10 Rules to Sex Up a Blind Date

by Heidi Rice

  Twin flags of colour hit her cheeks, but her gaze remained focussed and direct.

  A happy accident, my butt.

  She trapped her bottom lip under her teeth, before releasing it to say, ‘When did you figure it out?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Only if you’re not interested?’

  He chuckled, the surge of excitement making him light-headed. Goddamn, she was gorgeous—and his, if he wanted her. No mess, no guilt, no fuss and no need to worry about remembering her name, because he doubted he’d ever be able to forget it. He might have to kiss Sam after all.

  He sat up, trapping her knees between his thighs. ‘Tally, if I was any more interested I’d have passed out from the loss of blood to my brain.’

  She laughed, a full, throaty sound that settled in his lap like melted honey. ‘I’m sorry for the subterfuge, but Sam said you prefer to do the chasing.’

  He stroked a finger down her cheek, let it linger under her chin. ‘Sam doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does.’

  Her smile took on a wicked tilt. ‘Clearly.’

  Holding her chin, he tugged her towards him until their lips were only a hair’s-breadth apart. And drew in a lungful of her scent—citrus and spice. She smelled glorious, like freshly squeezed OJ and original sin, the perfect aphrodisiac for a Catholic kid who’d grown up working in his dad’s grocery store. Saliva collected in his mouth at the thought of tasting the rest of her. ‘So exactly what did Sam tell you about me?’ he asked, forcing himself to slow down for a second.

  Sam had always had a screwy sense of humour. And the guy had been Della’s friend before he’d been Brent’s. Brent didn’t want to take any chances that this was another one of Sam’s jokes—one that he was about to become the butt of. Because the last time Sam had set him up on a date, it had been with a transvestite. Luckily Marilyn had been in on the joke too, or things could have gotten pretty awkward when Brent had spotted her Adam’s apple about two seconds after meeting her.

  ‘Sam said that you’re a hard-ass with women,’ Tally replied. ‘Who doesn’t do relationships.’

  ‘Sam said that?’ Brent ignored the spike of irritation. Why should he care what Sam had told her? After all, it was the god’s honest truth. And he wasn’t ashamed of it. Not anymore.

  ‘Don’t worry, as far as I’m concerned a hard-ass is exactly what I’m looking for. That and a huge...’ Her gaze dipped suggestively. ‘Sam seemed to think you would meet both those criteria.’

  Jesus. He drew back a little. Sam had told her about Della’s photo? He’d always known the guy had probably seen it. When your ex put a picture of your junk on Facebook to humiliate you, you had to assume the worst, but he’d always figured Sam had more class than to mention it to anyone.

  ‘I’m sorry, have I shocked you?’ she said with deceptive innocence.

  She didn’t look a bit sorry, and she kind of had shocked him, but he wasn’t about to let her know it. There were rules to this game, and the first rule was never show a weakness. ‘I don’t shock that easy.’

  ‘That’s good, because Sam told me something else...’ She paused to twirl her fingertip in the daiquiri.

  ‘Seems Sam was pretty damn talkative about me.’ He rested his elbows on the table. Crowding her space a little more. ‘You should know, him and me, we’re not exactly bosom buddies, if you get my meaning.’

  ‘Yes, well, the fact that you and Sam aren’t bosom buddies is sort of a prerequisite for the skills he mentioned.’

  ‘Skills, huh?’ He pretended confusion.

  But he knew exactly what she was referring to, because Della had delighted in telling anyone who would listen that was the only reason she’d married him. Della had found lots of ways to slap him down in public and in private—the Facebook revenge porn being just one. But this was the only smackdown that still stung. Knowing that the Park Avenue Princess who had flattered him once with her grace and sophistication had only hooked up with him—a kid from Brooklyn on a scholarship with lots of ambition, but not a heck of a lot else—because of his skills in the sack. Until this precise moment, it had made him feel cheap. But now...not so much.

  ‘Yes, skills.’ Tally placed her finger in her mouth and sucked off the alcohol—wiping his mind clear of his ex-wife. ‘Quite phenomenal skills, apparently. That I have to admit I am extremely intrigued by.’

  He grinned, about as turned on as he’d ever been—without being naked. Bad girls had never been his thing. But he was beginning to see the appeal now. Big. Time. The woman’s confidence and her directness were powerful turn-ons.

  Standing up, he gripped her upper arm and pulled her out of the booth until they were standing toe-to-toe. Far be it from him to turn down an invitation delivered with such open hunger.

  Placing a hand on her hip, he dragged her against him. ‘You’re pretty forward, Tally. I always thought English girls were supposed to be shy and snooty.’

  She peered up at him, excitement dancing in her eyes. ‘You’ve obviously been meeting entirely the wrong English girls.’

  ‘No shit.’ He rested his thumb on the delicate pulse in her neck. ‘How would you feel about taking this upstairs?’ He wanted to kiss that knowing smirk right off her face. But he didn’t dare do it until he had her somewhere private. ‘Before my huge—’ he lifted his brows and let her draw her own conclusions ‘—bursts right out of my pants.’

  ‘That sounds like an excellent idea.’ She smiled, obviously enjoying the game as much as he was. ‘Especially if you expect me to catch it.’

  ‘You bet I do.’ He groaned and grasped her hand to lead her towards the elevators at the back of the bar that went to the hotel reception above—and keyed the concierge’s number into his phone.

  A part of his mind was screaming at him that what he was doing was totally nuts. He’d only just met this woman, and he didn’t know anything about her. But for once that felt like a good thing. A great thing. Because no expectations meant no disappointments. All Tally wanted from him was good, honest—and hopefully really dirty—sex. And that was one thing he would have no problem delivering after four months on sabbatical.

  As they stepped into the lift together, he booked the room, then arranged to have a bell-hop meet them upstairs with the key.

  Damn, by tomorrow morning he was definitely going to owe Sam a kiss.

  Chapter Four

  #NewRule: Spontaneity is the spice of life...and can also add considerable firepower to hot sex in luxury hotel suites. #justsaying

  ‘Great, buddy, thanks.’ Brent handed the bell-boy a ten-pound note.

  ‘Enjoy yourselves, folks.’

  Tally met the kid’s gaze as he winked at her and pocketed the generous tip.

  Brent tugged her into the hotel suite and kicked the door closed in the kid’s face.

  ‘Cheeky little git,’ she whispered as Brent whirled her round and pressed her against the mirrored door. She got a fleeting glimpse of sleek modern furniture in red and brown tones—that looked masculine and decadent—before large hands swept under her dress to cup her buttocks.

  ‘Takes one to know one, Tally.’

  She laughed as his lips captured hers. She stretched, thrusting the hard tips of her breasts into his chest. The large, solid ridge in his pants ground into her belly, making her heartbeat throb into her throat. She opened her mouth to take the kiss deeper and his tongue took control, dominant and seeking. He tasted of yeast beer and heat and determination.

  Bingo.

  The muscles of her abdomen tensed deliciously, his hands kneading her buttocks as he devoured her.

  Yes, yes, yes, her mind yelled as her body wept with excitement, her thigh muscles releasing in a heady rush. Her fingers grasped his shirt, yanking the cool cotton out of his trousers. She flattened her palms against the war
m, silky skin beneath, absorbing the tremble of tension, the tantalising trail of hair arrowing down. But as her fingers edged beneath his waistband, ready to locate and exploit the treasure beneath, he reared back. Grasping hold of her wrists, he forced her arms up to pin her hands above her head.

  ‘Not so fast.’ The tilt of those sensual lips teased. ‘We need to discuss where this is going before we get past the point of no return.’

  She bucked against his hold, but he simply pressed a thigh between her legs, holding her captive against the door.

  ‘Discuss what, exactly?’ The heady buzz surged as his hard thigh trapped her more firmly, forcing her legs to part and connecting with her yearning clitoris. ‘I’m already past the point of no return.’ Or she soon would be, and she didn’t want to discuss anything. ‘All we’re going to do is shag.’

  Weren’t they? She certainly wasn’t in the market for some long drawn-out conversation about where this was going, because it was going precisely nowhere, except hopefully into the king-size bed she’d spotted through the door at the back of the suite.

  His grin became mocking. ‘I like a woman who speaks her mind,’ he said. ‘But you’re going to have to control that potty mouth or I’m going to find something else for it to do.’

  She rolled her eyes while swivelling her hips to increase the pressure of his thigh against her sobbing clit. ‘If you want a blow job, just say so. There’s no need to be coy.’

  He worked his thigh against her trapped clitoris. ‘I may spank you before I fuck you if you’re not careful,’ he said, the stern threat somewhat mollified by the wicked gleam in his eyes.

  She grinned back. ‘Promises, promises.’

  He laughed, those brilliant blue eyes locking on hers. ‘I want to lick you until you come against my mouth, then I want to fuck you so hard and long that you’ll be walking funny for a week.’

  She swallowed heavily, the intensity in his eyes as compelling as the gruff determination in his voice and the deliberately crude words. The sledgehammer pulse in her clitoris sped up, drawing all the air out of her lungs. ‘And your point would be?’

  ‘I want to be sure you’re good with that, because once we get started, I’m not going to want to stop.’

  She smiled, dismissing the flutter under her breastbone at the sincerity in his tone. His ex-wife must really have done a number on him if he seriously thought she was not going to be good with that. She’d certainly given him enough hints, potty-mouth-wise.

  ‘Brent, I’m not just good with it, I’m ecstatic. Imagine me as your willing and able sex toy for the night. Whatever your pleasure, I’m happy to supply it.’ And I’ll do the same with you.

  She dug her fingers into his hair. The short strands bristled, soft and sensual against her palms, as she dragged his mouth back to hers.

  ‘Now, in the words of the great Elvis Presley,’ she whispered against his lips, her gaze drifting over his harshly handsome face as his erection prodded her belly, proud and solid through his pants, ‘can we please have a little less conversation, and a lot more action.’

  He hooked his fingers into the string of her thong and twisted. ‘So that’s what Elvis would do, huh?’ he teased, tightening the gusset of her thong to torture the bundle of nerves.

  ‘No, Elvis would have done it already,’ she whispered provocatively.

  Releasing the string, he slapped her arse. ‘Patience.’ The sound reverberated around the room as the sting sent a sharp sizzle of sensation across her buttocks to settle in her vulva, where the pounding ache had become all but unbearable.

  ‘Not a chance, big boy.’

  Gripping her bum, he yanked her closer, rotating her hips to grind her yearning clit against his thigh. Glorious pleasure rippled through her abdomen.

  ‘Harder,’ she panted, heat flushing through her, as she rode the ridge of muscle.

  ‘Who’s giving the orders here?’ he teased, keeping the pace steady, relentless.

  He drowned her huff of frustration with a kiss. His mouth slanting across hers, dominant and devastating. She sucked on his invading tongue.

  When he finally lifted his head, they were both breathless. Locating the zip under her arm, he tugged it down.

  He stepped back, his gaze riveted on her cleavage.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ she demanded, having finally got enough breath back to speak.

  ‘Take the dress off. I want you naked.’

  She bristled slightly at the dictatorial tone. ‘Same goes, buster.’

  ‘For a sex toy, you’ve got an awfully big mouth. Now stow the attitude...and lose the dress.’

  She would have argued. But her clitoris pulsed as his lips curved with challenge—and she decided that just this once, she’d do as she was told. Lifting the dress’s hem, she wrestled the vintage Dior over her head. The damn thing got stuck for a moment, and she wriggled, panting. She doubted her dance looked particularly sexy, but she refused to care. She’d waited two years. Style and grace would have to wait for next time.

  Free at last, she flung the dress away and stood before him in her push-up bra, lace thong and heels. ‘Your turn.’

  He unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off, giving her a full frontal of beautifully sculpted pecs and a lean, awe-inspiring eight-pack. Her eyes began to cross with lust. ‘Nice,’ she purred. ‘I’m going to have to give Sam a kiss for fixing me up with you.’

  Brent chuckled, the husky sound doing nothing for the dry ache in her throat and the throbbing ache in her clit. ‘Ditto.’

  Grasping her arm, he tugged her closer to slip off her bra straps, the leisurely glide of his fingers contrary to the harsh rasp of his breathing as he snapped the hook and peeled off the cups. Her swollen breasts spilled out and she heard the sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Damn, Tally, you’re gorgeous. Please tell me those are real.’

  ‘You cheeky sod.’ She laughed, both surprised by the comment and stupidly flattered. ‘What’s wrong with silicone?’

  ‘Not a damn thing, but I’m an old-fashioned kind of guy.’ Cupping her breasts, he pinched the tight nipples, making the already engorged buds swell and elongate. She arched her back, thrusting them towards him. ‘I prefer a woman’s body the way nature intended her, whatever her size.’

  Dropping his hand, he grasped her waist, then dipped his head to lick a pouting nipple. The suction was strong as he sucked the tip to the roof of his mouth. She panted, holding his head, the arrow of need darting down to her core, making the bud of her clit ache for the same attention. As if he read her mind, rough fingers delved under the thong and found her clitoris at last, circling and rubbing.

  He trapped the pulsating bundle of nerves before dragging his fingers through her wetness, then circling her bottom with his thumb. She jolted as the tight muscle stretched, the thick digit entering her.

  She grasped his forearm, barely able to speak round the shock, as she struggled to adjust to the strange sensation of having her bottom breached. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘A little anal play should increase the pleasure,’ he murmured. ‘If you don’t love it, I’ll stop.’

  She wanted to object, to tell him to take his bloody thumb out, she hadn’t agreed to this, but he cupped her with his other hand and began to stroke again in that devastating rhythm. Shocking pleasure gripped her, the fullness in her bottom intensifying the sensation.

  ‘Good?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she moaned, surrendering as he worked her clit with focussed efficiency.

  Then he sucked her nipple into his mouth, nipped at the tip, and arrows of pleasure shot down to her core. Sensation exploded and she forced her bum out, instinctively impaling herself more as she rode the crest.

  ‘Argh.’ The guttural shout wrenched from her as her body shuddered, battered by the tumultuous waves.


  She went limp, dazed and exhausted, the sting as he withdrew nothing compared to the heat blasting into her cheeks as he lifted her into his arms.

  Holy shit, had she just had the most stunning orgasm of her life with a thumb stuck up her bum?

  Her head spun with the indignity of that, and the ease with which he’d worked her over the edge, as he laid her gently onto the suite’s large sofa. Slipping off her heels, he dropped them on the floor, then hooked his fingers into her thong and worked it down her legs. Self-consciousness struck as his gaze landed on her neatly trimmed thatch of curls. Did he prefer his women bare down there? Given he was such a connoisseur of giving head?

  The flush blasted up to her hairline.

  Who cares what he prefers? This isn’t about pleasing him, it’s about pleasing yourself.

  But as he stood to kick off his own shoes, she noted the flare of his nostrils and the heat in his eyes as his gaze roamed over her, and couldn’t deny the tremble of gratitude at the evidence that he liked what he saw.

  He dropped his trousers. ‘You ready for round two?’

  The black cotton of his boxers stretched obscenely over what looked like a freakishly large erection. How big was that thing? And exactly where was he planning to put it?

  She gulped. If only she had as much moisture in her mouth as was flooding between her thighs.

  ‘That depends.’ She sent a pointed glance to the gigantic bulge. ‘While I liked what you did...’ She paused. ‘With your thumb, I mean...’

  His lips quirked as if he were trying to hold back a smile, but then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his boxers and took them off.

  ‘Bloody hell.’ The heady combination of shock and dismay hit as his erection sprang free from the thatch of dark curls at his groin. Her breathing sped up along with the pulse beating between her thighs—like a ticking bomb.

  His dick was enormous, thick and long enough to make Sam’s boast about his size seem like a considerable understatement. When she’d asked for hung like a horse, she hadn’t expected her matchmaker to take her quite so literally.