by Harper Sloan
With a plan in place and, thankfully, some of my anxiety dissipating, I grab the lingerie set I had in mind, toss the sheer lace on the island, and reach up between my boobs to unhook the bra I had on. The second the clasp is free, it opens without help, and my heavy breasts fall from the cups with a bounce. I step out of my panties next and kick them over toward the laundry hamper in the far corner before turning back to the mirror, eyes traveling down my naked form. Now that I've come to terms with what very well might happen, the flustered woman I saw in the mirror only minutes before looks almost sultry. I'm out of my depths due to what I like to call my "missing years" of experience due to my abstinence, but at least I don't look that part.
I know my nerves are almost completely to blame for those damn missing years, too. It wasn't that I couldn't find a reason to show my body off and gain the experience a woman my age would usually have under her belt; I just hadn't met a man I wanted to give myself to before now. Kind of ironic, considering my first reaction to this whole thing started with a slap across his face. Like it or not, what he was offering was just what I needed. No expectations other than sex. No risk.
The silver lining in it all--I may lack experience, but I didn't lose my body during those years. My stomach is just as flat and toned as it was when I was in my twenties. Of course, I spend hours working out daily to keep it that way. My breasts are still as high, full, and firm as they were when I was in college. I turn, look over my shoulder, and smirk because even with all of those things working for me, the one thing that did change only did so for the better. I went from lacking a backend worth someone doing a double-take over to one that you could bounce a quarter off of.
When the butterflies in my belly start kicking up dust, the rest of my nerves dissipate with each fluttered wing. Experienced or not, here I come.
I spin from the mirror with a slight bounce in my step and grab the bright red thong from where I tossed it. After settling the thin and very sheer lace straps against my hips, I grab the matching bra. Black would have been safe. Black would have been a good choice, but one that says you didn't give much thought to how the night might end. Red, however ... well, red says you wanted the night to end with your body looking like it was wrapped with a big, bright, and see-through bow.
When I look back at the mirror this time, I do so with appreciation. Every inch of my tan skin glows. My eyes so bright, they look greener than the normal plain old hazel they are any other day. My cheeks, which I left free of blush because the heat my body generated did all the work my expensive makeup would have, give me the perfect flush of color. Even with my hair being so wild from all my outfit indecisions, it worked for me.
Heck, I can admit it--I look hot.
Hot and seriously turned on.
I have no doubt that, if I were to reach between my legs right now, I would find more evidence that I am, in fact, excited for what tonight will hold.
Enough, Ari.
Stepping over all the outfits littered on the hardwoods, I walk directly to the back corner where I pull out the one dress I have been avoiding. But now that my mind is clear, it has no trouble guiding me straight to it. I bought it knowing I didn't actually have a reason for it--meaning a man to wear it for--but I couldn't resist the allure it held after seeing it on the runway of a Dolce and Gabbana show.
When the long zipper that starts just under my ass is pulled up and secured, I walk over to my shoe wall and grab the five-inch stilettos that will match my underwear perfectly and glide my feet into them with a practiced ease. After years of wearing only heels, the familiar pinch of the shoe hugging my feet no longer even fazes me.
Only then do I turn and look back at myself in the mirror.
"Bingo," I whisper and feel a pure rush of anticipation cascade over my hyper-aware skin.
The black lace that covers me from neck to wrists, stopping directly above my knees, hugs my body like a second skin. The solid black lining under the sheer lace is what sold me on this dress in the first place, though. Something I can see was definitely an instinct born of someone who knows how to spot perfection on a hanger ... or in this case, a runway model.
When I turn back to my reflection, I know this is the dress.
The solid lining completely hides the red of my undergarments, but that's about all it covers. Everything else is just pure lace. The lace over my arms imitates intricate tattoos; the opaque lining against my legs is what makes this a showstopper. While the actual length of the lace is to my knees, the lining meant to keep me decent does that ... just barely. That lining ends mere inches under my red lace covered parts.
Black lace and all legs. That's what this dress does. And with these heels, even someone as short as I am can look as if she has legs for days.
It was a dress that screamed for someone to crave me.
To take me.
To ... use me.
It was a dress that was made to be on my body tonight. A delicate dress that was made for a man like Thorn. A dress that, I hope, gives me a slight advantage over Thorn when I essentially hand myself over to him in just under an hour's time.
"Ready or not, no matter what happens tonight, or after, you're going to enjoy yourself, Ari," I tell my reflection. Then I head back out of my closet, almost falling over Dwight when he refuses to move. His paw swats at my ankle in an attempt to start his torture early as I make my way back to the bathroom for some last-second touch-ups on my makeup and hair.
By the time I'm grabbing my keys to leave, I'm pretty sure I really don't want to be the victor of our bet anymore.
When I pull up to The Hunting Ground, one of the best steakhouses in town, I'm back to being nervous. So much for that confident Ari who left her house ready to start begging for Thorn the second she saw him. She fled the second I saw Thorn standing outside the doorway to the restaurant. He doesn't look like the biker I met last night anymore. No, tonight he's wearing black slacks and a black button-down--and even from a distance, I know they're high quality. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and I see more bright colors and designs on his forearms. For a moment, I wonder just how much skin he has covered but then push the thought down before my hormones work up to dangerous levels. Tattooed men are a weakness I never knew I had. I can't have my wits going haywire this early, or there's no way I'll be able to hold my own next to him.
I feel his eyes on me when I step out of my SUV and start walking toward him, folder and clutch in one arm and the other rising to press the keyless lock button on my door handle to arm my SUV. I don't just see that I did, in fact, have his attention when our eyes clash, though. The warm buzz that accompanied it starts to heat my skin with each step I take toward him. There is no doubt about it--Thorn Evans likes what he sees. I can practically feel his eyes sear me physically as his appreciative perusal travels over every single inch of my skin.
Branding me.
Burning me.
I step right up to him, the tips of my red heels only an inch from his shiny, black dress shoes. I have no idea where this brazen woman has been hiding, but I watch my hand move of its own accord out of the corner of my eye, keeping my focus locked on his, and shock myself by resting my palm against one solid pectoral. The heat of him burns my skin through his shirt like a fire raging wild. His heart beating madly letting me know he's not as unaffected as he may look on the outside.
"You clean up nice, Mr. Evans," I tell him in a husky whisper.
"Fuck me," he groans, his eyes dropping to my red lips and staying there for a beat before he reaches up and covers the hand against his chest with his large palm, taking me from his warmth when my palm loses purchase of his delicious heat.
Shame and embarrassment for what feels like his rejection swirls inside my belly, but just as quickly as those emotions came--they left when, instead of dropping my hand, he shifts us until our palms connect and our fingers lace together. Then, and only when he looks up from our clasped hands with an expression on his handsome face that I don't have a c
hance to attempt figuring out, he leads us inside. Still, he doesn't say anything more than the two words I got when I arrived at his side. I use that time to smooth the shock from my features and attempt to figure out if this is part of the game ... or something else.
His powerful steps and long legs have me rushing just to keep up with him as he stomps up to the hostess desk. The two college-age girls look close to passing out when he reaches them, and seeing the hunger in their eyes is all it takes for me to be right back in the thick of things. Oh, I can sympathize with their reaction, but what I see in their eyes gives me the rush only jealousy can cause to course through a woman. I pull my hand free from Thorn's, gaining a scowl from him as I adjust the items in my hand. It doesn't last, though. Not when I shift to push myself against his body, nudging his arm with my shoulder until he's forced to lift and drape the muscular--and heavy--arm over my shoulders. The folder with the paperwork now being held in the hand behind his back, allowing me to settle myself even tighter against his hardness. My clutch dangles from my wrist against his stomach as I flatten my hand high on his chest and look up at him.
"I'm just starved, honey," I breathe, biting the lip I had just been pouting up at him with between my teeth. His eyes drop to watch the show I am undoubtedly putting on for the two girls looking at him, still, with thirst, and I feel his groan against my body.
"Reservation. Two. Thorn," he barks in a harsh tone toward the girls but doesn't look away from my mouth.
I turn and give them a smile that is not even close to being genuine, raising my brow when they don't move. "Hey, girls. I'm sorry about his manners. We don't get out much, and we have really important plans tonight. If you don't mind, the reservation is for two under Thorn?" I feel a vibration against my body again when Thorn's enjoyment over the situation at hand makes itself known. The rush of power I feel for getting that kind of reaction from him makes it clear this is way too real to be a game anymore. All that I can do now is hold on and hope he feels the same way.
The two stutter and fumble over each other, but after a few hilarious seconds of silently watching them, we're following the one who managed to pull herself together to the back corner of the restaurant--the only section of the huge establishment that offers some privacy. Set far enough away to be secluded from the crowd, two people could forget they aren't alone. It's almost a private slice of dimly lit heaven made just for us.
Thorn takes the menus from the hostess before she has a chance to finish her job, and with a dismissive tip of his chin in the direction we just came from, he drops them on the table. I lose his heat when he walks behind one of the chairs and pulls it out for me, waiting until I'm seated before I feel him move.
Only, he doesn't move around the table to sit down.
My heart is beating rapidly as my thick hair is moved off my shoulder, and the cool air in the room bathes my fevered skin. I close my eyes and gasp when his warm breath leads the way for the tip of his wet tongue as it trails up the column of my neck, stopping just below my ear. He shocks me breathless when his lips press the softest of kisses to the sensitive skin there before lifting and bringing his lips next to my ear. His steady breathing, deep and clearly not unaffected, chills the skin where his tongue had wet as he holds me on the edge--not moving, not touching ... just driving me wild in anticipation.
"You keep this up, and I'll fuck you on this table, babe."
Closing my eyes, I lean my head back and rest its suddenly overwhelming weight against his shoulder. Yeah, this is so very real and not just for me. This is one of life's delicious doses of reality.
Tonight, we both win.
Another barely there kiss is pressed against my skin, on my temple this time, before he straightens. His fingertips glide up my arms as he does, and then he walks around the table to his seat across from me. I use the brief reprieve to settle myself by placing the folder I was grasping down and moving my clutch off my wrist and onto the table, out of the way.
I open my mouth, but I can't think of anything worthy of following his last spoken words. Instead, I shrug, and his lips twitch. My hand shakes so badly when I reach out to take one of the menus that I'm surprised I didn't send the dang thing flying. His hand, though, doesn't so much as twitch when he takes his. Neither of us speak as we look over the menu, and I might as well be looking at Chinese because I'm not comprehending anything beyond the wild thoughts slamming around my head.
"Red. Now."
I glance up with a start at the authority of Thorn's rumbled demand. A terrified young server has joined us and stands next to our table with fear in his eyes. He nods, not wasting a second before he scurries off.
"That wasn't very polite," I scold, frowning when I see his expression.
"What it was, Ari, was effective. I'm not wasting time being nice when I know what I want and can get it quickly."
"You haven't even opened your menu," I accuse. "How can you possibly already know what you want?"
"Not the food I'm talking about."
"Oh," I breathe, understanding dawning.
"Paperwork over wine. Talk while we have our dinner. Then you're in my car."
"Have your thirty seconds started, and I didn't hear the warning bell?"
His lips twitch at my sass, sass I had no idea I was capable of in a moment like this. "Said you were in my car, not that you were on my dick. Yet."
My cheeks heat at his crass words when I realize our terrified server chose that moment to return. I can tell now what has him so worked up. Thorn looks capable of breaking him in two just because he's back and interrupting us.
"Have you both decided what you'd like?" he asks in a rush.
Neither of us break eye contact, manners no longer having a place here when his gaze is just as hungry as I feel. I vaguely hear his gravelly voice rattling off two dishes that I don't recall seeing on my menu full of Chinese words. I shift in my seat when another member of the waitstaff joins us to serve the wine. Thorn waves him off when he pauses to give him a chance to sample the wine and gives both our glasses a healthy pour--no doubt to ensure he wouldn't need to refill them anytime soon.
Then we're finally alone in our dim little heaven tucked in the corner.
Alone with so much sexual attraction zapping between the two of us I have a feeling I have greatly underestimated what just a handful of seconds can accomplish when it comes to Thorn Evans.
And I'm so freaking glad I decided to wear the red lace tonight--because I have a bet to lose.
Where evil belonged
From the other side of The Hunting Ground, wrapped in the shadows and obscured by the tables between them, Anger was coiling tight in the belly of a beast.
No, not just Anger. Regret was also having a field day in those shadows.
The two opposing emotions sat in silent contemplation, ignoring each other while a different war battled inside them over what they were witnessing. Emotions only they could understand the reasons behind.
You see, there hadn't always been Regret for one--but the other had felt only Anger for so long, there wasn't a time in their deepest buried memories when it couldn't be found.
One had spent years vowing to make sure the woman in black, dining on the other side of the room, had nothing worth living for. A renewed strength of fury took hold, rushing through the veins of the devil. The devil had done a lot of learning over the years. From the words that could cause the most pain to the actions that would slice someone the deepest.
No, this wouldn't do, Anger thought, burning rage putting a haze of red over the room. This wouldn't do at all.
The angry eyes then moved swiftly and with purpose to the other side of the woman in black's table. It was then, with Anger swirling with a malevolent soul as recognition to what was happening between those two hatched a new plan.
While the Angry one's plan took on a life of its own and coated the air around the shadows with a tint of foul intentions--Regret remembered.
Remembered when years ago, ther
e was happiness to be found.
Remembered what it felt like to be on the receiving end of the woman in black when that expression was on her face.
Remembered how it felt when evil didn't pollute the air and the devil wasn't in control.
Regret remembered, and Anger planned.
It was Regret that left first, making room for Grief to come play. Grief, however, could only mourn for when things had been different.
When the Angry one was in hell where evil belonged.
A Challenge
I lean back in my seat, feeling the warmth of the wine settle in my belly. I had swallowed the first glass down like a shot ... and the second. Now I was just, well, oddly settled. No more nerves wreaking havoc. There's just something about Thorn that, while he undoubtedly is a force to be reckoned with, makes me feel at ease. Such a stark comparison to how I felt when I arrived at The Hunting Ground.
It's a good thing those nerves left because while I spent the past ten minutes attempting to go over the paperwork, Thorn showed me a side of himself I would never have thought he was capable of. Not him, a man who screams power and supremacy with just a glance.
"Would you just stop? You can't sign it through my hand, anyway," I tell the smirking man for what feels like the tenth time. He presses the tip of the pen between my fingers again, his tongue coming out to roll over his bottom lip and his eyes dancing with mirth.
"Thorn," I warn when the pen makes a wild slash, creating a bold T between two of my fingers.
"Ari," he jokes, somehow maneuvering another letter next to the first.
"Would you just stop and listen to me explain something? I mean it; you can't sign it through my hand."