Choose Me

by Donya Lynne

  We ate, we laughed, we toasted to the Broncos’ next season. Turns out she’s a football fan, too.

  During the main course, she shared one of her scallops with me, and I fed her a bite of my bass. The food was succulent, the courses light but satisfying. We decided to share a piece of chocolate cake for dessert, and she devoured almost two-thirds. I loved that she wasn’t afraid to eat like that in front of me. Most women refuse to eat even an ounce of confection for fear of putting on unwanted pounds, so the fact that she ate dessert with gusto pleases me.

  But as close as I’ve felt to her all night, it doesn’t compare to the connection I feel with her now. Learning that her ex-husband cheated on her opened up a whole new dimension of our fledgling relationship. One I can relate to. I understand the pain a cheating spouse can create, and that forms a tighter bond between us.

  She smiles and picks up my phone, swiping the screen to bring up the list of questions again. “Okay, speed round. Rock climbing or zip lining?”

  “I’ve never been zip lining, so that.”

  “You like trying new things?”

  “I thrive on it.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

  I take the phone from her and scan the list. “I’m a serious adrenaline junkie.”

  “Like skydiving and jumping off bridges wearing only a wingsuit?”

  I smirk. “Skydiving, yes. I haven’t done the wingsuit thing, though. Not sure I will. Being an adrenaline junkie isn’t the same as having a death wish.” I stop scrolling through the questions. “Your turn. Stage play or movie?”

  “Movie.”

  We begin flying through the questions. One after the other.

  “Do you prefer to watch TV or read a book?” she says.

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “How mentally exhausted I am.” I leisurely drum my fingers on the table. “If I’ve put in a long day, I just want to go home and watch TV. If I’m simply relaxing, I like reading.”

  “What kinds of books do you like?”

  “Mostly suspense, thrillers, and horror.”

  She angles her body toward mine, legs crossed. “Who’s your favorite author?”

  I have to think about that for a second. “It’s a tie between Dean Koontz, Stephen King, and James Patterson, but I also like John Sandford.”

  I gaze at her heart-shaped mouth, wanting nothing more than to lean over and taste her lips. She has full lips that curve invitingly, making me want to trace the outline with my fingertip . . . or my tongue.

  I didn’t notice her mouth Saturday night, except for when she was taking me down her throat. Then again, I’d been too aroused to notice much else other than the space between her legs. Now it’s the space between her ears that’s sending my dick into the stratosphere and making it increasingly uncomfortable to remain seated in this booth. Nothing turns me on more than a woman with a brain. Intelligence has always been my weakness, but finding a woman with both beauty and brains is like finding the Holy Grail.

  “What about you?” I say. “Who’s your favorite author?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t have one.”

  “But you do read?”

  She gives me an energetic nod. “I’m what you call a speed-reader. I can churn through two or three books a week when I’m on a binge.”

  My mouth drops open. “That’s impressive. It takes me three or four weeks just to read one book.”

  “I’ve always been a fast reader.” She slides my phone toward me. “Next question. We’re speed-rounding here, remember?”

  I want to be speed-rounding my body all over hers. I don’t think she realizes just how hard it’s been for me to be this close to her for so long without kissing her.

  I drag my gaze away from her full breasts and stare blindly at the list. We’ve been dancing around our undeniable sexual chemistry all night, and a needy ache has steadily been growing inside the pit of my stomach, deep within my groin.

  The memory of Saturday night makes a resurgence in my thoughts. Her mouth swallowing me whole. The way her gaze drank me in as I unbuttoned my shirt. The way our eyes met in the mirror right before we both climaxed.

  I’m breathing heavily, and I can sense that Katherine feels the direction my thoughts have taken. She’s grown quiet, and her skin has turned rosy. She shifts beside me, uncrossing and recrossing her legs.

  My gaze lands on a question, and it’s as good as any. “Do you like or dislike surprises?” I lift my eyes to hers, and an intense magnetism fires between us. So fierce is my pull to her that I have to catch myself before I claim her mouth with mine.

  She’s looking at my mouth as if she wants to kiss me, too. “I love surprises.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re so unexpected.”

  “But that could be a bad thing, couldn’t it?”

  A sultry smile plays at the corners of her mouth. “Not in your case it isn’t.”

  I inch closer, and my thigh presses gently against hers. “I didn’t realize we were talking about me.”

  “You’ve been very surprising.” Her lashes flicker as her eyes fall from mine to my mouth and back up again. “I have a feeling you’re going to keep surprising me, too.”

  I play with a stray tendril of her hair, loosely coiling it around my index finger. “I hope so.”

  She smiles tenderly and breathes out a quiet, salacious sigh as she picks up my phone. “Your turn.” She scrolls through the list then stops and looks up. “What subject would you most like to study?”

  “You.” The answer breathes from me unbidden, before she’s even had a chance to set my phone back on the table.

  _________

  Katherine

  My gaze collides with his, and the heavy-lidded, smoldering look he’s giving me unlocks something primitive inside my belly. A hunger only one thing can satiate. But I’m not ready to concede the fight. Not just yet. I still have a shred of self-control left. Just one. I’m not sure how long it will last, but until he completely obliterates every last ounce of my restraint, I’ll keep my white flag in my pocket.

  “So . . .” I take a deep breath and force myself to keep my shit together, which is damn hard to do when the sexiest man I’ve ever met just told me I’m the subject he most wants to study. I’m grasping for a witty reply. Anything. But my mind just went blank. “So, uh, I think I actually own a few pieces of Rugged sportswear.”

  Could I be any lamer? Seriously? He hits me with that, and I respond by taking the conversation back to his company?

  “You do?” He pulls my hand into his lap, and I think my temperature just shot up another five degrees. “I think I’m jealous of my company’s clothing.”

  If I weren’t so turned on, I’d laugh. But right now, I’m jealous of his clothing. I know what lies beneath his suit. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. I feel it now as he presses my hand to his firm thigh. I’ve had a part of his body inside me. I want it inside me again.

  I’m losing this battle with each passing second.

  He leans closer, briefly presses his lips to my ear, then whispers hotly, “I really want to fuck you again.” Below the table, he slides my palm up and places it over his erection.

  His behemoth, knee-weakening erection.

  I pull in my breath, waving the white flag as my thighs turn to molten lava. “Now?” I’m a goner. If I didn’t think I’d get arrested, I’d fuck him right here in the booth.

  He nods, pressing my hand more firmly against him. “Right here. Right now.”

  I glide my hand up and down his hard length, making him suck in his breath before he lets out a quiet moan and tips his forehead against my temple.

  “Where?” I whisper, darting my gaze around at the other diners to make sure no one’s watching us.

  I’m wet. Intensely wet. Panties-soaked-through wet. What is it about this man that turns me on faster than I can say “abracadabra.” He’s the Houdini of hedonism. The David Copperfield of se
x. The Criss Angel of lighting a fire in my vagina with one well-timed glance of those smoldering grey-blue eyes.

  I’m practically panting, my fingers curled around his thick shaft under the table, when our server returns.

  “Can I bring you anything else?” he says.

  Greyson barely looks away from me and shakes his head. “Just the check.” He finally breaks his gaze from mine. “Please.”

  “Certainly, sir.” With an understanding tilt of his head, our server departs.

  When he’s gone, Greyson places his hand over mine and presses my palm against his massive cock.

  God, he’s like steel. Hard. Solid. Colossal. And it’s all for me.

  I glance toward the hallway that leads to the restroom. His gaze follows mine.

  “I think I need to fix my lipstick,” I say, my breath hitching as his impressive length kicks against my palm.

  He groans quietly then leans in and whispers, “I’ll settle the bill. Wait for me inside.”

  I nod as if by rote and shift to the side.

  He grabs my hand and tugs me back. His lips brush mine, and while the caress might look innocent to the casual observer, I feel every ounce of his lust shower me from the slight contact. His wolfish gaze cuts to the heart of me, and it feels like I have an entire butterfly conservatory in the pit of my stomach.

  “Don’t work too hard on your lipstick,” he says, kissing me again. “You won’t be wearing it long.”

  Holy. Fuck.

  I think I’m going to come before I can even get out of the booth.

  I nod, barely able to breathe.

  He releases my hand and sits back, his erection clearly evident inside his pants.

  He looks me up and down as I slide out of the booth and rise, a little unsteady on my feet. Then again, the way he’s fucking me with his eyes has turned my knees to jelly.

  His gaze drops to my feet and my strappy black stilettos, and the corner of his mouth turns up as he meets my eyes again.

  “Leave your shoes on.”

  Why does his unusual request send a lick of fire up my inner thighs? There’s just something erotically domineering and deeply carnal in his tone that speaks to a base need of mine. No. More like a long-held fantasy that I gave up on so long ago I’d almost forgotten I’d ever wanted a man to take control of me this way.

  He smiles wryly, and there’s a hint of self-discovery in the gesture. As if he’s always wanted to do something like this but never thought he’d get the chance. A sense of curious wonder sparkles in his eyes, and it lights fresh excitement inside me.

  We’re two people discovering different parts of ourselves for the first time, and there’s something thrilling about that.

  I hurry down the hall and look over my shoulder before pushing through the heavy wooden door of the ladies’ room. I’m the only one inside, but what delights me even more is that the stalls in this restroom are the kind with floor-to-ceiling doors and walls. Given what’s about to happen, I’m thankful that Gochet Arlain’s interior designer wanted to afford a girl a little privacy when tending to her personal moments.

  I rinse my hands then check my face and hair in the large mirror hanging over the pair of bowl sinks in the stretch of rust-colored marble along the wall across from the stalls.

  I pace while I wait. I know what will happen once he walks through that door. We’ll have sex. Dirty sex. Primal, take-my-breath-away sex.

  Leave your shoes on.

  Make that kinky, command-my-soul sex. The best kind.

  How did I end up here again? In another restroom? At least this is an upscale restroom. One with mood lighting and sparkling fixtures. But it’s still a restroom.

  I really don’t care. There’s something sexy about fucking in a public bathroom. Something so naughty—so unbridled—as if there is no other choice than to answer passion’s savage call the moment it hits.

  Bed sex is normal sex. It’s vanilla. Not that there’s anything wrong with normal sex. But what Greyson and I did two nights ago! There’d been something incredibly exciting about that. I’d never done anything so tawdry, and I have to admit, I liked it. I liked it a lot. And now we’re going to do it again, only in finer surroundings.

  The door pushes open, and I freeze as he quickly and quietly slips inside.

  For a moment, I fear he’s going to tell me he’s changed his mind. Then I notice the volcanic desire in his gaze.

  He consumes the space between us in two steps, whips his arm around my waist, and spins me into the first stall.

  The door slams shut, and he locks it. We’re sealed in. With the walls stretching from floor to ceiling, it feels like we’re in a tiny, private room.

  “You didn’t put on any lipstick,” he says, loosening his tie as if he’d been dying to do so for the past hour.

  “I don’t like wasting good lipstick.” I slap my hand on the back of his head and pull his mouth to mine.

  Our lips crash together, and his firm hand clamps down on my breast. Strong lips. Strong hands. Strong tongue. Everything about Greyson is strong, including his personality, and I grow weak in the knees and weak of willpower under his influence.

  “You make me crazy,” he whispers hotly, shrugging out of his suit coat. He tosses it over the hook on the door.

  “Is that good or bad?” I unfasten my slacks and shimmy out of them, making sure to leave on my stilettos.

  With a smirk, he arches one discerning eyebrow and scans my legs. “It’s good. Very good.” His hands glide over my hips as he eases up between my legs. “I like your shoes.”

  “So I gathered.”

  “You have sexy feet.”

  I stroke him through his slacks. “Are you going to talk about my feet or fuck me, Greyson.”

  A heated breath seethes from his flared nostrils. His irises dilate under hooded lids.

  In a flurry of movement, he unfastens his belt and lets his slacks fall to the floor. As he rolls on a condom—it seems he came prepared tonight—I hurriedly unbutton his shirt. He grips the front of my lace panties and tugs me forward.

  “Tell me these aren’t your favorite panties.”

  I shake my head, consumed by the frenetic, abandoned energy that is Greyson James. “They aren’t.”

  He rips them off me as if they’re made of paper towels, tosses them aside, and a moment later, he hefts me off the floor.

  I glance down and nearly faint. His cock looks even bigger tonight than it did Saturday. Huge. Swollen and ruddy and potent. The condom fails to diminish its virility, and I’m overcome with the need to have it inside me. Overcome with the desire for him to do exactly what he told me he was going to do. Fuck me.

  I want to be fucked hard. Mostly because I don’t feel like I ever have. Greyson has enough packed below the waist to leave me feeling well used if he lets himself go, which I hope he does.

  Saturday night, I could tell he held back, and I don’t want him to hold back now.

  Oh sure, he’d made me come. He’d made me come harder than any man ever had. But I want more. I want to know that when he’s finished with me, I won’t be able to move. I won’t be able to think. All I’ll be able to do is feel.

  He breeches me, and my back slaps against the wall as he grunts and takes a staggering step forward.

  “Jesus . . . you’re tight.” His eyes roll back and he goes stark still. A faint smile touches his lips as if he’s savoring the feeling of being inside me.

  No one’s ever called me tight before.

  No one.

  Before him, no one’s ever given me pause, but at one moment Saturday night, I did worry he might be too big. Now that I’ve had him inside me, I know better. He’s perfect. He fills me completely, but in a way that still feels like he’s testing the limits of my capacity.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  I shake my head, squirming. I need him all the way in. I need him to do what he said he was going to do. And I need him to do it hard.

  “You’re not hurting
me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Now fuck me, Greyson.”

  With a growl, he thrusts into me. My back slams against the rust-tiled wall again, and I dig my fingernails into his shoulders as I cry out.

  I like facing him while we have sex. I like wrapping my legs around his hips. I like holding him and pushing his shirt back to bear witness to all that muscle in his chest and torso contracting, straining, working hard to drive his body into mine. And I like how my body welcomes his and responds.

  Watching him is as arousing as feeling him move inside me. He’s a sensual feast. Not only can I feel his potency, but I can see it. I can smell his clean, manly scent. Hear his primal grunts as he presses me harder against the wall. Taste his strength when I slide my tongue over his.

  The total package that is Greyson James is the most erotic thing I’ve ever known, and my senses are overwhelmed by him. I’m swept away on sensation.

  A broken, unbridled moan bursts from his throat, and he’s lost, totally consumed by his passion. A sense of power rises within me. I have a power over Greyson the same way he holds power over me. As delirious as I am to satisfy my carnal urges with him—urges he has awakened—he’s just as delirious by the fire I’ve stirred to life inside him. We’re like a forest blaze, scorching the wilderness, born of a tiny spark that spreads into a maelstrom of churning hunger until it’s burning out of control.

  Greyson and I do primal well. We excel at it. Like primitive cavepeople, we’re captive to our base urges, driven by instinct. Neither of us can stop if we tried. With us, momentum takes over, and there’s nothing we can do but follow along as the point of no return quickly passes.

  Tonight, Greyson and I reached that point the moment he tore off my panties. Actually, we reached it when he placed my hand over his cock at the table. Everything after that was simply foreplay to get us where we are right now. Fucking against another bathroom wall.

  Animal attraction.

  That’s what Greyson and I have. That’s what this incredible, mind-blowing chemistry is between us. We’re magnetically drawn to each other. Hadn’t that been how I felt with him at Alesca? I’d felt eyes on me. I’d felt drawn to the sensation. As if by a magnet, my gaze pulled around and locked onto his. Then we clung to each other all night, hypnotized by the wild abandon roused by our attraction.