with customers, but fuck it. Time to throw caution to the wind. If he shoots me down, he shoots me down. It’ll make a funny story to tell Maddy next time I talk to her.
The guy gives me a small, crooked smile as he sets his empty glass down. That’s encouraging.
“You need another?” I ask.
“Yeah. Same kind.” His voice is low, a little rough, and sends a shiver down my spine.
Carla must’ve taken his order since he definitely didn’t come up to the bar the first time, but I remember pouring it. Whiskey, top shelf, neat.
“I haven’t seen you around here before,” I reply as I grab the bottle. This is a longer conversation than I’ve had with a customer all night, and my nerves tingle with a little thrill as I try to remember how the fuck to flirt. “You’re the kind of guy I’d remember. You new in town?”
The man gives a huff of what might be laughter. “Not really. I’m not in Portland very often. I work out of town.”
I hum and nod. As I pour his drink, I let him see me looking at him, tracing the way his broad chest fills out his shirt. His gaze trails over me in return, and I shiver again as the heat of his cobalt blue eyes nearly burns me. I’m just wearing my usual work outfit—a black tank top and tight pair of dark blue jeans. Nothing fancy. But it shows off what it needs to show off.
“Out of town, huh?” I breathe, pitching my voice a little lower. Ugh. That might’ve been too low. I raise it a little and add, “What sort of work do you do?”
The guy gives another huff of laughter, tilting his head to one side as he studies me. “Are you actually interested in my work?”
I lean my elbows on the bar top. It offers up a good view of my cleavage, and I see his gaze flick down and then back up to lock onto my eyes. “Not really. But I am interested in you.”
I’m shocking myself with my own boldness. Not that I can’t flirt when I want to, but I don’t usually want to. Not at all.
But then, usually the men who come through The Den aren’t worth my time. All I want from them is their tip money, and I don’t have to flirt to get that. This guy is different though, and not just because he’s so damn hot I want to lick every inch of his skin. There’s something about him that fills me with curiosity, makes me want to know more. He’s clearly got some kind of story that’s mulling around in his head and heart, weighing him down. More than just his looks, it’s his attitude, the whole air about him, that intrigues me.
“Oh, are you now?” His eyes narrow slightly as if he’s trying to figure me out, but he can’t hide the heat that sparks in them too. He braces a large hand on the bar top, and the smile on his face is almost wolfish. “I know you’re not the one who checks IDs at the door, but I’ve got a few years on you. You sure I’m what you’re looking for, Reckless?”
“Are you trying to get yourself not laid?” I shoot back. Up close, I can see that he’s a few years older than me, but who the fuck cares? I’m legal, he’s legal. And he’s definitely still in his twenties, so we’re not even inching toward gross. “Just means you’ve got more experience. You might actually know what you’re doing.”
The guy laughs, looking surprised at his own reaction. When he smiles again, there’s something different about it—more genuine. “You’re bold, I’ll give you that.”
“Hey, I’m a girl who knows what she wants and goes after it.”
This whole Elliot the Vixen thing felt awkward and a little silly at first, but as I speak, I realize I’m not playing a role anymore. I really do want this. The tension thickening the air between us taunts me with its heavy promise, and there’s a throbbing pulse between my legs that’s making my heart rate pick up.
“And I’m a guy who takes what he wants.” He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. His gaze is like fire dragging up my body. “You really think you can handle me?”
Holy fucking Jesus. I think I just came a little.
Given the way his voice and eyes make my knees go all wobbly, I’m actually not sure of the answer to that. But I square my shoulders and shoot him my most confident smirk.
“I think I can more than handle you.”
The guy leans a little farther over the bar, hooking one finger under my chin and tilting my face up toward his. My breath quickens. I feel submissive, exposed, and my chest heaves slightly. The sheer authority and power radiating from him makes me wet.
“Is that so?” he asks softly.
Fuck. Just one touch, one look, a simple murmured sentence, and I’m a puddle.
“I get off work in twenty minutes,” I blurt out, my voice a whisper.
He releases my chin, and his fingers ghost down my arm, making me shiver in anticipation. He’s looking at me like he already knows exactly how to touch me, how to make me scream for him, beg for him, and I haven’t been touched like that by anyone in so damn long.
For a horrible moment, I think he won’t say yes—that he’ll tell me twenty minutes is too long to wait. Hell, he could have anyone he wanted in this bar right now, even if he doesn’t seem to be actively looking for anyone. I haven’t flirted in ages, and I’m being really bold here. What if he doesn’t like it?
Elliot the Vixen may be about to crash and burn.
But then he gives me another small, knowing smile, like he’s reading my mind, and my heart thumps wildly in my chest. When he speaks, his words nearly make me come again.
“I’ll see you in twenty minutes, Reckless.”
Chapter 4
Every single one of those twenty minutes absolutely crawls by.
I’m about ready to jump out of my skin as the seconds slowly tick past. I don’t say anything to my coworkers about it when they ask why I’m so antsy. They’ve seen me turn down guy after guy, annoyed and irritated and not bothering to be all that nice about my rejections.
If I tell them I flirted with a customer and am planning to hook up with him as soon as my shift ends, they’ll never let me hear the end of it.
When it’s finally time for me to clock out, I practically yank off my bartender’s apron. After our little chat at the bar, Tall, Dark, and Handsome went back to his booth to finish his drink, but I felt his gaze on me the entire time I worked. It revved me up into such a state that I’m already practically panting. He sees me preparing to leave and smoothly slides out of his booth, casting me one more heavy look before striding out the door ahead of me.
My heart is hammering hard as I wave goodnight to my coworkers, trying to act cool and casual.
When I walk out of the bar, he’s right there, catching me around the waist, his hands at my hips, pulling me in. He’s so close I can smell him, whiskey and leather, and I have to grab his arm to steady myself.
He’s all muscle, firm and unyielding, and I was right—when I curl my hands around his bicep, they don’t wrap all the way around.
God, I’m already so turned on. He’s looking at me like he wants to eat me alive, and I wouldn’t mind in the slightest.
I could theoretically take him back to my apartment. Maddy’s not there anymore. But just because she’s not there doesn’t mean I’m okay with bringing a strange man back home, even one as fucking delicious as this guy. It’s still my place with Maddy. My home with her. I’m not quite ready to change our little haven by bringing hookups there—that would make it all so much more real. Like an admission that she really is gone.
“Your place?” I ask breathlessly, hoping he has one. He did say he’s not from around here.
The guy pulls back a little, and I see something on his face that’s almost a mirror of what I just felt—a hesitance, an unwillingness to let a stranger into that part of his life.
He shakes his head no, his hands still on my waist, his hard body pressed against mine.
Well, fuck. I can’t really complain about his reticence since I totally get it, but goddamn it, I am not
letting that stop me.
Taking his hand, I look both ways down the street. It’s empty—everyone’s either at home already or still inside drinking. “C’mon, follow me.”
I tug him down the sidewalk and turn into an alley; one I know is always dark.
And it is.
It’s so dark, in fact, that I stumble on a loose bottle as soon as I step inside, and he catches me around the waist again to keep me from falling. His large hands slide down my stomach as his entire body molds against me from behind, and fuck, he’s so hard, I can feel his cock even through his pants.
He kisses my temple, and I let my weight fall back against him, tilting my head up, blatantly asking for a kiss.
Tall, Dark, and Handsome doesn’t tease me or torture me. Nope, he just goes straight in for the fucking kill. One of his hands moves up to grip my jaw as he kisses me so deeply I can hardly breathe.
Not that I’m thinking about oxygen right now.
That’s the furthest thing from my mind as his tongue strokes against mine, tasting and devouring every inch of my mouth. I’m rendered pretty much immobile by his hold on me, so all I can do is let the rush of sensations flow through me.
My knees, already weakened by his sultry voice and fucking hypnotic eyes, threaten to give out entirely, and in response, he just grips me tighter. I’m 5’8”, so I’m not exactly a petite and dainty flower, but he makes me feel small and almost helpless—in a way that makes my panties wet.
By the time our kiss breaks, we’re both breathing hard, and I can feel the heat blazing through him, warming me everywhere we touch. He loosens his grip enough to spin me around, and when we’re face-to-face, he backs me up against the brick wall. We’re only a few feet from the mouth of the alley, so some light from the street still reaches us. It makes his dark blue eyes glint as he looks down at me, his hands moving possessively over my body—tracing the lines of my boobs, my hips, my waist, my sides.
He’s staring at me intently, almost like his gaze could penetrate right through me if he looks hard enough. Like he can see right through my outer layers to what lies beneath. It makes me squirm uncomfortably, although it’s not my bra and panties I’m worried about him seeing, but other, more vulnerable things.
Like my damn soul.
This is starting to feel… not like a one-night stand, and I don’t like that one bit, so I grab his head and kiss him, hard.
That snaps him out of whatever weird analysis he was doing as he stared at my face. He kisses me back, matching my intensity and raising me. Our mouths are fused together like we each lost something down the back of the other’s throat and are searching desperately for it with our tongues. I delve my hands into his hair, which is thick and soft as velvet between my fingers, arching my back away from the wall to get closer to him.
His warm, long-fingered hands slip under the fabric of my tank, sliding over my stomach before massaging my aching breasts. My nipples are so hard it’s almost painful, and every time his palm brushes against them, little zaps of lightning travel from my boobs down to my clit.
“Oh fuuuuck,” I groan.
It’s supposed to be quiet and breathy, but it comes out a lot louder than I mean it to, giving away the raw need coursing through me. I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t had sex in forever, or if this guy is just that damn good, but I’m coming apart at the seams here.
He pulls away again, and in the soft glow of the street lamps outside the alley, I can see that his perfect dark hair is mussed from my fingers. I like it. It makes him seem a little more human and a little less like some kind of immortal god of sex and power.
“Are you still sure you want this?” he asks, his voice rough and low.
I can’t muster any of the false bravado I had in the bar. I know this guy is going to fucking ruin me.
But I also sure as hell know my answer.
I nod, my chest rising and falling fast as I suck in oxygen while I can.
With a low growl, he drops his head again, kissing me until my lips are swollen before trailing his mouth over my jaw, down my neck, and across my collarbone. Then, without warning, he digs his fingers into my hips and pulls me deeper into the alley.
A few more yards in, and we’re well and truly away from the light of the street. I can barely make out his silhouette, but I can hear him breathing—his sharp, panting breaths match my own, giving me some hope that I’m not the only one who’s unravelling. His leather and whiskey smell invades my nostrils, and fresh wetness dampens my panties. They must be absolutely soaked by now.
His hands on my hips loosen as his deep voice meets my ears. “Turn around. Put your hands on the wall.”
Holy fuck. I’ve never been with a guy who’s dominating in bed, and considering how stubborn I am, I wouldn’t have thought I’d be into it. But it turns out I was wrong, because I’m practically whimpering as I do as he says.
I reach toward the wall just as he tugs my hips backward, and when my hands find the rough brick, my fingers clench like they’re trying to gouge holes in it.
He reaches around slowly, in no hurry at all now that he’s got me where he wants me, and unzips my jeans, pushing them and my panties down to my knees in one smooth motion. Cold night air meets my lady bits, and the shock of the breeze hitting my soaked pussy makes me gasp. He hums in satisfaction, and I hear another rustling sound, which I presume is him getting his own clothes out of the way. There’s the crinkle of a condom wrapper, and a moment later, his hands are on me again, kneading and massaging the exposed flesh of my ass.
I choke back my groan, trying to keep myself a little quieter now that I’ve literally got it all hanging out. I really don’t want someone to run back here thinking I’m being mugged or something.
Tall, Dark, and Handsome runs his hands up and down my back, sliding them around to play with my boobs again as his sheathed cock teases my entrance.
Holy Jesus. This is really happening.
Alley sex has never been on my bucket list, but I mentally add it now just so I can check it off later.
Then his hips surge forward, and I forget all about bucket lists, Maddy, school, magic, work—all of it. The only thing I can think about is him inside me, stretching me, filling me, hitting spots I didn’t even know existed.
I also forget about my plan to keep quiet, and as he picks up the pace, thrusting hard and deep as one hand holds my hip and the other fists my hair, I let out a keening cry that I can only hope anyone passing by will mistake for a cat with rabies. I bite my lip so hard it hurts, grunting softly as I push back against his thrusts, matching his rhythm.
“So good,” he mutters, and I don’t think he’s even talking to me. He might not even know he’s speaking out loud. He sounds as far gone as I am. “So… fucking… good.”
“Uh huh,” I whimper, but that’s all I can contribute to the conversation at the moment, because sparks are dancing in front of my eyes, and every nerve in my body is flooding with euphoria as the orgasm to end all orgasms barrels toward me.
Maybe he can sense it, because he lets go of my hair and slips his hand down to my clit, working it with two fingers in rough, demanding circles.
Oh fuck. That’s it.
Pleasure hits me like a tidal wave, making my breath catch in my lungs as my muscles spasm, my pussy clenching hard around his cock.
“Fuck.” He sounds almost angry, like he didn’t want this to end yet, but I can feel him thickening inside me. His thrusts fall out of rhythm, and he grabs my hips with both hands, driving into me so hard I’m pretty sure he’s the only thing holding me up. Well, that and the wall, I guess, which I’m still clinging to like a mountain climber on steroids.
He thrusts once, twice, three more times, and then buries himself to the hilt inside me, cursing under his breath as he comes hard. We both collapse forward a little—thank God for the wall—and his front presses to my back as our heartbeats pound out a staccato rhythm.
We stay like that for several long minutes.
Long enough for it to start feeling a little non-one-night stand-ish again. I mean, holding each other afterward is what couples do, right? Not people who just fucked in an alley.
Or maybe he just isn’t sure he can walk yet. I’m not sure I can.
I squirm a little in his arms, and he finally releases me, securing the condom as he pulls out. There’s some rustling as he disposes of it and pulls up his pants, and I take the opportunity to do the same. My body is still buzzing with leftover pleasure, and I’m not quite sure what the etiquette is in situations like this. What comes next? A friendly handshake? Or do we both skulk back out to the street and go our separate ways like it never happened?
My jacket’s still inside, I realize, and my car is parked in the little lot behind the bar.
“Um, thanks,” I breathe. “That was…”
I don’t really know how to describe what just happened. My brain is still ninety percent mush, making it hard to come up with the right adjective to do it justice. So I just clear my throat and slip past him, making my way carefully through the darkness toward the mouth of the alley.
A hand around my wrist stops me as I’m about to step back out onto the sidewalk. “Wait.”
I turn to find him staring at me. His eyes look almost like they have a blue glow now, a little brighter than before. Some guys, once you sleep with them, kind of lose the charisma they had before. Not this one. He’s still radiating intensity.
He tugs me back into the curve of his body and kisses me again. It’s immolating, and my traitorous knees, already weak from the orgasm, buckle again. It occurs to me that I really don’t want to go—that I’d be perfectly content to keep kissing him for hours, which is kind of alarming. The last thing I want to do is get attached.
“Tell me your name,” he murmurs against my mouth. It’s almost like a command, intense and charged, and the answer is on the tip of my tongue—
But, no.
If he knows my name, he can easily ask the other bartenders about me or look up me up online… and while I wouldn’t mind another couple mind-blowing orgasms from the guy, it’s better if this stays a one-night stand. I don’t want it to turn into an actual thing. Once is fine, but if you sleep with someone multiple times, you tend to get attached—or at least, I do. That’s just how it works, and that’s the last thing I need right now.