by Ava Harrison
“So perfect.” He licks his lips. A hungry beast. “I need to taste you.” His mouth presses to my skin and kisses a path up to my knees. I expect him to stop. To taste me where I’m so desperate to be touched. But instead, he continues up to my breasts.
“First here.” His words blow on my skin like a seductive mist full of promise and mystery. My nipples pebble and peak at the sensation. The hot air caressing me makes my body come alive in a series of shivers. “Don’t move,” he says as he latches on, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.
There’s a raw intensity to the way he devours me. His breathing is fast. My heart rate faster. Spencer moves one hand between my thighs, and a desperate whimper escapes as he pushes his fingers deep within me, but then withdraws them, leaving me hungry. Rotating my hips, I beg him to continue and he does, shoving two fingers inside me, pressing up until he finds the perfect sweet spot. The feel of them inside me causes sparks of heat. Static electricity. He pumps into me, over and over again, but just as I feel myself coming apart, he stops.
“Please,” I beg, lifting my hips up to his hand, trying to force him back.
“On my tongue. I want to taste you.”
He moves his mouth down the skin of my belly and against my hip where he lavishes a soft kiss. Then he moves his body lower until his head aligns with my core and his mouth latches onto me. I thrash against the new feeling. Against the onslaught. My climax is so close. He licks and sucks as he presses me down into the mattress, his mouth and fingers working in tandem until I’m crying out.
Chasing the high.
Crashing over the edge.
Once I’m sated from my orgasm, he moves away and reaches for the table next to the bed. I hear the familiar sound of a packet ripping, and once sheathed he settles his body against mine. I widen my legs to give him access. Gripping his shaft, I guide him toward me, begging him to take me. He doesn’t, though. Instead, he twists his hips in a seductive dance.
Teasing.
Torturing.
He settles deeper between my legs, making me believe that this is the moment. But it doesn’t happen, his hard length resting upon my core.
“Please,” I beg again.
Finally, he plunges into me with force. A primal moan pours out through his mouth, a desperate cry from mine. Once he’s fully seated in me, I let out the breath I was holding. Feels too good. His body within mine is more potent than any drug.
He thrusts in slow strokes. In hard strokes. Long and then slow. Our hips rotate together. He moves deeper into me and then withdraws.
He drives in and out, picking up speed. Thrusting at a punishing clip, his pace is maddening. I throw my head back, my eyes shutting as every muscle inside me clenches around him. Through my haze, I feel his body shudder as he follows me over the edge. Together we catch our breaths.
His weight is heavy on me as his breathing regulates and mine returns to its normal clip. A second later he pulls out. I want to beg him to stay, but I’m too tired. Too sated from the pleasure still coursing through every synapse of my body. My eyes flutter closed again and the most perfect, peaceful bliss engulfs me.
Through heavy eyelids, streaks of light gleams in. Blinking, they try to adjust to my surroundings.
Where am I?
The first thing I notice is the large plush bed I’m in, an unfamiliar bed and a very empty bed.
What the hell?
Where is he? Was it all a dream? The small ache of my muscles and the unfamiliar room tell me that last night did in fact happen.
Spencer Lancaster happened.
I look around for signs of him, but he’s nowhere to be seen. In fact, the room is eerily silent. The only sound is coming from the soft drum of raindrops against the pane of the large floor-to-ceiling window across from the bed. The blinds are closed, thank God, or I’d worry that half of London had seen our previous night’s activities. My cheeks heat at the thought.
I wonder where Spencer is?
With a stretch of my arms, I wring out all the sleep from my body and then get out of bed and tiptoe into the bathroom. Empty. I seize the opportunity to check my hair. Catastrophe. My hair is disheveled and my makeup smeared. Not a good look.
Turning on the faucet, I dampen a rag and wipe the black from my face, trying desperately to not rub my face red. Better. Then I run my hands through my hair to get the knots out and the hairs to lie down. When I’m done, the image I see is markedly better, but still shows signs of a late night romp.
I creep slowly and quietly into the kitchen, beginning to feel like an interloper. Again empty. I sigh in relief. I need a couple of minutes to compose myself before I come face-to-face with him. Last night was certainly not my first one-night stand, but there’s something different this time. I actually want to know him. Even if he seems exactly like the media makes him out to be, a playboy. That alone is a reason for me to not care. For me to stay far away from him. But there was a moment when he held me in his arms when I was falling asleep that was tender. Not typical of asshole players. It’s almost as if there’s more to him than meets the eye.
I poke around the kitchen, desperately needing a drink of water, and that’s when I see a note. I pluck it from the counter, discarding the single rose that accompanies it.
Beautiful,
I know this is corny and cliché but thanks for last night. It was just what I needed. I’m sorry I had to leave early. Business calls. It’s one of my last days here, and I need to tie up loose ends before I go to my next destination. Make yourself at home. I hope your stay in London is memorable.
I sigh at the last sentence. For once, my memories of London will be memorable. I won’t ever forget our night together, but I can’t help being a little disappointed. The next time I see Spencer Lancaster, it’ll be on the cover of another magazine or tabloid.
I quickly collect my things, dress, and exit the room. When I check my phone, I have two missed calls from Lindsey. I should ignore them. I should get on the soonest flight out of here and back to the States.
Lindsey is my downfall. Almost every blackout bender I’ve ever had, I was with Lindsey. She’s a party girl and with that comes drugs. I left her yesterday to avoid all of that. But being left behind by Spencer has me back to my insecure self. I knew it would only be one night, but still a part of me had hoped that he’d have said goodbye. A familiar feeling begins to creep into my blood, self-doubt, so I do the dumb thing. I open her message.
Lindsey: Hey, babe! Your stuff is still at my place, does that mean you’re still in town!!?? What are you doing tonight? We’re heading to Club X. Some major fun is going down.
Lindsey: Come join? Tabs on me . . . see you later xx.
What would one more night hurt?
Me: Where are you?
Lindsey: At the suite. Wanna go shopping?
Me: Absolutely!
Lindsey: YAY! My black card is burning a hole in my purse.
I roll my eyes at her incessant need to be so ostentatious. But these are the people I choose to associate with, so what does that say about me?
Me: I’ll be there in 20.
Lindsey: Get ready to tie one on.
Lindsey: Tonight is going to be epic.
The whole day Lindsey has me parading around town, going from boutique to boutique. I’m so tired by the end of it that I consider bailing on the rest of the night, but Lindsey wouldn’t hear of it. Supposedly some billionaire socialite she’s had her eyes on forever is in town and ready to spend a lot of money on expensive champagne. I haven’t seen Lindsey this giddy over a guy in a long time, so I must admit my curiosity is piqued. She spent hours getting ready and is still fussing as we make our way into the club.
“I look horrible. My hair is a frizzy mess.” Lindsey’s voice shakes, her mouth tight. She reaches her hand up and tries desperately to flatten out her hair.
I’ve never seen her like this before. “Are you fidgeting?”
“I’m so nervous,” she admits. She sounds stifled
and unnatural, not the Lindsey I know.
I don’t know how to take this side of Lindsey. The vulnerability is so real and entirely unlike her. For the first time, I’m seeing Lindsey in a different light. She appears to have it all, but the one thing Lindsey doesn’t have is affection of any kind. Her parents are cold and uncaring. They give her unlimited funds to simply go away and leave them to their lives.
The truth hits me.
This whole time, Lindsey has been using alcohol and partying to mask her loneliness. She isn’t unlike me at all. I see that now, and I’m ashamed that I’ve avoided and misjudged her. Perhaps we can help each other out of the dark.
I turn to Lindsey, knowing what she needs. “You look absolutely stunning. Any guy would be lucky to have your attention.”
“Do you really mean that?” Her pinched brow and worry lines creasing her forehead tell me she doubts my words.
“I do. You are smart and gorgeous. You’re a catch, and don’t forget it.”
Slowly a dimple appears on her cheeks. “Damn straight. Let’s party.”
It might not be what I wanted to hear, but that’s Lindsey. It’ll take more than one moment of solidarity to have her leaning on anyone. I mentally note that she and I need to actually talk more often.
We make it two feet before Lindsey is squealing. She’s clearly found her target. She motions across the room to a group of rowdy guys. One is standing on a table acting like the mayor. That has to be the guy Lindsey is fawning over.
She’s out of her damn mind. He has to be half her age.
“Linds, how old is he?” I question.
“Does it matter?” she exclaims.
“Yes, yes, it does.” My hands rest on my hips and I cock my head at her. “He doesn’t look a day older than nineteen.”
“He might not be. I’m not sure.” She shrugs. She obviously doesn’t care.
“You don’t even know how old he is?”
With that, her mouth purses. “No, Olivia, I don’t need to know how old he is. I only need to know that he’s Pierce Lancaster of the Lancaster Hotel chains.”
My head whips in her direction. “What did you say?”
“He’s one of the Lancaster heirs,” she squeals. “He has more money than all of us in this room combined.”
“As in Spencer Lancaster’s brother?”
“Duh! That’s his oldest brother. Word has it he’s in town too. I guess Pierce has been dodging him. So typical,” she says offhandedly. “He’s a bad boy, and I’m definitely going to tame him.”
“Maybe the Lancaster boys don’t want to be tamed.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Lindsey asks, cocking a brow at me.
“Nothing. I was just saying.”
“Hmmm, all boys want to be tamed.”
I scrunch my nose at her ridiculous claim. “He’s too young.”
“He’s not that much younger than us,” she whines.
“We’re in our mid-twenties. If he’s even twenty, I’d be surprised.”
She shrugs. “Age isn’t a big deal. Our families would be a perfect union. My father would be so proud.”
The glint in Lindsey’s eyes makes me sad for her. I don’t even know if she really likes the idea of who Pierce Lancaster might be or she just likes the thought of his money and prestige. Even more concerning is the sudden realization that everything she’s doing is to gain the respect of a man who doesn’t deserve it. Her father ignores her. He’s all but disowned her. She shouldn’t be basing her decisions around what he’d want.
The night spins out of control quickly. Pierce proves to be a lot to handle. I can even see Lindsey’s interest waning. He’s a child acting more like a drunken frat boy than the heir to a one-billion-dollar hotel industry. He’s turned Club X into Club XXX, taking shots between women’s breasts and practically dry humping every waitress who will let him.
I can’t help but think of the tabloids and what they say about Spencer. It’s not too far off from the behavior I’m witnessing and that makes me sad. The Spencer I met was so different. I wonder what he would have to say about Pierce’s behavior. Would he champion it?
There’s a commotion to my left and I’m being pushed out of the way by a couple of the guys Pierce came with. I stand on my tippy toes just in time to see Spencer Lancaster moving quickly in Pierce’s direction.
This night just got a little more interesting.
I need a fucking drink.
My brother doesn’t know how to act respectable. I knew he was in town and he’s been avoiding me, but when I got the call from the owner of the club telling me to come get my out of control hoodlum brother I saw red. I’ve had enough of his traveling the world spending all of his inheritance on alcohol, drugs, and women.
I don’t know what his deal is, but we’re going to get to the bottom of it when I’m back in the States. I drag him out of the club and put him right into a town car that’s headed straight for a private jet to take him home. I’m not here to babysit.
Grant might not have anything to do with us, to do with the business, but that doesn’t mean he gets to dump Pierce on me. It’s time my other brother steps up and does something. It’s fucking ridiculous.
I twirl the ice around my glass before taking a large swig. I need something to help me relax. I take another sip and look across the packed club. That’s when I see her. The girl from last night. Our eyes lock, and I question whether I’m dreaming her. Her long, blond hair falls loosely over her shoulders, and her bright eyes stare at me as though she’s seen a ghost.
I smirk at her reaction. I don’t know her name, and I don’t know why we keep meeting, but I’m damn glad we do. Last night was hands-down the best sex I’ve had in a long time and that’s saying something. The fact that she didn’t press me about who I was makes it even better. Anonymity is not something I have very often. I fully intend to bathe in it—and in her—as long as she’d let me.
Grabbing my drink, I stalk toward her, slow but purposeful. “Twice in two days. Am I a lucky bastard or what?” I flash her a dirty smirk.
“Sure are. Maybe you did something fabulous in a former life?” she deadpans dryly.
“Probably, because in this life I recall leaving you naked in my room. What are you doing here?”
The hazy gaze she wore moments ago is replaced by a mask of indifference. She doesn’t fuck around. Not figuratively, anyway, and damn if it doesn’t make her more attractive. “I’m here with friends. Are you here for a round two with a different blonde?” She’s looking everywhere but at me, and if she’s offended over my manwhoring ways, she sure as hell knows how to hide it. I move closer to her, my arm brushing hers.
“I had some business to deal with.”
She lets out a harsh breath at my answer. “Business. Typical.”
I can’t help but chuckle. As hard as she’s trying to act like she isn’t upset about how I left, it’s not working. I can tell by the straightness of her back that my leaving her this morning didn’t win me any favors with her.
“I’m sorry, but that’s why I’m here. I’m conducting business for my family.”
She doesn’t speak, so I continue.
“It was important, and I couldn’t be late.”
“So I gathered,” she says, unimpressed.
“What’s your name?” It’s the worst thing I could ask, but I do it anyway.
She tilts her head to the side. “Thought we weren’t sharing that information. Are you going soft on me, Mysterious Stranger?” Her eyes narrow with mischief.
My hands rise in defense. “You don’t have to tell me. I can just call you beautiful.” I grin.
She rolls her eyes. “Sounds corny, but I still prefer Olivia.”
“Olivia.” I test out the word. It rolls off my tongue sounding sexual yet beautiful at the same time. “I like it. It suits you.”
She laughs, her ice-queen attitude melting a little. “I didn’t choose it. My mother’s quite fond of it, though.”
&
nbsp; “She has good taste. So, would you like a drink, Olivia?”
“I don’t know if that’s such a great idea.” She lowers her head, seemingly embarrassed. “I’m about ready to head out, but I need to find my friend.” She stands on her toes, looking around the room. I have to laugh. The place is packed. The likelihood of her finding her friend is slim to none right now.
“Who is he?” I ask, causing her to bristle at my words.
She snaps her head to me. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me, Olivia. Who is he?” The thought of her with some jackass has me seeing red.
“My friend is a girl. I don’t make a habit of sleeping with different men on back to back nights.” She crosses her arms, shooting daggers at me. “I do have some standards, thank you.”
I’ve clearly pissed her off, but I’m relieved by her answer. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to offend you, though you are particularly cute when you’re red. Let me buy you a drink.”
Her eyes narrow in disbelief. Did I just offer her cyanide? No. I’m pretty sure it was a drink. Yet Olivia is mighty feisty, and hell if it doesn’t make her more appealing to me.
“As a truce,” I add, nudging her shoulder with mine, because why not? Maybe that way she’ll remember how fucking good it feels when our bodies connect, even through designer clothes and silky fabric.
She stays quiet for a couple of seconds, contemplating the offer, and finally nods in agreement.
“What’s your poison?” I ask as we sit at the bar.
“I’d like a Stella, please,” she says to the bartender.
“Beer?” I lift an eyebrow at her. Interesting.
“Yes. Beer.”
I chuckle at her shortness. Every second I spend with this woman has me more intrigued. She’s a complete conundrum, and I have the sudden urge to solve the puzzle that is Olivia. “What’s your last name?”
“Do you really want to go there? If I tell you, you’ll be forced to share too.”
“Touché,” I laugh. “So we’re going to remain anonymous?”
“It’s very film noir.” She gives me a sidelong glance, under thick eyelashes and peppered with a mysterious smirk. “And therefore so much more fun. Don’t you think?” I can’t help but smirk at that.