by Anthology
Dean’s a wonderful man. He’s compassionate, funny, and kind. We had Jake together, we’ve cried together, gotten through some extremely rough patches.
So why do I feel the need to leave? Go on an adventure? My mind plays over the questions as I fall into an uncomfortable sleep.
* * *
Six Months Later…
“What’s your poison?”
I’m taken aback as I look up from my book to see a tall, sturdy, sexy man standing before me. His dark brown hair overlaps the collar of his crisp white buttoned-down shirt. The sleeves are cuffed up, revealing strong, long forearms. A slim fit solid black vest cinches at his lean waist. His shoulders are wide, and he’s a mountain of muscle. His sharp jaw is covered in the perfect amount of dark scruff—not too much, not too little. It’s enough to give just enough burn on the skin to make someone crazy. And those dark brown eyes give a twinkle of mischief. Simply put—he’s gorgeous.
My eyebrow raises slightly as I glance at my empty glass, then at him. “Whiskey, neat.”
“Preference?” he asks.
“Jameson.”
His gruff voice calls to the bartender nearby. “A couple of Jameson’s, two fingers each.”
I chuckle softly. “I didn’t know people still used that measuring system.”
“It’s making a comeback.” He winks as his hand motions to the leather sofa. “May I?”
“You may.”
I’m not sure why I give him the permission when I should deny him. He sits too close, but his clean scent captures my senses. He smells of citrus enlivened with notes of coriander or something woodsy like cedar mixed in with pure virility. I wonder what his skin would taste like—salt and musk and sweat. Enveloping me in those large arms and holding me tight while he enters my body infiltrates my mind, and I’m in shock at how quickly I’m turned on by him. My thoughts turn to ways I could please him, my tongue trailing down his abdomen, his cock throbbing, and my mouth taking it over. I admonish myself, but my body quivers as he leans forward, his forearm pressing against mine. The heat shoots straight to my core.
“So what’s your name, gorgeous?”
“Vivien,” I lie. No need to bring out my real name. This is my time to be reckless. Part of me wonders what I’m doing, why I’m doing it, but I need adventure.
“Vivien.” The name twirls off his tongue majestically and a piece of my apprehension crumbles away. I cross my legs together, a slight pulsation stirring between them at the mere sound of his voice. “And what do you do, Vivien?”
I boldly lean closer, a smirk playing over me. “What would you like me to do?” The words leave my lips before I can control them. My sensibleness leaves me. This is a chance to let go of my reserves. My therapist said I need to throw caution to the wind, be free from the pressures at home. I believe it. Call it curiosity, selfishness, danger, but it’s needed.
The striking specimen in front of me is momentarily stunned, but doesn’t back off at my brazenness. Instead his eyes linger on my lips as he licks his. “I can think of plenty of things, but why don’t we start with your occupation first?”
I shift my black framed glasses sitting on my nose. “I’m a school librarian.” Lie number two. My lips press together as I wonder if I’ll be able to keep track of them.
He chuckles under his breath. “You can’t be a librarian.”
“And why is that?” I tilt my head and squint at him, deliberating if I’m able to intimidate this man in the slightest.
“You’re too beautiful.”
I give an indignant glare. “I wouldn’t take you to be so judgmental.”
“Don’t get upset, I was paying you a compliment.” His hand reaches over, and I prepare for his touch. Instead, his finger lightly skims on the rim of my glasses. “Is it mandatory for all librarians to wear glasses?”
“Of course. We also always put our hair up in a twist with a pencil and have five cats,” I state sarcastically. The grin on his face makes my heart stop. His smile is as devastatingly handsome as he is, and I’m sure many a women have nursed broken hearts over him. I’m once again reminded of my responsibilities back home. I shouldn’t be having a conversation with this man I barely know, but just because I’m flirting doesn’t mean I’ll take action.
“And what is a sexy librarian like yourself doing in a hotel bar?”
“Looking for trouble.”
“Honey, I think you may have found it.”
“Oh, so, you’re saying you’re trouble?” I feel my breathing start to restrict as my breasts grow heavy in my tight silk blouse. I’m sure my nipples are becoming visible through my black lace bra I decided to wear when I left home. Left home. I called in sick to work, took Jake to my mother’s house, and just like that, I left. I try not to think of what the repercussions of my actions will be. Instead, I look at him.
He gazes over me, a carnal wildness radiating from him. “I can be.”
I stare at his perfect mouth. “I believe it.” The urge to have his face between my legs sucking on me makes me careless. Despite whatever consequences lay ahead, I want to let loose and experience something different. It’s been a long time since a man has approached me and made me feel this way—wanted, sensual, beautiful.
My thoughts drift to my husband and I think of all the times we shared—the good, the bad, the ugly, and how much he loved me. A shot of guilt crosses my mind, but I just can’t hold up this pretense. Our sex life had been nonexistent for a long time. It’s only natural for me to need more. But it’s not only about that. I crave connection.
The waitress brings our drinks and ogles at my company. He hands her a large bill telling her to keep the change, but his eyes never leave mine. I pick my drink up, and he follows, tilting them to clink together.
“Cheers to?” he asks.
“To hoping this whiskey isn’t the only two fingers inside me tonight,” I grin cleverly.
“Fuck,” the sexy man exhales quietly as I take a sip of my Jameson. “Honey, you’re not looking for trouble, I have a feeling you are the trouble.”
I blink my heavily mascara-coated lashes at him, “You have no idea, sugar pie.” The burn trickles down my throat as I swallow the Irish whiskey in a simple sip. “So, what’s your name, bad boy?”
“Wesley.” His voice is rough, husky, and dripping with desire.
“And what is it that you do, Wesley?” I cross my legs toward him, the apex of my thighs throbbing stronger. I want this man inside me now. Like in the way when you first meet someone and that oxytocin goes haywire. It’s like a narcotic, and you can’t stop. That’s the lust I’m feeling now, and this man says all the right things to get me working.
“Dream about women like you,” he answers with a coy smile.
I laugh heartily, letting my red nails rest on his muscular thigh. I can feel the power behind it, and my heart thrums in excitement. I can’t wait to dig and scrape around those thick muscles wanting to suck him dry. I lean closer to him, my cherry lips nearing his. “And what do you dream you do to a woman like me?”
His hand gracefully caresses my hair over my shoulder and cups the base of my neck with his large hand. He dips his mouth to the shell of my ear. The humidity of his breath as he speaks makes my insides squirm with delight as his hushed voice begins, “I dream that I lick her pussy with my hungry tongue.” I shudder but smile as I take another sip of whiskey. I hum in acceptance wanting him to continue. “Then I dip my fingers inside of her, circling until I find that sweet spot. I press on it gently while my mouth sucks on her swollen little clit. Then I speed up, and eat every part of her until she’s come twice.”
I let out a shaky breath I’ve been holding inside as his fingers tangle in my hair softly. His breathy voice carries on against me, “In this dream, my cock is so fucking hard. I want to make her cry out as I fill her up, grasping her little body against me.”
My heart beats so frantically I’m afraid it may burst through and straight out of my chest. His hand glid
es down, the back of his fingers grazing ever so slightly against my breast. My nipples ache to be touched, the throbbing under my skirt starting to intensify, and I need relief. “Then?” I ask breathlessly.
“Then I wake up.” He sits back and takes a swig of his liquor, a smug expression playing over his mouth.
“And you find me.” I pause. “Think I could be your dream come true?”
“You might be. I’m sure your pussy tastes exactly how I dream it would.” I flush crimson as I finish off the contents in my glass. “Why don’t we find out now?”
My brain knows all the reasons why I shouldn’t do this. My guilt is swamping me, and I see this man noticing my reluctance. “If you’re not up for it, sweetheart—”
“No, I am,” I interrupt him. “I just…I’m not sure how you suggest we go about doing this.”
He reaches in his vest pocket, procuring a rectangular card. “Suite’s all ours, Vivien.” He lifts up from his chair and waits for me to grasp his hand. “What do you say?” He’s all expectations, thinking I’m a sure deal. I didn’t think I could actually go through with this. Could I? I nibble my lip and contemplate what I’m about to do. As I look into his eyes, full of seduction and desire, I can’t help but take the risk.
His hand is warm and strong, and strangely gives me comfort. I grab my handbag and the book I brought with me. I had only planned one drink and a nice dinner at the hotel restaurant, a little light reading to pass the time before either renting a room or getting my irrational thoughts under control and heading back home. I hadn’t imagined I would be going to someone else’s room.
He smiles at me and it’s almost blinding. “Sexy little librarian with her book.”
“I never leave home without one,” I say.
He studies the cover. “Waiting on Lust by Grace Clark.”
“A friend of mine wrote it.” I pause as he lands on a page, skimming over the sentences. “It’s steamy.”
“Well, you’ll experience more with me than reading it in some book. Follow me,” he commands as he puts his hand on the small of my back and leads me to the elevators. Hotel patrons stare at us, as if they know we have a secret. The excitement hums around us, my nerves fraying at the edges.
The elevator is empty, and the doors begin to close as he hits the top floor button. He stands behind me, his arms encircling my waist. I can feel how hard he is as he presses against my ass. His mouth leans to my ear and he nips it with his teeth.
“Are you wearing anything under that skirt?” he whispers.
Before the elevator can begin its ascent, the doors open again and two people step inside—an older couple—returning from an evening out. I wonder how long they’ve been together, if they’ve had children. Had they ever cheated on one another? I push the thought aside as he whispers again, “Are you?”
I shake my head no in response. His cock twitches against me as he expels the smallest groan against my ear. It seems forever until the doors open and the couple exits. He waits until the doors shut again and we continue our trek to his room.
“No panties?” His lips descend to my neck, behind my ear where he splays small kisses over me. I close my eyes and relish the feel of him. “You’re a very naughty girl.” His hands cup my breasts and I arch into them easily. My nipples pebble, aching as I strain against his palms. His mouth sucks over my pulse and I moan as my ass grinds into him.
“Tell me, Vivien. Are you wet for me right now?”
“Yes.” I shudder. This is wrong. So wrong. I should be home, in my pajamas, watching the latest episode of Arrow or The Flash with my son. I should be making Dean his dinner or ironing his shirts. I should be doing anything but what I’m doing right now in a hotel elevator going to a suite to do all kinds of dirty things. Instead I sigh, trying to understand what he’s saying through my clouded lust.
“Are you dripping?”
“Oh God, yes.” I groan as he pushes against me again, his hands roaming my body, his hot breath tickling my skin. I press into him, feeling how big he is through his jeans. With each touch I become greedy. A need blossoms within me, desperate for his body to be inside of mine.
The doors open, he takes my hand and leads me to his room. Before pressing the key over the sensor, he turns, his dark eyes stare sternly into mine. “A warning, sweetheart. Once we’re in this room I’m doing whatever I want with you. That means I’ll be fucking you until you’re so thoroughly fucked that you’ll be begging me to stop and then start all over again. Your body is mine in there. Understood?”
My breath catches in my throat, and I visualize my departure. I can’t get myself to leave though, not when he looks at me like I’m a decadent dessert waiting to be feasted upon. I give a slight nod of my head, the certainty I had only moments earlier dissipating at the thoughts of his dominant behavior. He pulls me inside his room. It’s expansive, with rustic earth tones, hardwood floors, and soaring ceilings. Wesley moves to the black granite-top wet bar and serves both of us a drink as I set my book and handbag aside. Instead of sipping on the liquor, I take all of it, as if I’m parched, when really I’m trying to calm my anxieties.
I’m hyperaware of his gaze. No expression breaks through other than that of wanton lust. I have the urge to begin, to relieve this constant ache, not only in my heart but throughout my whole body. I’ve longed for a man to look at me this way, and when his fingers move forward, caress my cheek and trail down my neck, I exhale, my lungs on fire.
He downs his drink. We walk through the living area and to the bedroom where an artisan king-sized bed with a wrought iron headboard sits. It doesn’t take much to make me tremble with anticipation. Tonight is for me, and I’m ready to take. So why am I nervous?
My skin is flushed and hot. I take only a moment to steel myself and clasp the collar of his shirt, pulling him to me. His lips hover over mine as I smirk. “You told me you’re going to thoroughly fuck me, is that right, Wesley?”
He nods and reaches for my glasses, pulling them off of my face and folding them delicately. He sets them on the desk nearby. “Are you sure you can handle me, Vivien?”
My hand trails down between us and I cup his crotch, feeling how hard and ready he is for me. “I’m not sure you can handle me.”
“I’m more than equipped to, sweetheart,” he grits through his teeth as I stroke him through the material. He clasps my shoulders and pushes me back, growling. “Stand over there.” He tilts his head forward and sits on a chair, leaning back comfortably.
I take my position, my hands on my hips. “Now what?”
“Don’t talk,” he says gruffly. “Unbutton your blouse. Slowly.”
His voice is filled with seduction as I move my fingers over each button, letting the cool air hit my skin as I shove one shoulder out of my blouse, then the other. The fabric rests at the crook of my elbows as I take time undoing the clasps at the wrists and untuck it from the waist of my pencil skirt. I throw the blouse aside and reach for the zipper of my skirt, deliberately taking my time as he watches.
His breathing increases, his hands grip on the armrests of the chair as my skirt pools around my ankles and I step away from it. “Like what you see?”
I know he does. True to my word, I have no panties on, however, my garter belt holds up my thigh high stockings, and he’s mesmerized. “You crazy, beautiful woman. Are you wet for me?”
“Soaked,” I moan, moving my hands over my belly to the place that needs reprieve.
“Don’t touch yourself yet. Leave your heels on. Sit on the bed.” His voice is deep, husky, demanding. “Spread your legs.”
I do as I’m told, drinking in his gaze and the way he makes me feel. “Like this?” I feel the air hit my heated, throbbing body.
“Wider.”
I obey. I have to work desperately to hold off an orgasm, I’m overly wired. My fingers grasp the edge of the bed, so eager to get things going, but he’s taking his time, sitting there, observing me.
“I want to watch you touch
yourself.”
I tremble at his words, my sanity hanging by a thread. Dean has never asked anything like this of me, but now this man is asking, and I’m freely giving. My stomach flips when I think of my husband, of this crazy situation, but I make myself focus only on the present. I’m in the now. And I do as I’m told. My hand skims along my inner thigh, and with delicate movements I reach my target, and dip a fingertip into my center, barely pressing in.
My head knocks back as a sigh of pleasure releases from me. I go deeper, spreading the wetness over my folds. I’m warmed up, my body on fire as I respond to my touch.
My pace quickens as my fingers enter and he growls, “How does that feel?”
I focus on him. “It would be better if it were your fingers.”
“Keep going,” he groans.
My hand circles around my hood, my palm pushes against me, and my hips begin to buckle. I’m almost there—on the precipice, ready for the fall. Before I can finish, he braces the back of my head. I open my eyes to see him looming over me, landing a searing kiss on my mouth. His tongue enters, strokes as I clutch his arms for support.
“I was on the edge,” I let out between hot, wet kisses.
“I wanna make you come, sweetheart.” He pulls back and stands in front of me, my face level with his waist. “Undress me.”
My small, fumbling fingers begin to work his belt, moving to the zipper of his jeans, working carefully. He helps along by removing his vest and shirt faster than I’m able to work. When I draw both the denim and boxer briefs over his hips, his erection is released.
My eyes take in every ripple of muscle on this man. I’m level with his hips, and he’s so hard and ready. He grabs the base of himself and looks at me with heat in his eyes as his other hand caresses my cheek. I’m all too glad to comply with what he wants. He doesn’t have to say a word. I start by kissing the tip of him, the pre-come glistening. I take my thumb and spread it over his shaft, my fingers curling around him as my tongue swirls his head before I then encase him with my mouth.