Night Moves (G-Man Series)

by ANDREA SMITH

  I contemplated in my mind as to whether I really should go to this man's suite where I was fairly certain I'd have some long-awaited, fan-fucking-tastic sex or keep a teeny bit of dignity and tell him to have Lacee service him like she had in the restroom the night before. I could practically feel the devil on my shoulder plunging his pitchfork into it indicating I should go for it, and that I'd forever regret it if I didn't. As it happened, the little devil was perched on the same shoulder Easton was now massaging gently with his long, talented fingers.

  I should have given him a flat "hell no." Of course you know what I did.

  "See you then," I whispered huskily, still locked in his gaze.

  "Splendid. Don't keep me waiting."

  God he's fucking arrogant!

  I didn't really have a chance to mull over what I'd just agreed to before Eli pulled me back up so that we could join some train dance called the 'Locomotion' which was now starting up. Apparently it was vintage group dance where people held on to the person's waist in front of them; bobbing up and down, kicking each leg out alternately while some old Motown tune with the same name as the dance played. It had already started, and the line was growing, pulling people up from their comfortable sitting positions to join as they snaked around the banquet room.

  I begrudgingly obliged, still thinking about Easton and how his closeness made me feel. Let's be honest: the guy knew how to work a woman's body. That much was obvious. But there was also something else about him. It's like whenever he and I were in the same room together this livewire of sexual awareness descended upon us. And I know the guy being totally sexy, gorgeous and having the ability to do wicked things with his hands was part of it, but I still had no clue as to why he'd pretty much taken up residency in my head. It wasn't as if I'd only been with one man in my whole life (like Lindsey).

  While I didn't proclaim to be a prude, at 22 years-old and having had my V-card swiped at 17, I could still count the guys I'd been with on 5-1/2 fingers. (The 1/2 count was a guy named Tim who I let sink himself into me long enough to give me an orgasm, then told him I didn't feel right about it, asking him to stop). I know - not one of my proudest moments for sure, but hey, I was 18! So hold off on the judgment, capisce?

  Regardless, I wasn't one to shy away from a good thing and at the moment, I found Easton Matthews to be totally fascinating, with a hint of danger and I wanted some of that, certain I could hold my own with what experience I possessed. What with my frayed willpower and all, Easton Matthews seemed like a damn good thing. Plus I kind of totally wanted to show him what I was made of; both inside and outside the bedroom.

  All these thoughts went through my head as I held on to Eli's waist listening to the music and following the line of people doing the locomotion. They had already dragged Lindsey and Taz into the mêlée; my parents were near the head of the line. Imagine that. Finally it was over and Eli grabbed my arm and pulled me out into the hallway outside of the banquet room.

  "Okay, spill," he ordered, wiping his brow from the exertion of the dance.

  "Spill what?" I asked innocently.

  "Don't play with me," he replied, giving me a shit-eating grin. "I saw you slow-dancing with E.J., or Easton, or whatever the fuck we're calling him now. And then I saw you get that 'I think I need to buy more lacey/black/crotchless lingerie, preferably with sequins' look on your face when he walked away from your table." He narrowed his eyes at me. "What are his plans for you?"

  "Okay, first of all? It's Easton. We're calling him Easton now, because guess what? That's his actual name. Second of all, I don't own lacey, crotchless panties, but I do like the sequins idea. And last but not least, there are no plans, per se. He invited me to the Presidential Suite for a drink later, that's all," I shrugged for added effect.

  "Oh right, that's not all and you know it. Be careful, sweetheart. I have a feeling you're not treading in the shallow end anymore. And I don't want to see you come out of all this with your heart a lot more damaged then when you went in."

  "It's hardly going in that direction, Eli."

  He offered up a smile that didn't quite make it to his eyes. "Just be careful, okay?"

  "I always am. No worries."

  Several minutes later, everyone was throwing rice at the newly married couple as they descended the steps of the St. Regis into the awaiting limo, heading off to the airport where they were going to honeymoon in Montego Bay. Lindsey hurled her bouquet straight at me. Luckily, Eli intercepted it before it smashed against my forehead.

  It was going on midnight, so I hurried up to the room Eli and I had booked and peeled my wedding garb off. I grabbed a quick bath, dressing in a short skirt with a v-neck sweater, pulling on a pair of boots, and brushing the curls out of my hair. My buzz was still going strong as I brushed my teeth and gave myself one final appraisal in the mirror.

  Just as I grabbed my handbag and key, Eli came into our room totally blitzed.

  "I think I'm in love," he said, falling on his back, spread eagle on the bed in his tuxedo.

  "Really," I asked, searching for my lip gloss in my handbag. "With who?"

  "Don't you mean whom?"

  "Spit it out Eli, no time for a grammar lesson right now, with any luck I'm getting laid tonight."

  He looked up at me in a fog. "You're seriously going through with this." It wasn't a question.

  I rolled my eyes at him as I brushed a thin layer of lip gloss over my lips. "No, Dad - I'm on my way to a pajama party at Gidget's house. Don't wait up," I replied sarcastically.

  Eli now stood up, albeit drunkenly, and confronted me. "Darcy, I meant what I said to you earlier. I don't want to see you get hurt. You can convince everyone else that you're some totally emancipated woman that enjoys responsible, casual sex with no strings, but babe? That ain't you. And the vibes I get from Easton? It's all about variety with him."

  "Men do it all the time."

  "Yeah, and most of us are fucking assholes for it."

  "I don't intend to have my heart broken or anything else for that matter, now tell me who you're in love with, please."

  He shrugged, walking towards the bathroom. "Only the hottest guy at the reception. We're meeting in thirty for a drink at the bar. His name is Cain."

  "Holy shit," I replied, "I hope that's not indicative of anything dark. Was he a guest?"

  "No-no, he was the great looking guy that was overseeing the catering for the reception. You know the one, he has that younger version of Antonio Banderas' look going?"

  I nodded as if I knew exactly who he was referring to when the truth was that I was completely clueless.

  "Well enjoy and don't do anything tonight I wouldn't do!" I playfully tousled his hair with my hand.

  He shook his head, giving me one of his all-American, hot guy smiles. I smiled back and left, heading to the elevator, still feeling relatively confident as I entered and pushed the button for the top floor. I wondered what the Presidential Suite at the St. Regis had to offer tonight besides some fantastic cock. I giggled out loud at the prospect, and then quickly looked around and above me for the security cameras. Yep, there they were. Lucky for me they couldn't read minds. I smiled stepping out of the elevator into the massive hallway of the "top floor".

  Sweet Jesus! It certainly looked different than the hallway on our floor. It was polished black marble with flecks of gold sprinkled throughout; the walls were papered with very expensive looking, sound-proofing wall coverings.

  The 'Presidential Suite' was at the very end of the hallway, its set of double-doors facing the hall. It was probably the biggest of the suites.

  Once again, the butterflies surged in anticipation of what lay behind those doors and what was to come once I passed through them.

  ~ Easton ~

  I was still drying off in the bath suite from my hot then cold shower. That was a routine with me; always starting with extremely hot water, then finishing with cold to get me energized again. I was fucking jet-lagged as hell, but there was no way I w
as passing up spending time with sexy little Nicole tonight.

  My now dry cock twitched in response to where my mind drifted. I wrapped a towel around my waist and took another one to my damp hair, rubbing furiously at it until it was at least semi-dry before Nicole graced my threshold. I had two nights in D.C. and I sure as hell was going to make the best of them with her. As much as my instincts told me to leave the girl alone, my cock had made the decision for me.

  I was a man of varied tastes. This pertained to wines, liqueurs, gourmet food, clothing and most importantly, female companionship. The diversity in my tastes for female companionship was endless. I enjoyed white, black, Latino, Asian - hell, I'd tasted them all. I was enamored with American women as well, but the bulk of my time recently had been spent in London where my activities had been pretty much limited to Lacee, my executive assistant.

  Don't get me wrong, I love saucy, British women, but unfortunately Lacee had become somewhat "territorial" over the past few months, so my supply had dwindled down to her alone. I knew that was her intent. I was well aware of the fact Lacee had been intimidating other potential contenders for my attention. I'd said nothing because it amused me - briefly, though now it was just fucking annoying.

  Lacee had grown prickly since I first laid eyes on Nicole and with good reason. She had sense enough to see that I wouldn't be satisfied ignoring the dark-haired, sultry beauty for long. Hell, she saw it first-hand on the beach that day. After the unfortunate incident at Taz's rehearsal dinner the other night, Lacee became downright insubordinate with me. It was just as well I sent her on to New York, where I'd be going once my business in D.C. had concluded.

  I'd made no secret to Lacee my interest was purely physical. She'd known that going into our little "fuck" arrangement. I don't change rules mid-stream. Ever. I don't do relationships anymore, either. Not since the fiasco two years ago with Bianca Templeton had left me picking up the pieces of shattered trust. Notice I didn't say heart? That's because I don't have one that's breakable. My upbringing saw to that.

  A knock sounded at the door of my suite. Still wrapped in my towel, I opened it to the sexy little prick-tease that stood there waiting.

  "Good evening," I grinned unabashedly, my cock stirring beneath the towel. Her lovely blue eyes flickered down my bare chest, noticing the towel hanging low on my hips. I smirked a little when her eyes returned to my face, noting the sudden blush she was now wearing.

  "I take it you're not into wasting time with having to undress, huh Easton?" she said with an impudent smile curving her full lips.

  Fuck me. This one definitely has a little bite to her.

  She breezed past me in the doorway, taking a few steps further down the marbled hallway to the matching foyer.

  "Now this is nice," she commented, nodding her head. She was wearing a sweater and short, tight skirt that had my cock at half-mast already.

  Christ that ass of hers is fucking epic. I'll have to show her how hard an ass like that should be ridden later.

  "If you'll excuse me, Nicole," I said, giving her an apologetic smile. "I seemed to have lost track of time. Make yourself comfortable in the living room please. I won't be long."

  "It's Darcy, remember?"

  I moved in front of her and gazed down through my lashes, lifting a lock of her dark, brown hair from her shoulder, fingering the silky texture between my fingers. She was looking at me with just a tinge of defiance.

  "To me, it's Nicole. Allow me that single liberty, won't you?" I watched as her eyebrows arched ever-so-slightly, not sure if this was a sincere request or some form of humour I was displaying. I didn't possess a sense of humour. She'd learn that quickly as well.

  "I've a feeling there'll be many more liberties you require," she replied. "But hey, whatever floats your boat, I guess," she said with a shrug, no longer concerned about it being an issue. A good indication it was all about the sex with her as well. She sauntered through the foyer and made herself comfortable on the over-stuffed, velvet sofa in the living room.

  I returned to my bedroom on the opposite side of the foyer and finished dressing, pulling on a pair of comfortable jeans and a white, long-sleeved shirt. I wasn't putting socks and shoes on at this stage. Hell, what was the point? We'd be having "break-in" sex within a matter of twenty minutes by my estimation.

  But first I wanted to learn just a bit more about her. Remember, by definition "man-whore," does not automatically constitute indiscriminate behavior. I prided myself on conducting due diligence litmus testing prior to sexual interaction. Shortly after dressing, I went to the sideboard in the living room and poured each of us a glass of sherry. Nicole had put some music on in my absence: classical. I approved.

  She accepted the glass of sherry from me and I noticed she'd shed the boots and was now barefoot as well. She had her legs folded to the side of her on the sofa, leaning in towards the centre.

  "Thank you," she whispered, putting on a somewhat shy and demure persona now. I unsuccessfully stifled a chuckle.

  "What?" she asked, straightening herself up, quickly rebuilding that defensive wall.

  "It's nothing, relax," I replied, taking a seat next to her, propping my legs on the coffee table in front of us. "I'm simply in awe of your chameleon-like temperament."

  "Thank you."

  "It's a gift the way you manage to blend in at any social situation. You must know that." I could tell she wasn't convinced.

  "Well maybe it's time to suspend the chameleon-like behavior then," she replied, "I know why I'm here, Easton. Let's not waste time with this whole seduction-scene you've got going on. I think you've figured out by now I'm pretty much of a sure thing tonight."

  "Aren't you being a tad presumptuous, love?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "I don't think so. You grabbed my ass during photos, then invited me to your suite at midnight after asking me for a slow dance, answered your door wearing a towel, and poured me a drink. And I'm still here. Now are you going to unzip my skirt, or are we going to talk about the weather?"

  I had to laugh at her genuineness with me, again extremely refreshing. "Well I appreciate your candidness for sure. But there are a few preliminary pieces of information I need from you."

  She rolled her eyes, downed the rest of her sherry and sighed. "Yes, I am on birth control and yes, I still expect you to use a condom. Are we good? Because I'm about to lose my buzz, here."

  "Not quite," I replied, setting my glass down on the table and turning to her. "I'll need your complete sexual history: names, approximate dates, types of sexual activities involved. I hope you don't think that's invasive. I prefer to think it's circumspect."

  I watched her eyes widen as she considered what I was asking. Yep, there it was. She was starting a slow burn. She was on her feet instantly, giving me an incredulous glare.

  "What the fuck? Is it customary for you to grill your one-night stands on their sexual history? Or maybe you're just used to chicks like Lacee, who practically carry a certified copy around with them in their handbag or wallet - you know - just in case they have the honor of doing Easton Matthews."

  I fisted my hands at my side trying to control the urge to lay her along with her impudence across my knee for a lesson in comportment; but at the same time…I felt a smile twitching in the corner of my lips.

  "What makes you so certain this will be a one-night stand?" I asked quietly, my eyes boring into hers. She shifted nervously now, taking a half step back from where I sat, unsure of how to answer, clearly confused.

  I rose slowly from the sofa, and approached her carefully so as not to clue her in to the fact she was indeed my prey for the night and possibly for the rest of the weekend. It wouldn't do to have her bolt on me now.

  "Do you remember when I told you that I’d see you again?” I asked softly. “When I had you pressed up against the wall, and you just came on my fingers?”

  She swallowed nervously, biting her lower lip and nodded affirmatively. Her eyes were smoldering at the rec
ollection, this was my signal to close this deal.

  "I meant it." I stated, our lips nearly touching.

  I encircled her stiff body with my arms, drawing her against me. I raised my hands framing her beautiful face as I lowered my lips to hers, capturing them in a sweet, tender kiss. So far, she wasn't resisting but I needed more. I continued to caress her lips with mine, tracing her bottom lip with my tongue, drinking in her heady scent. I felt her body relax against mine and soon her arms were snaked around my neck, her body molded to mine.

  My tongue explored her mouth, our tongues melded together in an erotic ritual that was bringing my cock to full attention.

  The things I wanted to do to this woman.

  I lowered my arms and she allowed my hands to gently massage the swell of her perfect ass. Pulling her tightly against me, I let her feel my hard cock and she began to slowly move her hips rhythmically against it as I heightened our kiss, angling her mouth so that I could lick deeper.

  When I slowly began to pull away, leaving her gasping and wide-eyed, I raised a hand to the nape of her neck.

  "So then," I moved my lips to the soft place just below her ear. "Is my prerequisite a deal breaker or not, Nicole?"

  She was only hesitant for a nanosecond before responding. Her voice was low and husky as she looked up at me with those incredibly blue eyes. "I'd feel better writing it down. Can I have a piece of paper?"

  I sat at the fancy, cherry-wood desk in the foyer and scribbled down names, dates, locations and sexual positions (the ones I could recall). Finally finished, thoroughly embarrassed, and majorly sexually frustrated, I stood up and found Easton on the sofa, his laptop perched on his lap.

  "Finished?" he asked impassively not bothering to look up from his keyboard.

  He expects me to hand over details of my prior sex life? Umm . . . yeah, no!