Mr One-Night Stand

by Rachael Stewart

  As they ascended Jennifer rubbed her face against him, her delighted little noises doing weird things to his chest. He knew the doorman was doing his damnedest to stay professional, working hard to conceal his bemusement at the situation. Marcus couldn’t blame him. It was weird for him too.

  What the hell was he doing?

  He should have woken her up, got her address and had Colin take her home. But even as he acknowledged the thought, he dismissed it. This way he had a chance to keep control of the situation, tell her who he was and get it dealt with.

  The lift came to a stop, the doors opening onto his private foyer, and he stepped out. He gave directions for the doorman to leave the bag and bade him goodnight. Now he was standing in his vast suite, his creature comforts surrounding him, and there was a woman he barely knew curled up in his arms.

  For the first time in his adult life he had no idea what to do and, boy, did it grate on him.

  If she’d been awake it would have been different. There were plenty of options that sprang to mind. Like an honest conversation, for one. As well as the not so virtuous options which, despite his recent release, still got too much of his vote.

  And for that reason alone he didn’t dare wake her.

  Not yet.

  He needed his control firmly in place before she set those evocative eyes on him again. Bizarre, really, as his control was the one thing he had always been able to depend upon. But it had fallen by the wayside tonight.

  It had to be the illicitness of it all. Surely once the cat was out of the bag it would all become entirely manageable. She would be manageable.

  He looked to the various doors. There were two bedrooms. He could put her in the guest room. It was nice, cosy enough. His body immediately rejected the idea, and his mind came quickly to its aid—You can’t leave her to wake up without you. She’ll have no idea where she is.

  It was a good enough reason for him.

  Striding purposefully towards the master suite, he told himself he was doing right by her and kicked open the door. Reaching his bed, he pulled the covers back one-handed and set her down.

  She turned into the mattress on contact, her body relaxing as he pulled the quilt to her chin, her long, lithe form folding into the charcoal-grey as if she belonged.

  A warmth spread through him, irking him to turn away and head for the door.

  Since when did the sight of a woman in his bed appeal?

  The truth was never.

  Because he’d never let it happen before.

  Behind him, she gave a soft moan, the sound lulling his resistant gaze back. She shifted, her hands hooking into the pillow beneath her head and drawing it closer. His throat closed, his body heated, and he had to force his legs to work, to stride from the room straight down through the foyer and into the living area, where his glass drinks cabinet beckoned.

  He debated how much he’d consumed already. Not quite two J&Bs. He could stand another. Just one.

  Pouring himself a careful measure, he went to take it up when his phone buzzed with the arrival of a text message.

  He pulled it out and checked the screen, his hand clenching around it as his stomach turned over.

  I’ve been calling you for a week. Since no police have rung I assume you are still alive and just being ignorant. Call me back. Gran x

  A bittersweet smile pulled at his mouth—she was never one to mince her words—and guilt swamped his unease. Yes, he should have rung, but no matter how he played it, how he tried to talk himself out of it, his grandparents, for all their devotion, brought with them the past.

  And the past could go fuck itself.

  Still, he owed them a call.

  Hell, he owed them many.

  Fingers moving deftly over the screen, he promised them he’d be in touch and then placed it on the side. Taking up his glass instead, he glanced down into the swirling amber liquid and felt his stomach turn anew.

  Fuck.

  He swiftly put it down, the harsh twang of glass hitting glass barely registering as the memories flooded him, his hands falling into fists at his side as he tried to push them out. The painful reminders of where pain and booze could take someone, of the many beatings he’d endured with the stench of drink permeating the air, of his father, so broken and twisted—

  Let it go. You’re not him. You never will be.

  He strode to the glass wall, his sights fixed on the glittering city lights, and took a breath, trying to empty his mind and finding it impossible.

  And then he thought of her—the distracting bundle curled up in his bed—and, no matter the trouble that was coming, he felt something inside him ease.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IT WAS THE scent that hit her first—the hint of male cologne, all warm and woody and decidedly comforting to Jennifer’s sleep-addled brain. She wrinkled her nose into the plushness cushioning her head, revelling in its luxurious feel. So soft. So nice. Much nicer than the feeling coming off the rest of her.

  She stretched out and froze. She was still fully clothed. The jagged edges of her underwear bit into her skin, the brush of the quilt against her stockinged legs and the pinch of her stilettos was alarmingly peculiar.

  And then came a faint noise, the unmistakable sound of snoring.

  Jennifer slept alone. Always alone.

  And now she was awake, cocooned in the scent of male and definitely not alone!

  She shot up, her hands fisting into the sheets around her, her eyes blinking rapidly as she adjusted to the darkness of the room. It was huge. The bed she was in was huge, the floor-to-ceiling glass walls taking up half of the room were huge.

  And then she saw him—her Mr Wright—his sleep-slackened body reclining in an armchair at the opposite side of the room, his silhouette outlined by a view of the moonlit Thames.

  This had to be a dream.

  But if it was a dream surely she would remember going home? Surely her every sense wouldn’t be on high alert?

  Then it all came flooding back. The bar, the elevator, the car ride to his place. Everything. In all its flaming hot glory. And in spite of her clothed discomfort she felt her body heat; her breasts flushed and her clit came alive.

  He was exquisite. Even in the dusky light she could sense his power, feel his appeal...

  His jacket lay across the arm of the chair, his forearm resting upon it. His other arm was folded, his hand curving over his inner thigh, his trouser-clad legs relaxed and spread. Open and vulnerable. The sight did things to her, things with a potency that almost scared her, and she flexed her fists into the bunched-up fabric of the sheets.

  How could one man have this much effect? She should have been sated and at ease now. Ready to throw her all back into normality and sneak away. No need for goodbyes. They’d both got what they wanted. But...

  Her eyes travelled up the length of him, pausing over the open collar of his shirt where the top four buttons lay undone. Her throat dried at the exposed hint of chest, the arousing arch to his neck as he fell back against the curve of the chair, his chest falling rhythmically with his gentle snores.

  Fascinated, she folded back the bed covers and planted her feet to the floor, inwardly wincing as her imprisoned toes made painful contact with the ground.

  She dipped to remove one shoe and then the other, her toes curling blissfully into the plush fabric of the bedside rug as she smiled.

  Had he thought it too intimate to remove them while she slept? Did he not care that her heels had likely damaged his expensive bed linen?

  Pushing off the bed, she padded towards him, not really knowing what she was about and half expecting him to awake at any second and pin her with that desire-provoking gaze.

  But he didn’t move. His breathing remained heavy and even, each raspy intonation teasing at her senses.

  As she came to a halt above him her gaze
fell to the side table. His mobile, an unfinished glass of what looked to be whisky and her clutch resided there. She glanced at her watch—it was three-thirty in the morning. It was time she left. But even as she thought it her body balked. The idea of leaving without enjoying him one last time, of resisting the desire already burning, was too much.

  Beads of perspiration pricked between her breasts and across the back of her neck. Her skin was clammy and her dress made her feel claustrophobic from sleeping in it. The need to be out of it had her hands taking up the hem and pulling it over her head.

  The cool air swept across her skin, over her exposed nape as her hair was lifted away, and a delightful shiver ran down her spine.

  She couldn’t leave.

  Not yet...

  Letting the dress slip from her fingers, she stepped forward, her knees coming up against the chair-edge between his legs. She leaned forward, placing one hand on the chair-arm while the other brushed away the hair that had fallen across his forehead, her eyes scanning his beautiful face.

  Stunning even when in slumber, this man could ruin all her best laid plans if she gave him the chance, she was sure of it.

  But a last goodbye... Where was the harm?

  Lowering her mouth to his, she brushed her lips against him, tasting the whisky on his breath and repeating the move. His lips gave way beneath her coaxing pressure and she dipped her tongue inside. He was yummy—all warm, whiskyed up and tantalising to her senses.

  His eyes fluttered, his hand twitched and then his eyes opened, wide and surprised. ‘Jennifer?’

  ‘Shh...’ she said, pressing her index finger to his mouth and loving the heated firmness beneath her touch. She dropped her head to flick her tongue out, let it probe alongside her finger, tasting him, teasing him.

  He tried to move beneath her, his hands coming up to take hold of her waist, his touch searing through her skin, but she wasn’t ready for him to take control.

  ‘Stay,’ she commanded, raising her head to gaze down at him, her hands pressing into his shoulders as she pinned him back in the chair.

  He looked up at her, his eyes dark and glittering in the low light, his entire body rigid as he succumbed to her will, freed her so she could focus on the fastened buttons of his shirt. One by one she undid them, all the while her eyes fixed on his.

  And he watched her, his gaze burning into her eyes, her lips, the valley of her chest, then moving down to the V of her legs as she stood before him, his hands shifting to caress the lace band of her stockings with mesmerising intent.

  She tugged the shirt out of his trousers, releasing the last of his buttons and parting the fabric for her hungry eyes. Her mouth like sandpaper, she took in each exposed inch, stroking the shirt off his shoulders, feeling the heat of his skin burning through her fingertips, his muscles rippling beneath her caress. The only sound in the room was their elevated breathing, and her ears were attuned to every hitch in his as she traced her fingers over him, toying with the smattering of hair across his pecs, her thumbs circling each puckered nipple before travelling lower.

  He sucked in a breath, his anticipation clear, and she smiled, her fingers closing over his trouser fastening. No belt this time. One less hurdle. Popping the button free, she worked the zip, her hands brushing his hardness with their movement and sending her clit on a frenzied dance.

  Pinning one hand on his hot, naked shoulder, she slipped her other inside his briefs, felt her own breath catching as he bucked into her palm. He was so big, so hard and ready.

  She flicked her tongue out to moisten her lips, a whimper leaving her throat as she looked at where she held him, drawing him out, her hand sliding over him.

  ‘Fuck!’ He gripped her thighs, fingers biting. ‘I want you.’

  Her eyes met with his own. ‘I want you too.’

  Straightening, she reached for her clutch as the hands over her thighs slid inwards, his fingers seeking her out. She flicked open her bag.

  He slipped beneath her thong, one finger gently brushing against the swollen nub of nerve-endings and sending her bucking against him. He did it again and she moaned, her head gliding back, her attention on the bag momentarily forgotten. He rolled her clit, working her to fever-pitch with his perfect rhythm, perfect pressure, perfect everything.

  She rocked against him, biting into her lower lip as she tried to stave off the spread of tension long enough to locate the little foil packet tucked inside her bag.

  Pulling it out, she tossed the clutch to the floor and used her teeth to break it open. He groaned beneath her, the fingers of his free hand coming up to probe at her opening, teasing, plundering, teasing some more.

  She was on the verge, her mind screaming Not yet as she forced herself to step back, to break his touch.

  He slumped in the chair and she dropped to her knees, reaching out to take hold of his rigid length and offer him up to her mouth. She flicked her tongue across his tip and he hissed, his hands flying to her hair, his eyes burning down into her as she smiled her pleasure.

  Bringing the condom to his head, she held his eyes and rolled it down, securing it to his base before standing and closing the distance once more.

  ‘Take off your bra,’ he commanded suddenly.

  She bit into her lip again, the tightness in his voice making her body overheat as she dutifully did as he asked, undoing the clasp and letting it fall away.

  He cursed under his breath, his eyes burning into her chest as her breasts fell free, their sensual weight goading her clit, their tightened nipples singing in the exposure.

  ‘Turn around.’

  Again, she did as he asked. She could feel her wetness slick between her thighs as she moved, the skimpiness of her thong offering no protection from her readiness for him.

  ‘I want you to sit on me,’ he said, his hands coming up to take hold of her hips.

  An erotic shudder broke through her and slowly she lowered herself, one hand slipping her thong to the side, the other coming down to take hold of his length and position him at her entrance.

  His very tip teased its way in. A delicious heat engulfed her and she sank herself down, crying out and clenching him tight as he filled her so completely, so perfectly.

  He gave way to a ragged breath. ‘Fuck me, baby...’

  His reaction went straight to her head, to her clit, to her core, and then his grip on her hips squeezed as he lifted her up and over him, again and again. Slow at first. Savouring. And then more rapid, more desperate.

  His chest came up to press against her back, his hands thrusting up to her breasts, his palms groping, his fingers toying, their attentions ferocious with his own need and driving her own.

  ‘You’re so fucking hot.’

  She moaned her response, her hands biting into his thighs as she propelled herself over him.

  ‘Here.’ He took hold of her hand, brought it to her breast and squeezed her palm over her own flesh, showing her what he wanted. ‘Christ, yes!’

  Her other hand flew up, mimicking the mindless caress at her other breast, freeing his hands to take control of her hips once more, giving her the rhythm she craved.

  ‘Yes, yes, yes...’ she cried, her head rolling back as she gave herself up to the tension spreading through her like wildfire.

  He caught at her thong, pulling it taut over her clit, and the pleasure-pain was intoxicating as he continued to thrust her over him, pushing her to the brink.

  And then she exploded, the sensation shattering through her, her muscles clenching wildly around his cock and taking him with her. The tremors of his body mixed with her own as he encased her in his arms and gripped her to him, taking them both back against the chair.

  He rested his chin on her shoulder, his uneven breaths tickling at her flushed skin. It was blissful and bittersweet. For a goodbye, it had to go down as the best she’d ever had.

&
nbsp; ‘We should talk,’ he said suddenly, his chin jutting into her flesh as he spoke.

  His words had the effect of an ice shower on her overheated body but she didn’t tense up, didn’t want him to sense her unease.

  ‘Later—or rather, in the morning,’ she said calmly, turning her head into his and pressing a kiss to his temple. ‘First you need to get some proper sleep. What possessed you to take the chair?’

  He shrugged, his grin warming her anew. ‘What can I say? I’m nothing if not a gentleman.’

  ‘You call what we’ve shared this evening gentlemanly?’

  ‘Point taken, yet again,’ he said, manoeuvring her so that she sat across his lap, his sated cock slipping out to rest beneath her behind. ‘Not complaining, are you?’

  She gave a laugh. ‘What would you do if I was?’

  ‘You don’t want to know.’

  It was how he said it, rather than what he said, that had her body heating with mutinous anticipation. She wanted to press, wanted to coax the words out of him but didn’t dare. He played to her carnal desires so effortlessly, so perfectly...

  ‘Is that so?’ she said simply, it was a question, but it didn’t ask for a response, and to ensure he got the message she snuggled down into his shoulder, her mouth clamped shut as her disgruntled body tried to force out a moan, her mind conjuring up a variety of reactions to her potential complaint.

  ‘Not tonight, though, hey?’ he said, pressing a kiss to her head and standing effortlessly with her in his arms.

  He strode to the bed, his legs taking a wide stance as he kept his trousers in place. In spite of her emotional turmoil she laughed, his gallant candour leaving her momentarily on cloud nine. And then he deposited her on the bed, breaking their contact.

  ‘I’ll be right back,’ he said, straightening and heading for a doorway that she assumed led to the bathroom.

  ‘Don’t be long,’ she called after him, turning into the quilt and preparing her I’m fast asleep pose.

  She didn’t want to risk delaying her departure with conversation. She just needed to leave—and she would once he was asleep. A sudden heaviness hit her, deep in the belly, and she wrapped her arms tight around her middle, fending it off.