by Meghan March
“Does it really matter?” she asks, and I can’t tell if she’s playing coy or if that’s her natural state of being.
“I’m just wondering where they raise women who say exactly what a man wants to hear when he’s sitting next to a beautiful woman in a bar.”
Her cheeks color with a pink blush, and I suspect it’s not the whiskey. Her innocence rolls off her in waves. I want to see how far I can make that blush spread. I want to see the outline of my handprint on her ass in that same color.
I stand and hold out a hand. Her gaze drops to it, and she hesitates before laying her hand in mine.
Good girl.
I close my fingers around hers as she slides off the stool. Even with the heels of the boots, the top of her head barely clears my chin.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“My place.”
Her eyes widen. “I . . . I have a room. Here. I mean, if you want. Or, or—” She stammers over the words, and I know I need to put her at ease before she bolts.
I lift a hand to her chin and stroke her cheek with my thumb, tracing the sexy-as-hell flush. “Yes. I absolutely want.”
She swallows and nods.
She’s mine.
I don’t want to release her, but I do. After pulling the money clip from the inside front pocket of my suit jacket, I peel off a few hundreds. I can’t tip less than that bastard, or I’ll be a total schmuck. I push them under the edge of my empty glass and pause, pull out another few bills, and motion for the bartender.
“Yes, sir?”
“We’ll take a new bottle of Bushmills.” I glance down at the woman I’m going to spend the rest of the night on top of, behind, inside, and beneath.
The bartender moves quickly, and within a few moments I have my fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle and one hand pressed to the small of her back.
I lean down so my lips are only a fraction of an inch away from her ear. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”
I’m cool. I’ve got this.
I can make it look like I know what the hell I’m doing.
One-night stand? No problem.
Sexy billionaire in a three-piece suit that’s definitely worth more than my car? No big deal.
This is my pep talk as I walk in the direction of the elevator, the heat of his hand burning through my thin top like a brand.
I still can’t believe the words that came out of my mouth. My gran would be rolling in her grave if she knew I picked up a man in a bar. Another wave of grief batters me, and I stumble.
He slows his stride and steadies me. “Second thoughts?”
His question isn’t mocking; it’s sincere. And in that moment, I have some sixth sense that says he’s the right man to make me forget all the things that have been plaguing me.
I meet his eyes. “No. No second thoughts.”
“Good.”
The single word sends shivers of excitement flickering through me. This man calls to me on a very basic level. It makes no sense. I mean, since when did suit-wearing billionaires turn me on? Usually, outside of the odd drunk fan, it’s the dorky guys who hit on me, and there are no sparks.
How can I be turned on knowing how absolutely and completely out of my league he is?
My stomach flops like a whole mess of spring peeper frogs have been unleashed. I wasn’t even this nervous when I stepped onstage for the first time on Country Dreams. Maybe this is what a minor league rookie feels like the first time he sets foot on the field of the big leagues.
I glance down at where he has a grip on my hand, and can’t help but notice the bulge in the front of his suit pants.
Oh Lordy. What am I getting myself into? He’s probably had his fair share of supermodels, and heck, any woman he’s ever wanted. And now he’s got me. Old insecurities sneak out of the shadows. I’m not good enough for this man, and I know it.
We step into the elevator, and my heart is hammering against my chest so loudly that I wonder if he can hear it. I forget that I’m still staring at his package when his hand once again lifts my chin.
“See something you like?”
My cheeks heat with a furious blush, and I raise my gaze to his amused one.
Oh my God. He caught me ogling his package. Fail, Holly! Fail.
“Uh . . .”
“Don’t worry. I don’t mind.”
With his words, his thumb strokes along my cheekbone. It’s such a familiar touch, and brings back the urge to just lean into him and let him take over.
Who am I kidding? Like I was ever in control of this encounter.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
I grit my teeth at the throwaway endearment. I hate being called “hon” or “sweetheart”—my gran’s favorite endearments—by someone I don’t know. It seems so fake, and once again reminds me of what I’ve lost.
“No names,” I say quickly.
His dark eyebrows shoot up nearly to his hairline. “Really? You don’t want to know mine?”
It’s not really fair of me, because I already know his, but I answer anyway. “None. I don’t need to know your name.”
He studies me for a few beats before replying with only a brief nod.
As soon as the doors open on my floor, he grabs me by the hand and pulls me out of the elevator, and I think I’ve reached the point of the evening where shit is getting real.
Equal amounts of apprehension and anticipation rush through me when he growls, “Which room?”
Oh God. What am I doing? Oh, wait, that’s right. I’m about to have a one-night stand with a billionaire. Get in the game, Holly. You can do this.
“Um, 1919.”
“Key?”
I slip my hand into the back pocket of my jean skirt and pull it out. Lifting it from my fingers, he pulls me down the hall in the direction of the room.
At least I don’t need to worry about having to take the lead, because I have a feeling Creighton Karas is going to be just as demanding and dominant in the bedroom as he’s rumored to be in the boardroom.
Gulp.
I need to take this slow. I need to take my time with her. She’s the type of woman to be savored and appreciated, but I want to taste her innocence on my lips too badly to even try.
I have her ass filling my hands and her back up against the wall before the door clicks shut behind us and the bottle of whiskey thuds to the floor. I take her mouth, sliding my tongue between her bright red lips. Fuck. So damn sweet, just like I knew she would be.
Her quiet moan goes straight to my balls. I rock into her, my cock pressing against her pussy. She whimpers and bucks against me, her instincts coming on strong, despite her innocence. I reach down and wrap one leg around me, and she catches on quickly, repeating the movement with her other leg. Her skirt bunches up around her waist, and the heels of her boots dig into my ass. My need to fucking devour this woman jacks up higher as her nails dig into my shoulders to steady herself.
Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not letting you go anywhere.
I bury one hand in her hair, tilting her head back to meet my gaze. “When I let you down from here, you’re going to strip off everything but your boots and your panties, and get on your hands and knees on the bed.”
Her dark eyes widen, clearly telegraphing her shock at my words.
Oh, this is going to be fun.
I begin to lower her to the ground, but her legs tighten around my waist.
I tighten my grip in her hair. “Do you understand me?”
She nods.
“Words. Yes or no?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
The smile that spreads across my face feels predatory, even to me. “You’re going to be a naughty fucking girl for me, aren’t you?”
Her mouth opens to respond, but instead of speaking, she closes it and swallows—like she’ll soon be swallowing my cock. She’s going to be perfect.
“Do you want to know what I do to naughty girls?”
She nods.
&n
bsp; “Anything I want.”
Her pupils dilate, and I know I’ve got her exactly where I want her. My lips lower to hers and devour her again. The taste of whiskey reminds me that I want to lick it off her body, and drink it from her sweet pussy.
Fuck. What is it about this woman that makes me lose every shred of self-control?
I don’t care enough to answer the question because she’s wrapped her hand around my neck, pulling me closer. Her quick little tongue tangles with mine, and the taste of her . . . Jesus. It steals away logic and common sense.
I yank myself back from the edge, and away from her lips, and slowly lower her to the ground.
“What—?” Her half protest is weak, and she presses a palm against my chest for balance.
“Now,” I say, and wait for her to react.
“What?” she asks again, this time with more fortitude.
“I told you where I wanted you. And I want it now.”
She blinks, as if trying to throw off the haze of desire.
I don’t think so. I drop my hands to her shoulders and turn her to face the bed.
“Strip. Leave the panties and the boots. I want your ass in the air.”
I release her, and she stumbles forward a step. I lock down the urge to steady her, because if I touch her again, I’m going to be tearing every thread she’s wearing off her.
To her credit, she steadies herself—and quickly. I wonder how rapidly she’s going to comply with my orders, but I don’t have to wonder long. She reaches for the hem of her shirt and hesitates, glancing back over her shoulder.
Keep going, I think, waiting to see how well she’ll comply with my orders—spoken and unspoken.
She bites her lip and looks forward again before slowly lifting the shirt up and over her head. It dangles from her fingertips for a moment before she drops it to the floor. She pauses, and I wonder if she’s going to back out. But she doesn’t. The sound of the zipper comes, and she shimmies her skirt off. A tiny red thong reveals most of her perfect peach of an ass.
Jesus fucking Christ, she’s perfect.
“The bra too,” I remind her when she drops her arms to her sides.
She shoots another glance back at me before reaching her arms around to unhook it and slide it off. It joins the pile of clothes on the floor. Her thumbs hook into the waistband of her thong.
“Stop.”
She freezes when I utter the word.
“You need to learn to listen better, naughty girl. Leave them. I want you on the bed on your hands and knees, your ass in the air.”
Her gaze snaps to the bed, and she takes a shaky step toward it. I move forward in one lunge, tearing the spread off it and tossing it aside.
Her hands hit the sheets as she stumbles forward. She stills for only a moment before crawling onto the bed and complying with my command.
“I’m going to rip those flimsy little panties right off you and eat that juicy cunt for dessert.”
When her entire body shivers at my words, I wonder if anyone has ever spoken so crudely to her. I highly doubt it.
But still, she doesn’t move. Doesn’t make a break for it, so I’m all in.
His words. Oh my God, his words. I’ve read things like that, but I’ve never heard someone say them. So dirty, so filthy . . . and God help me, so hot. Maybe there’s something wrong with me, but I like it. I want him to tell me what to do, because if he can make me feel this way with nothing but words and a few kisses, I want more.
I watch out of the corner of my eye as he shrugs off his suit jacket and tosses it on a chair at the edge of the room. His cufflinks clink as they hit the top of the dresser. His hands don’t slow as they unbutton the shirt and toss it on top of the suit jacket. He strides toward the bed, and heat flares within me.
I’m expecting a soft touch, a caress, but instead his hand cracks across my naked butt cheek. The sting shoots up my body, followed by a hot, sensual burn.
An undignified squeak escapes my lips as I lower my ass out of the strike zone. But I don’t move fast enough.
Another smack catches the same cheek, but lower, where it meets my thigh.
“Why—” I start, but his big hand covers the sting, silencing me. A possessive squeeze of his palm is followed by his thumb sliding up and under the waistband of my panties.
“I’m keeping these,” he says before snapping the delicate lace of my panties and letting them flutter down my left leg. Another tug and they’re gone. “And I’m punishing you for hesitating to follow my orders. And because I’ve been dying to see my handprint on your ass since you first blushed in the bar.”
Once again, his words send a rush of desire through me unlike anything I’ve ever felt before—until his palm slides between my legs and cups me before dragging a single thick finger through my wetness.
He groans. “You’re fucking drenched for me. Jesus.”
His fingertip swirls my opening, teasing me. My thighs flex, and when he dips just barely inside, my inner walls clench, greedy and wanting to be filled.
What is happening to me? I push myself against his hand, and for a moment, he fills me. His hand drops away, and a cool rush of air precedes a light slap to my pussy.
“Wha—”
“My greedy girl is getting ahead of herself. I’ll give you what you need, but you’ll take it my way.”
When I exhale sharply, another firmer smack lands in the same spot. And then he grips my hips and flips me onto my back in a single movement.
My head is still spinning from the abrupt change in position, but my eyes track him as he leaves the edge of the bed, moves toward the entryway to the room, crouches low, and then returns.
He kneels at the base of the bed, grips my knees, and pulls me so my ass is almost hanging off the edge and my boot-clad ankles are resting on his shoulders. I’m completely and utterly exposed to him, and uncertainty fills me for a breath.
He lifts something, and in the dim light of the room, I see it’s the bottle of whiskey. Never dropping my gaze, he opens it and drops the cap.
Um . . . strange time for a drink?
He leans in close, and his breath teases my center. “I wasn’t done drinking earlier. So now I’m going to drink from this sweet little cunt and get drunk on you.”
Again his filthy words send shivers through me, and his meaning dawns in my lust-handicapped brain. He’s going to what?
I don’t have time to question, because within moments he tips the bottle. Chilly liquid hits me and trickles down . . . into his mouth. He catches the whiskey on his tongue, lapping up my wetness at the same time.
Oh my God. Oh my God.
Pleasure spikes through me as he sucks and nips and licks until I can’t help but lift my hips and buck against his mouth, wanting more and more of this sensation.
He stills, the liquid stops, and he lifts his mouth away.
“Wh—”
“You’re not going to come until I give you permission. I’m going to enjoy my dessert first.”
My nipples pucker, and arousal raises goose bumps along every inch of my skin.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Please don’t stop. Please.”
I don’t know who this senseless creature is who’s begging a man to keep pouring whiskey on her lady bits, but I honestly don’t care. I expect him to resume his actions, but he does something else, something completely unexpected.
He lowers the rim of the bottle to drag along my clit. The cool glass sends spikes of pleasure ripping through me.
He’s not going to . . . he wouldn’t . . . My imagination flies into a frenzy when he continues to drag the mouth of the bottle lower. And lower. It presses against my opening, but goes no further. He pulls the bottle away and presses it to his lips and drinks.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he sucks down the liquor, and my throat dries to dust. It seems he can read my every thought, because he lowers the whiskey and leans forward, pressing my legs toward my body.
The bottle hovers over my mou
th.
“Open.”
He tilts it toward my lips, and I comply with his instructions in time for the whiskey to hit my tongue. I swallow until he stops the flow, and just when I’ve relaxed a fraction, he lowers again into his crouched position and a thick, blunt finger slides inside me without warning.
The liquor burns a path down to my belly, and red-hot need flares up from where he fills me. His dark eyes are locked on mine as he continues to thrust in and out with his finger and lowers his mouth to my clit.
And he feasts.
I’m riding high on the wave toward orgasm when a second finger pushes inside me for a moment before sliding lower.
Whoa. I flinch against the foreign feeling as his fingertip circles the pucker of my ass. I open my mouth to protest, but the sensation falls away and is replaced by his teeth nipping at my clit.
A moan rips from my throat as an orgasm rips through my body.
When I blink my eyes open, he’s standing over me. He must have lowered my legs from his shoulders, even though I didn’t realize it. His belt is undone, his pants are unzipped, and his hand is wrapped around a giant cock. I haven’t seen that many in real life, but even I can recognize a monster when I see it.
“You want my cock?”
The bold question takes me off guard. “Um . . .”
“I asked you a question.”
He’s stroking himself from root to tip, waiting for my answer.
I nod.
But that’s not enough for him.
“Tell me you want me to fuck that tight little cunt until you’re still feeling it tomorrow.”
“I—I want you to fuck me.”
The words feel so foreign on my tongue, even though it’s exactly what I wanted when I set foot in the bar. To find a man with enough confidence to give me exactly what I want. I just didn’t expect to find him.
“Not good enough. You were looking for a man tonight, that much was clear. So ask for what you really want.” He lowers his face to mine. “Because I’ll give you all that and more.”
I suck in a breath. He’s right. Tonight is about me taking something I want and banishing the guilt chasing me. I grab my courage and push up on my elbows, bend my knees, and let my legs fall open.