by Elle Berlin
I twist, turning my back to her, but still letting her keep her hands under my shirt. This is a fantasy for her, nothing real. I let her trace every muscle and ridge of my abdomen, let her hand ghost over the front of my jeans to get a hint of how big I am.
Whatever she needs to help her get off later when she’s home with her vibrator, imagining I’m the one she’s riding.
I let the music take me. I let the stress from the day ease off of my limbs. Honestly, I’m not here for any of them. I just want to be part of the scene. To get lost in the mayhem.
Nothing blows off a long week of hard work like dancing, letting the music inside you, letting it beat you like a good massage that leaves you satisfied and tender. When, a flash of red catches my eye.
It’s a woman across the room, her red hair catching the light. I tell myself I’m not interested, not tonight. Not most nights. I’m here for the music.
But, I’ve always had a thing for redheads and my gaze keeps tracing back to where she’s sitting. This redhead is more like a demon. Only, she’s the delicious kind, shining like a glowing ember. She’s a spark in the darkness, a flint dragged across stone.
Her ruby mouth throws back a shot of alcohol and a hint of flirtation tinges her smile like the dragon’s teasing its prey. Her skin is pale and framed by waves of scarlet hair that trail down her bare shoulders and arms.
I see beautiful women all the time, but this one is pure arsenic, begging you to take a drink. A cool confidence radiates from her Amazonian frame, looking sexy as hell in a tight black tank top and jeans. No jewelry, no extra flair. She knows she doesn’t need anything extra to impress. Her red hair and mouth do all the work to turn a man’s head, and my head is definitely turned, especially with the way that tank top stretches over her perfect tits.
She’s definitely never been to the bar, I would have remembered. Heck, she’s the one I would have invited back after hours for a special show on how to clean my pipes. In fact, it’s better that she doesn’t know who I am or where I work. It makes this simple.
I watch her put her glass down and work her way into the crowd, her arms lifting with the sway of the music. The flames of her hair whip around her, lashing wildly with the music, the roll of her body a seduction. Others notice, but she pays no mind to the thumping crowd, dancing for her own pleasure.
Little Pink-Dress with her hands on my abs is forgotten. I can’t resist this woman’s gravitational pull, moving me straight toward her blazing orbit. If you reach for fire, you’re bound to get burned. I’m hoping she’s hot enough to devour us both.
I slide up behind the red-haired Amazon and place a hand on her hip. Her body roils like a snake, smooth and undulating and responding. She steps back against me, almost instinctual, as if all that matters is the pulse of the music and how I meet her motion.
We fold together like flames entangled, her ass swaying against my crotch and turning up the heat. I grip both her hips and grind her harder against me, causing me to lengthen in my jeans. If she notices, she doesn’t stop. In fact, I swear she pumps harder, completely aware of her effect on me.
Damn, now I’m the one fantasizing. I’m the one memorizing the roll of her hips and imagining her reverse cowgirl riding me, her ass hypnotizing as her back arches and that long red hair trails down her spine.
“Tell me,” I growl, sliding my hand around the front of her stomach and pulling her back against me with more force. If she couldn’t tell how hard I was before, she definitely knows now. “Are you the kind of girl who’s going to spend the night teasing me, or should I invest in the whole show?”
I hold her clamped against me, greedier than normal, waiting to see how she reacts. She tilts her head toward me and I catch a hint of that dragon’s smile. She’s got me right where she wants me. Then, without missing a beat, she adjusts the angle so I’m practically dry humping her from behind.
I hear a breathy moan escape her mouth and I curl forward so my mouth is at her ear. “You just took me from zero to a thousand and I don’t even know your name.”
She shakes her head like that’s off limits and I drag my lips down the side of her throat, below the earlobe. “Okay,” I concede. “Then where are you from?” If she’s a tourist it makes this fun. “Did you come to Hawaii with your girlfriends? Work vacation? Business or—” I grind my hips against her ass, “—pleasure?”
She moans hotly, tilting her head to the side to grant my mouth more access to her neck. One of her arms reaches back and her fingers thread through my hair, delicate and searching, as we move to the music.
I like to think I’m part of the paradise she came to Hawaii searching for, that she’s some Midwest girl from Wisconsin who needed to fly to a tropical island so she could forget herself and get lost in my arms. Her hand balls into a fist and she tugs my hair with a firm grip, her body tightens beneath my arms as the new leverage allows her ass to slide against my cock with increased friction.
“Fuck,” I growl, raking my teeth across her neck as she pistons against me, awaking every inch of my skin.
Normally, I’m the one leading the charge, calling the shots, and leaving her with quaking thighs in the morning when I drop her off for her flight. There isn’t anything as sweet as an eight-hour flight home to Wisconsin remembering every long, hard inch of me.
“If you don’t tell me where you’re from,” I threaten, “I’m going to call you Wisconsin as a default.”
She untangles her hot body from mine and turns around to face me. Her wet mouth is still wearing that ruby smirk, daring me to keep mixing her up with whatever Wisconsin nobody I’ve already forgotten. Her arms wrap around my neck and her piercing blue eyes cut right into me.
“Delaware?” I play, throwing out states. “Alabama? Washington?” She shakes her head, amused, but not giving an inch. “International girl? Paris? Holland?” She bites her lip and I know I’m in trouble. “How about I tell you my name? It’s—”
She puts two fingers to my lips before I let my name slip out and I smile at her persistence. “Oh but, Wisconsin,” I tease. “If you don’t know my name, how are you going to know what name to call out when—”
“I’m coming on your cock?” She lifts a suspicious eyebrow, but the words came out of her mouth so hot and matter-of-fact, it feels like an inevitability. “First, you assume you know how to make a woman like me come,” she says coolly. “And second, you assume when I do, I’m loud.”
“Oh?” I play back. “A silent screamer, huh? Tell me more, Wisconsin.” I allow my hands to fall down her hips till my palms are firmly covering her ass.
“You call me Wisconsin one more time and I’ll—”
I don’t give her time to finish. I press my knee between her legs and yank her up my thigh, pressing her core wickedly against the width of my leg. She gasps—audibly—and grabs my shoulders for balance.
“I’m going to guess that silent orgasm comment was a ruse,” I say hotly, building a rhythm as I drag her up and down my leg to the pulse of the music. Her mouth drops open as she lets the friction build. Her head tilts forward and her forehead falls against mine, a curtain of red hiding our faces from the rest of the room as her hot breath pants against my mouth.
“Call me crazy,” I say softly. “But, I think I’ve already got you pretty close to that elusive orgasm and I don’t even have you naked yet.”
She lifts her head to glare at me, her eyes glazed with heat. “You really need to learn when to shut up,” she curses, but then her head moves quickly and her mouth is on me—wet and hungry. She tugs on my bottom lip with her teeth and the music envelopes us.
We’re one, tongues and need, thrumming with heat. I drop her ass and plunge both my hands into her hair.
She whimpers for a moment as her body falls flat against me, but I’m not letting her go anywhere. Our lips are on fire and I’ve never kissed anyone with such primal greed. I want her. I want her now—in this club, in a back room, against a stall. My cock is so hard it’s painfu
l and if there’s one thing I know it’s that I need to get off this dance floor and find somewhere private. Arsenic indeed.
“Tell me, Wisconsin,” I rasp out, when there’s a second to breathe. “How adventurous are you?” She smiles wickedly, making me crazy for this firecracker. “I could take you to a back room? A dark corner? D’you like the idea of being somewhere semi-public and risking that someone might walk in on us?”
“Do you trash talk like this to every stranger you’ve just met?” She shoots back, and I shake my head, but her smirk shows she’s not convinced. “What about your harem of ladies from a few minutes ago, huh? All hot and eager, pressing their tits up against you? Did you make them the same offer you just made me?”
I laugh at her insistence, looking down at her tits—swollen and rocking against me—her tits and incredible body that’s got me wound tightly. I grip her hair and pull her head back with a sharp tug. It makes her pupils dilate and—Damn!—I can tell she’s busting my balls for pure amusement.
I laugh, taking the hit. “The real question is, do you really think I’d put you in the same league as them?” I pull back and survey her gyrating body. Her mouth twitches, even though she keeps those ruby lips pressed tight, trying not to show how much she likes me stroking her ego. Hey, dragons like flattery. “Or—” I tug her head again, exposing her neck to me, showing her how easily I can put her right where I want her. “Are you avoiding the question so you don’t seem too needy?”
Her tongue licks the bottom of her lip, just the tip, as the glitter in her eyes makes my blood boil. She’s teetering in that space between admitting her primal desire and playing it cool, trying to decide which to be. Her breath makes her chest heave, and frankly, I don’t want her to play it cool.
I want her to grind her way right up my cock and admit how badly she wants it. Hell, maybe I’m the one who needs an ego-stroking.
Her mouth covers mine again, dressed in another hot moan and I’m pretty sure that’s her entire game—tease, take, tease, take. Only, I’m much better at that game than she’ll ever be. I kiss her back, roughly, fisting my hand in her hair, while the other snakes down her back to clamp her against me.
She moans at the way I envelop her, shivers rippling down her spine. I smile against her mouth, determined to make sure she understands this will be a conquest, and that quiver ricocheting through her body is just the beginning.
She lets out a surrendering breath, the heat against my mouth laced with sudden vulnerability. A minute ago, she wanted to play a game of dominating me and putting me in my place: the usual alpha-female showing me exactly who’s boss. Only now, I’m certain she wants the exact opposite, panting with the eagerness of a tiny animal.
She’s probably the type of woman who’s used to being in charge and calling the shots, who’d normally use the heel of her stiletto to take control and fuck me exactly the way she wants. But, that small tang of breath tells a whole different story. She’s begging for someone to notice—she’s tired, she’s sick of the act— she just wants someone to swoop in and own her pleasure. She wants to be fucked—properly.
I kiss her back, swallowing her desperate breath. She can make all the quips she wants about being the strong, silent type, but if there’s one thing I can guarantee, it’s that I’m going to fuck this fiery goddess hard and perfectly.
Oh sweet, Wisconsin … am I going to make you scream.
3
Arie
He seals his mouth over mine, only this time he’s softer and more delicate. His entire body screams hot sex with those incredible muscles, broad shoulders, and pumping hips.
And those arms—oh sweet sugar those arms—sliding up and down my back to the pulse of the music. It’s embarrassing how ready I am right now.
Simon was correct; I do need a night off. A hot, naked night where I’m out of these tight jeans and rocking against this man’s bare skin. Heck, I’m not picky. I’ll even keep my lacy panties on if I’m allowed to drag myself against his thigh until I’m coming.
I moan into his teasing, and from the feeling of his thickness through his pants, I’m not the only one who’s turned on. He smiles again, well aware that I’m putty in his hands.
He suggested a back room, and I suppose that would be okay. It’s preferable to a back hallway. I’m not normally an exhibitionist, or usually so hot that I’d seriously consider the likelihood of a semi-public dark corner—but damn! —eight months in the abstinence desert has me considering all kinds of things I normally wouldn’t.
“I live close to here,” he says, both of his hands in my hair again, his fingers tugging and gripping. I pant, open-mouthed, against his lips, savoring the way his fingers massage.
“You don’t know me,” I breathe. “I could be a serial killer.”
His mouth blazes across my cheek and down my neck. “A secret agent, maybe.” He bites the tendons in my throat erotically. “A female 007 needing a night to blow off some stress.” His hands drop to my ass and squeeze. “I can play the pretty face, the customary hot slab of meat.”
“Abandoning the Wisconsin story,” I tease, bouncing my ass so his fingers dip closer to where my pussy is throbbing.
“Oh, Wisconsin.” He smiles wickedly, a deviousness in his tone as his mouth rises back up the ridge of my skin. “I know all secret agents have a cover story. If you want to play Midwest cowgirl and come on my face, I can easily play along.”
He bites my chin playfully as he squeezes my ass and grinds me against his full arousal. I let out a noise that comes straight from my throat, breathy and animal.
Dancing is a polite word for what we’re really doing. Not that anyone’s looking, but I’ll admit, I’m glad I came straight from the restaurant and didn’t go home to get my normal short-skirt clubbing outfit. Otherwise, I’d have already slipped his fingers under my skirt as the music blares.
“I swear, my flat’s less than two blocks away,” he says, reading my thoughts, then he quickly pulls away and grabs my hand, leading me off the dance floor.
Flat? Are we really playing British Secret Agent now, in the middle of Waikiki? Only, with the weight of him—his muscles and girth—no longer all around me, it’s a hot lash of desire that stings immediately. It’s like a kick in the gut. The fullness of his chest and the warmth of him suddenly gone—it’s enough to make my pussy snap to attention, ready to karate chop Moneypenny for the next available slot in her majesty’s secret service.
He leads us through the club like a pro who knows every hallway and door, and for a second I wonder if he works at The Orchid. He leads us out a back stairwell and we stumble into a side street where the air is balmy and salt-laden. Palm trees whip with a costal breeze, lit from yellow streetlamps.
My hook-up looks like a pro athlete with his short hair and toned body. I don’t know his name—I don’t want to know his name—but I can’t help myself from starting to make up stories about him: MMA fighter, billionaire playboy, local boy with a cock of gold. Fantasizing is half the fun.
He walks us down to the boardwalk near the beach and this feels surreal. Did he say he was only two blocks away? On the beach in Waikiki? He must seriously be a billionaire if that’s even slightly true. No one can afford real estate on the beach unless they manage a hedge fund or own a beachside resort.
Mr. Two-Blocks-Away turns around and smiles at me, short haircut that’s blond and sun-kissed, rugged stature with a slightly boyish charm in his expression. The tight shirt and pants are as nondescript as my tank and jeans. We could be anybody. Maybe that’s the point. Tonight, we’ll each be whomever the other needs.
“You’re not getting cold feet, are you?” he teases, and I grab him by his belt buckle and pull him toward me, making him yelp at my aggressiveness.
“I still haven’t ruled out your offer for semi-public escapades for the evening,” I sass.
He pulls me into a kiss, half smiling and wrapping those perfect arms around me again, making me hum at the warmth of him.
/> “Just to be clear …” he lashes his tongue across my lips and tastes me wildly, his mouth and skin are tinged with orange and a hint of gin and rosemary. If he were a cocktail, I’d take him straight up with a smoke bath—smooth and unforgettable and hot as he slides down every inch of my throat. When we finally come up for air, he growls, hands and teeth all a tangle and I want to knot myself in again. “To be clear,” he repeats, “I don’t fuck in the sand.”
My legs quake at how he says fuck—quick and solid—like a swift slap of a rare steak on a cherry wood slab. I want to sink my teeth into every inch of him and devour.
“Oh, no?” I ask playfully, snaking my hand down his chest. He locks my gaze, pupils glittering in the night air as I go lower and lower, until I’m gripping him through the fabric of his slacks. “What if it’s just me in the sand …” I raise an eyebrow at him. “… on my knees?” His Adam’s apple dances against his throat. “You could stay standing up, your fists in my hair, my mouth—”
He kisses me again, growling through the gnash of teeth and heat. His hands slide up and down my back, my fingers still cupping him. “You’re dirty,” he growls. “And as tempting as it would be to watch the ocean as you take me down your throat—” His voice gets breathy, as if he’s having second thoughts as he hears himself say it.
“I could do it right now,” I grab his belt buckle and pull, but he yanks away from me, grabbing my hands forcefully.
“Oh no no no!” He locks in his gaze, stripping me. “There’s no way I’m wasting you on a hot blow job, despite how amazing it would be. No, I’m going to savor every inch of you.” His eyes flick to my tits, my legs. “When I come, I’m going to be deep inside you, pumping to the rhythm of your—”
“Then you’d better walk faster,” I cut him off, tearing away from his grip and strutting down the boardwalk, my pussy aching. Damn! Damn! Damn! There’s no way I’d ever really have sex on the beach, he’s right, sand is a freaking nightmare. But, if we don’t get to his “flat” —and soon—I’ll be breaking all my rules.