And, of course, there was the possibility—the probability, even—that she would meet the man of her dreams, Jonathan Danvers.
The limo pulled up outside the bar. The neon lights glowed in the frosty night. Taking a deep breath, she climbed out and headed inside.
The bar was a sweltering den of darkness, noise and heat. As she squeezed through the crowd, she could barely hear the jukebox over the roar of conversation, laughter and clinking glasses. The surrounding faces were hard to make out in the dim glow emanating from red light bulbs over the wooden booths. She cast a wary glance around her, wondering what exactly she was supposed to do. Was it possible that Professor Deveaux had been playing a joke on her? This entire environment was appallingly crass.
A tall, beefy guy in a baseball cap headed her way. “Hey, I know you,” he yelled over the din. “You’re in my sociology class. Are you here alone?”
She shook her head and moved toward the back of the bar. Dressed in her long leather coat, cashmere sweater and short skirt, she was growing hot and flushed from the swarm of bodies around her. Feeling thirsty, she joined the crowd of people three-deep around the polished wooden bar trying to attract the bartender’s limited attention. Squeezed among much taller men, she felt unseen and unnoticed. At last, she found herself pushed up against the bar itself. A flutter of claustrophobia ran through her as the crowd closed in on all sides of her. Helplessly, she tried to push back and claim some breathing room, but to no avail. Nor did the bartender seem to notice her.
The person behind her pushed her coat to the side and caressed the soft curve of her ass.
Chelsea froze. How dare he? Who was this jerk who was so arrogant as to go around feeling up girls in public? She tried to turn around and confront him, but the damp bodies surrounding her were pushed too closely together. She was trapped.
The anonymous hand began to stroke her thighs, running two fingers up her firm muscles that quivered with both indignation and excitement. She waited breathlessly as the strange hand continued its ascent underneath her short skirt. Mortified by her own arousal, she jerked against him, signaling her displeasure in the only way she could. This was completely unacceptable behavior, no matter how nice it felt. Yet the stranger only ran his hands under the delectable cheeks of her bottom, and gently flicked his fingers between her legs, signaling her to open her legs. She understood. This was her test and he was her Muse.
Closing her eyes as her face burned hot, she spread her thighs for his hand.
The stranger was stroking her through her panties now, playing with her pussy more masterfully than anything she had ever experienced. As he fingered her clit, her thighs became wet with a warm surge of arousal. His touch was so intimate, as if he already knew the needs and responses of her body. Who was this man? Once more she tried to twist around to see his face. But the crowd was so intense that she could only view the men on each side of her, both absorbed in their own conversations. She wiggled helplessly, both wanting him to continue and appalled at her own complicity.
Gently, he dragged her panties down her thighs, stopping them just before the hem of her short skirt. She swallowed, another wave of fever staining her face as he brushed his fingers over her exposed sex. Never in her life had she allowed anyone to take down her panties in a bar or feel her up in public or arouse her so fiercely without even showing his face…
His talented fingers circled her clit until it seemed to glow in its hood of skin like a jewel. She dropped her face in her hands, concealed by her long hair as she moaned with helpless lust. She was breathing hard and her thighs shook and she was so afraid that at any moment someone would realize what was going on. But in the loud chaos of the bar, both the bartender and the crowd seemed oblivious as her Muse pushed two fingers deep into her heat and began to slowly thrust in and out.
Chelsea gripped the polished wooden edge of the bar for support, struggling to stay balanced on her boots as he stimulated her with deft skill. Back and forth he flicked his fingers inside her, making her delicate flesh swell with excitement.
Lifting her head, she took another desperate look around the neon-lit bar, as anxious to escape detection as she had been to escape his hand just moments earlier. Her stiff nipples chafed against her lace bra like a maddening itch she couldn’t scratch. To be touched in this way, so sensually and inescapably, made her yearning almost unbearable. Who was he? It was ridiculous but something in her Muse’s touch made her ache for all of him, anonymous as he was. She longed to be naked with him and returning the favor with her hands and mouth, making him as thrilled and inflamed as she felt right now. Instead, she was forced into paralysis, their clothes and the crowd separating their bodies like a heavy, constrictive barrier.
Once more she tried to turn back toward him. Immediately his hands ceased their magic and rose to her hips, forcing her to face forward.
Okay. If that was how it had to be. She was determined to pass this test devised by Professor Deveaux…even if it did entail being intimately caressed by a complete stranger in a bar. Somehow, her Muse did not feel like a stranger. Crazy as she knew it sounded, she recognized something about him—an energy, a familiarity. It was as if they shared a connection between them that was more exciting and more erotically authentic than any attraction she’d felt before. Logically, she knew that he could have been anyone and yet something in his touch evoked one consistent mental image—the gorgeous brown-eyed man from last night’s Society party. Could it really be him? Professor Deveaux had to have noticed the steamy stare they had exchanged…
His fingers expertly continued to penetrate her wetness. Chelsea’s blood swam with a delirious fever that had nothing to do with the heat of the bar. Loose blonde tendrils clung to her flushed cheeks as she leaned over the bar, thrusting her bottom back at him in utter surrender. Both of his hands were under her skirt now, one playing inside her pussy with mindblowing skill. The other hand knowledgeably stroked her clit, pinching her swollen nub lightly until she moaned. She opened her legs as wide as she could in the tight crowd. As her arousal reached burning heights, he applied a light pressure from within that met the opposing touch on her clit at the same time.
A lightning bolt of white-hot lust rocketed through her body. Chelsea collapsed on the bar as she came, hiding her burning face in her hair. A deep moan wrenched itself from her mouth as her pussy clenched around his fingers with primal, ecstatic throbs.
Her Muse slipped his fingers from her wet, clinging sheath. Both of his hands retreated from her skirt to adjust her coat back in its proper position. As he stepped back, she felt the cool absence of his body behind her, but she was too agitated and disheveled to turn around and face him just yet. Her panties were still tangled around her thighs and her hard nipples poked painfully through her black cashmere sweater. Catching her breath, she composed herself and drew her coat together before discreetly reaching inside it to pull up her underwear. Then she turned to face her gifted Muse.
Only a crowd of drunken sorority girls stood behind her now, cackling over a round of Cosmos.
Bewildered, Chelsea pushed past them in time to glimpse a brown head slipping through the back door of the bar. She charged after him, scrambling over feet and muttering apologies as she pushed through drunken students and kissing couples. She couldn’t let him go—she had to meet him. Quickly, she threw open the door and burst into the alley behind the bar.
The alley was empty.
As the door swung shut behind her, the welcome coldness of the January night cooled her feverish flush. She stared in disappointment down the dark, narrow alley, hearing only the drip of melting snow into a drainpipe. The icy air danced up her bare thighs and made the damp panties between her legs feel even more sodden. Where had he gone?
He stepped up behind her and placed his strong hands on her shoulders. She knew immediately it was him; she recognized the electrical current that seemed to flow mysteriously from his fingertips to her blood. Faceless her Muse might be, but somehow he radi
ated a magnetism that convinced her he was the most attractive man in the universe. She closed her eyes and thought of that brown-haired masked man whose dark eyes had seared her heart last night.
“Who are you?” she whispered, knowing better than to try to turn around.
Instead of answering, he drew her against him and kissed the back of her neck. Her body shivered as his teeth gently bit her throat with a pressure that made her swoon. As his hands slid down to feel her breasts, Chelsea stayed perfectly still, afraid to end his caresses by moving. The recently satiated spark within her returned to life now, growing into a demanding inferno. The aftershocks still tingling in her pussy shifted into a questing, throbbing ache for his cock.
Her silent Muse pushed up her sweater and bra, exposing her nipples to the winter night. The chilly air felt delightfully naughty on her stiff pink points as she leaned back against him, surrendering to the moment. This yielded her first clue of his body. Now she knew that he was fairly tall and hard-muscled, with large yet sensitive hands that easily cupped her full breasts. Once more her mind filled with the memory of her dark-eyed mystery man from last night. The passion of his touch and the effortless chemistry between them convinced her it was him. Yet even as she yearned to know his face, she reveled in the anonymity of their encounter.
Her Muse massaged her bare breasts, apparently unworried at the possibility of interruption. The sound of car engines and voices on the sidewalk out front reminded her of how easily anyone could catch them as he rolled her nipples in his fingers. She was breathing hard and close to her second orgasm when his hands slipped lower to lift her skirt and stroke her pussy once more. She groaned, pushing against him. Yet his hands retreated all too quickly.
Impatient with need, she twisted in his arms. His iron grip held her still once more.
He surprised her by pressing down on her back. She obediently bent forward as he did the unthinkable. He threw her long, leather trench coat over her head, eclipsing the alley light and shrouding her in darkness. Breathless with excitement, her heart pounded wildly as her Muse pushed her skirt up around her waist and pulled her panties down her thighs. She heard the rustle of a condom wrapper a moment before he mounted her with expert swiftness.
His cock drove into her folds with one smooth, deep plunge. She gasped as he insistently pushed into her tightest depths. Surely this couldn’t be happening. She, Chelsea Becker, honor student, bending over for a stranger in an alley behind a bar. She would never do something like this. Never…and here she was panting with animal desire as he plunged in and out of her tight, wet pussy. She dropped her head, her long mane brushing the ground, as she surrendered utterly to the masterful thrusts of his hips. Her Muse held her tightly, working in and out of her tunnel with long, vigorous strokes. It was exactly the way she’d always wanted to be fucked and, as he touched her clit, she wondered dizzily if he had stepped out of her dreams. A hot, shivering electricity spread over her body, making her feel as if she’d scream or go insane if this incredible pleasure did not crest soon. A tight groan escaped his lips and at that first admission of need from him, her orgasm broke over her body like roaring light. Delirious contractions wracked her body as his own orgasm shuddered helplessly inside her.
For a long minute, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the drip of melting snow in the cold night.
Slowly, her Muse pulled out of her. The tip of his cock lightly brushed her thigh before his body again vanished maddeningly behind her. This time she quickly pulled down her skirt and stood up, throwing her coat off her head. It was too late. Her exciting stranger, her erotic Muse, had faded into the night, leaving her only a glimpse of wavy brown hair as he vanished. Chelsea knew it would be futile to chase after him. Instead, she was left standing alone in the alley, reveling in the certainty that she had just met her sexual soulmate—and almost as certain that he was none other than Jonathan Danvers.
Chapter Three
Dear Chelsea,
Congratulations. We have read your story with delight and are pleased to inform you that you have passed your first test. You will be informed of your second test in the coming days.
The coming days?
Chelsea stared at the email with disappointment. For the last two days, she had been consumed with thoughts of her stranger from the bar. As originally requested, she had written up an account of their encounter—and composing every paragraph had sent blistering waves of sexual obsession through her body. Being forced to relive every stroke, every thrust, made her twist in her chair. She had to see him again, couldn’t wait any longer. Just one day away from him left her drenched in yearning, too distraught to concentrate on her schoolwork.
Now she would apparently have to wait a few more days before seeing him. Then again, what if she never saw him at all? What if her next test featured a different man? She couldn’t bear that. She wanted this man. They belonged together. Maybe they had never exchanged a word, but any man who caressed her pussy like that had to be the one for her.
The whole thing was like something out of a fantasy—or a scene penned by Jonathan Danvers. She knew it was the silly fantasy of a love-struck fan, yet she couldn’t deny that it seemed more and more like she was destined to wind up in Jonathan’s arms. First she discovered his novels as an innocent virgin; then she attended his alma mater, only to stumble upon a secret society of erotica authors. Now she was actually being initiated into that same society in rites that involved a tall, sexy, brown-haired stranger—who was also the most talented lover she’d ever known.
Jonathan, Jonathan, Jonathan. It had to be him, didn’t it? The lush brown hair, the broad shoulders, the height, and most of all, that almost supernatural erotic chemistry between them…
Her dorm room door swung open. “Hey there,” Nikki said, coming in with a shy girl from their floor. Her name was Brianna and she usually looked downcast, but today a radiant smile lit her face. “Have you seen Jeff? He said he’d help us with our Shakespeare papers but I don’t think he even came home last night.”
“No idea,” Chelsea replied, discreetly shutting her laptop. “What are you so happy about Brianna? You win the lottery or something?”
Nikki rolled her eyes. “Some guy in her Russian history class asked her out.”
“Good for you,” Chelsea said, not understanding Nikki’s sarcasm.
A shy smile broke across Brianna’s face. “I’m just so excited,” she said. “I haven’t had a boyfriend since three semesters ago.”
“He’s not your boyfriend yet, Brianna. It’s just a date,” Nikki said pointedly.
Chelsea shot her a warning look. “It could develop into something. You have to think positive, right, Bri?”
“Right.” Brianna’s eyes were dreamy. “You know how it is—every year on Valentine’s Day all the other girls get called down to the front desk to pick up their roses while you get nothing… Then they go to dinner at Les Bijoux while you eat in the dining hall. I know it’s stupid but it’d be nice to actually have a boyfriend for once on Valentine’s, you know?”
Chelsea and Nikki exchanged a knowing glance. This was exactly the kind of attitude they scorned—succumbing to the pressure to celebrate what they viewed as merely a commercial, conformist holiday. Yet Chelsea couldn’t judge Brianna too harshly. The girl was obviously lonely. “I hope this guy works out for you,” Chelsea told her.
The very mention of Valentine’s Day reminded her of Jonathan, or rather, her Muse. They would both be at the Society’s Ball and that would make this a lusciously erotic Valentine’s indeed. If the party she had glimpsed last weekend was anything to go by, surely the Society’s holiday ball would be a spectacle of eroticism and art. Let the other girls in the dorm have their drugstore candy and mediocre off-campus restaurants. She would be living out her hottest fantasies.
She smiled to herself.
“Well, look who’s thinking of her own loverboy,” Nikki said, catching the dreamy expression on her face. “Would you
please just tell me who you hooked up with last weekend?” To Brianna, she said, “Chelsea came strolling in last Saturday night looking disheveled as all get out, but she won’t admit she actually got laid.”
Chelsea couldn’t suppress a mysterious smile. “It’s not important.”
“It’s not important,” Nikki mimicked in a nasty voice. “God, Chelsea, I tell you everything. You’re no fun.”
Nikki’s acerbity seemed to be making Brianna nervous. “Um, I’m going to go since Jeff isn’t around,” she said. “I’ll see you guys at dinner.”
Nikki slammed the door after her.
“How pathetic,” she grumbled. “Getting all sprung on some guy just because he asked her out.”
“Well, three semesters is a long time to go without action,” Chelsea said. “She’s excited—we should be happy for her.”
Nikki stared at her. “Oh my God, please don’t tell me you’re turning into one of them. If I have to room with a Stepford Girl who starts bragging about the flowers and jewelry she got on a trumped-up holiday—”
“Nikki, calm down! I am not a Stepford Girl. God.”
“Well, I certainly hope not.” Nikki looked sulky. “It is a little weird that, after acting like a nun for months, you suddenly go out and get some nookie a few weeks before Valentine’s Day. If you found this guy just so you won’t be alone on V Day…”
“I don’t have a problem being alone on any day,” Chelsea said tartly. She wanted to say that if anyone seemed to have a hang-up about being alone on Valentine’s, it was Nikki, but she held her tongue. She sensed that her roommate was starting to regret her numerous exploits on fraternity row. After all, if there was anyone who’d be eating alone in the dining hall on Valentine’s, it was frat rat Nikki. Plenty of guys had taken her to bed in the time Chelsea had known her, but so far, none had taken her on an actual date.
Erotics Anonymous - A Strangers in the Night Story Page 3