by Megan Ryder
She frowned, her forehead wrinkling, and she traced the condensation on his glass. “I’m not looking for anything long-term or serious. I just want to have some fun. You’re alone. Looks like you could use a friend. A distraction at least. Here I am!”
He shook his head, charmed by her innocence and dogged determination to seduce him, despite his vow to steer clear. What could one dinner hurt? Besides, she clearly needed someone to watch out for her and who better than someone who’d sworn off women? Maybe this good deed could refill his karma bank, putting him on the credit instead of debit side.
“What the hell. Dinner, Miss Stacia?”
*
Dinner and several drinks later, Stacia toyed with her lower lip in the elevator at the hotel. Was she having second thoughts? Was he? She caught his eye and her lips curved in a flirtatious smile, eyes lowered as she studied him. The ball was in his court. Was he up for this? She leaned forward and took his lips in a sweet kiss, her hand sweeping his chest to steady herself, then lower to the evidence of his arousal.
“Are you happy to see me or is that your cell phone?”
He grinned and held up that device in his other hand. Game on.
Seconds later, the elevator doors opened with a ding. Stacia stumbled out, her heel catching on the lip of the hotel carpet. Jason’s firm hands steadied her, his strength sending a tingle down her arms. She sucked in a breath at the sudden heat where he gripped her arms. The hallway tilted slightly, whether from anticipation of the night ahead or the Southern Comfort sours she’d consumed prior to dinner to maintain her courage. Right now, she was riding high, no false help needed.
His hands slid down her back, guiding her down the hall. They slipped a little further, caressing her buttocks. A delicious shiver coursed through her, eager anticipation of the night ahead. She’d picked the right man for sin.
As if feeling the weight of her stare, he flashed a thousand-watt smile and put his arm around her. “Are you sure, Stacia?”
She clutched the front of his leather jacket with both hands and tugged him to her, stumbling back against the hotel wall with the force. Sliding her hands up and around his neck, she held on as he kissed her, a deep, drugging kiss. “Does that answer your question?”
He groaned and hauled her close, pressing her into the wall with his body. The evidence of his desire pressed against the vee of her thighs. Her panties grew damp as his tongue plunged and took, teasing a response, igniting her desire.
After several long moments, he pulled away and leaned his forehead against hers, his breath ragged. She ran her hands under his shirt to the corded, warm muscles beneath until he tugged her hands out.
“Hang on.” His voice was coarse, rough with an edge to it. He turned from her and yanked out the room key card. His hand shook slightly as he tried to insert the card into the slot. A devilish thought occurred to her and she pressed her front to his back, wrapping her arms around him. She stroked her hands down to his stomach, then lower still to cup him, caressing him through the denim.
He dropped the key and cursed quietly. “Stop that! Let me open the door.”
She laughed, reveling in the thought that she could affect him. She, the shy flower, the responsible one, the one her father called an old lady. If only he knew what she was doing now, he would be appalled. Who knew being a bad girl could be such fun? If she had known this years ago, maybe her life would have been different.
He gathered her wandering hands and tugged her around to his front, holding her firmly in place, her hands clasped in one of his. Finally, he opened the door and tugged her inside, slamming it shut behind them. In one quick move, he pinned her to the wall and covered her mouth with his. Sensations threatened to overwhelm her, heat spreading from his mouth, his hands, his body, kindling a desire deep in her core.
She speared her fingers into his hair and tugged him closer, moaning her pleasure into his mouth. He slid his hands down to cup her ass, settling her firmly against his erection. Stacia wrapped a leg around his waist, tilting her pelvis to seat him more comfortably. She moaned at the thought that someone like him could desire her. She ruthlessly pushed the doubts away and focused on feeling, on sensations, on drowning in the moment.
Before she could fully absorb the thrill of knowing he wanted her, he lightly stroked his hands up her sides and cupped her breasts, fire licking her nerve endings. Her shirt slipped off her shoulders. A cool breeze hit her heated skin and she shivered with the immediate chill. He flicked his thumbs across her nipples, sending desire shooting right to her core. She dragged her mouth from his with a gasp and glanced down at her gaping blouse and the front closure bra open and framing her breasts.
Damn, he really was smooth. Sensations swamped her, centered at her nipples, which had never been so sensitive.
Fire licked her nerve endings, centered where his thumbs plucked and stroked, the sensation answered by a liquid heat deep in her belly. He grinned, a twist of his mouth reminding her of a rogue from the historical romances she used to sneak in the house when she was younger. He bent forward and took a nipple in his mouth, the suction and nips causing her knees to buckle.
She clutched his hair, overwhelmed by the delicious sensations he inspired and holding him in place so he wouldn’t stop. He chuckled and slipped his hands down her back to cup her ass as he feasted. She tugged his mouth up to hers for another drugging kiss.
They broke the kiss with a mutual groan. He was breathing heavily, obviously as affected as she was. The room spun but this time it wasn’t just the effect of the alcohol. It was a drug of a completely different kind—Jason.
She looked deeper into the room, at the king-sized bed reminding her why they were there.
As if sensing her hesitation, he touched her cheek so she faced him. “Are you sure? No doubts?”
Her eyes met his with cool confidence. “Absolutely.” She was ready, as if she had been waiting a lifetime for this one night. After tonight, she’d go back to being that other woman, the good girl who never could do anything right. But for now, she could be this wanton, asking for what she wanted, living in the sensation.
A fleeting look crossed his face—doubt, suspicion, something else she couldn’t define. “And no one is coming through the door with a camera or some other trick?”
“Why would there be cameras? You’re not some kind of porn star are you?” Her father would kill her if she were caught in a compromising situation with a porn star.
“You’re not a reporter, right?”
“Of course not. I’m in…marketing.” She paused, trying to find the right words to describe what she did.
He noted the hesitation in her voice, and he stepped back. Stacia froze. Was he dumping her too? Had she done something wrong?
Before he could change his mind, or reject her, she drew him deeper in the room. Kneeling on the bed, she pushed off her blouse and bra, her breasts firm and ready for attention. She cupped her breasts and held them out to him, her fingers tugging her nipples, taunting him, begging for his touch.
He stepped forward, reaching for her. His cool hands replaced hers, and he kneaded her breasts, flicking her nipples with this thumbs. Sensations buffeted her and her head fell back and she wallowed in them. The urge to touch, to taste, overwhelmed her. She ran her fingers under the shirt, tracing the ripples of his abdominal muscles, the smooth, hot skin. His firm pecs muscles accented by nipples that pebbled under her fingertips. She pushed the shirt up and pressed her lips to the tight bud, sucking hard, squeezing and exploring his torso with her fingertips.
Jason groaned and tumbled her back onto the bed, holding her wrists above her head in one hand. He dove in for a deep kiss, his tongue teasing the seam of her lips, darting at the corners then tracing the opening. Her tongue pursued his, tangling and stroking, then ducking back inside. He followed her, tracing her tongue and teeth. She moaned, her desire higher than before. Her legs tossed restlessly. She twisted, turned, ached for a deeper connection. He threw a le
g over her, pinning her to the bed. Her head fell back and he tongued his way down her neck, nibbling along her muscles, licking her pulse beating wildly under the skin. Shivered under the onslaught, her muscles going boneless and weak in the moment.
He swept his other hand down her bare torso and dipped beneath the waistband of her jeans, beneath her panties to her core. She bowed her back, sensations zinging across her skin and she gasped, then moaned his name.
He brushed the jeans down, along with her panties. She kicked them out of the way wanting nothing between her and his hot, bare skin. She twisted a leg up and over him encountering denim.
“No fair,” she gasped. “I want you naked too.”
He chuckled deep in his chest, the rumble transferring to her through their contact. He rolled onto his back, releasing her legs and arms, then spread his arms and lay back. “Have at it, darling.”
Stacia propped herself up on one arm and feasted on his flesh laid out for her. She ran her finger down the chest she had explored so thoroughly but had not seen. He lay still, muscles quivering under her light then deeper touch as she learned him, how and where he liked to be handled. A sense of power filled her, heightening her desire. She slid her hand lower, to the jeans sporting an impressive bulge. “That has to be uncomfortable.”
His face contorted, muscles clenched. “Baby, you have no idea. Care to help me out of them?”
She hesitated. This was her last chance to turn back, to stop this madness. But he was a drug in her blood, singing and pulling her along to the dark side. And God help her, she wanted him. For once, she wanted to do what she wanted and be damned the consequences. She tugged at the button and opened it, releasing his erection. It sprang free, above the undone clasp.
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Commando? Doesn’t that hurt?”
He grinned and shrugged. “Underwear is too constricting.”
“Thank God for that.” She returned her attention to his cock, tentatively stroking him lightly. He groaned in response as it jerked. She laughed and renewed her attentions, running her fingers lightly up and down, then harder, rubbing the drop of pre-come at the tip over the wide, dark head.
After a few seconds, Jason grabbed her hand and slid out from under her, shucking his jeans in a smooth, practiced motion. He returned to the bed, pinning her, kissing her with a stronger urgency, more insistent. Her passion rose to a fever pitch.
He slipped his fingers between her legs, stroking her wetness. He pressed his fingers into her core, sinking one finger into her channel. She gasped, her muscles going boneless and weak. Her head fell back against the pillow and her legs fell open, giving him better access. He explored her gently, flicking one finger against the small bundle of nerves at the apex while swirling his fingers up and down her slit to tease her opening, then darted them away. He plunged one then two fingers deep and took her mouth with his, his tongue mimicking his fingers’ action below, with an occasional flick of his thumb.
Passion thundered in her blood, swamping her in emotions. Her breath came in shallow pants as she struggled to pull in oxygen. Her muscles tightened, heels digging in the mattress. She clenched the sheets, twisting and pleading for something that danced just out of reach. Suddenly, she exploded, her back bowing on the bed. She cried out and sagged into the bed, relaxed, but not fully satisfied. He leaned over to the bed stand and pulled a condom out of the drawer.
Doubt reared its ugly head again, the condom a reminder that she was one of possibly many women in his life. But he did choose her over all of the other women in the bar, including Sophie, who always got the guy. “I wasn’t the only one planning for this.”
“Always prepared.” He slipped on the condom then turned back to her, his impressive erection pointing toward the ceiling.
“Never figured you for a Boy Scout.”
“Right again. Just hopeful.”
She raised her arms. “I’m so glad. Now get over here and finish the job.”
He gently lowered himself over her, his skin slowly gliding over hers, creating a friction that made her shiver. He guided himself into her slick channel, inching slowly forward, then back out again. Every time he slipped in, he went a little further, teasing her, readying her.
Sensations built much quicker, her nerve endings heightened and primed for the next step. The slow pace was killing her. She wrapped a leg around his torso and pulled, arching her back to meet his thrust.
He grunted but moved slowly until he was buried deep inside. He paused for a moment, his forehead against hers, while she adjusted to the fullness. Her breath caught and she moaned, low and long, the feeling of completeness unexpected and unfamiliar. The world seemed to pause while she absorbed the sensations; she clenched the muscles in his back, panting, another orgasm just out of reach.
She shifted slightly and he moved within her, her muscles grabbing and pulling at him, the sweet friction making her eyes roll back. She wiggled her hips again, nudging against him, growing more insistent. Finally, he began to move again, slowly at first then faster as she matched him thrust for thrust. Soon, groans filled the air, along with the rising scent of arousal. The headboard banged against the wall, but she had no time to register or even adjust as she was swept along the tide of their lovemaking. Stacia came with a tight clench of vaginal muscles and a loud cry. Jason followed her over the edge, sagging onto her, breathing heavily.
After several long moments, he rolled to his side and pulled out gently, preserving the condom. He tossed it in the wastebasket, and fell back onto the bed, his breathing still labored. He put an arm around her and she snuggled close.
Stacia struggled to catch her breath. “Wow. You’d be worth any bad press.”
*
Sunlight streamed through a crack in the curtains, stabbing Stacia in the eye. She groaned and tried to tug the covers over her head, but they were trapped under something heavy. She shifted and realized the weight was also draped across her torso, holding her in place. A deep, very male grumble sounded in her ear and the weight shifted, dragging her closer against a warm male chest. With a smothered gasp, she opened her eyes. A stabbing pain threatened to crack open her skull. Holy shit, what had she done?
She reviewed the night before in her mind, desire threatening to reignite and overtake good sense. She shifted slightly to get away from the sun and looked over her shoulder. Snoring softly next to her was probably the most handsome man she had ever seen this close, dark hair tousled, muscular body that she knew intimately. Her memory slammed back—getting fired; her conversation with her father; drinks with Sophie and then with this man, Jason; dinner and a totally out of character proposition by Stacia herself to this very same man, leading to probably the most amazing night of her life.
And her biggest mistake.
Shit. This wasn’t her. She never did things like this, always maintaining control. She had to get out of here, preferably quietly and without witnesses. If her father ever found out, he’d kill her.
She scanned the room, looking for her clothes. She had to get out of here before anyone saw her, further shredding her reputation. As if being fired and humiliated wasn’t enough. She hoped no one had heard her last night.
She grabbed a pillow and wedged it between her and Jason, then slid toward the edge of the bed, slipping out from under the warm arm. He mumbled in his sleep and repositioned himself, pulling the pillow closer and letting her escape.
She exhaled for maybe the first time that morning. Easing up from the bed, she located her clothes, jeans kicked over the easy chair in the corner, blouse hanging from the light by the closet, bra and underwear tossed on the floor. She gathered her things and slipped into the bathroom, groaning from the soreness in her thighs.
After splashing some water on her face, and slipping into her clothes from last night, she left the bathroom. Jason still slept, snoring softly. She stepped closer to the bed, temptation pulling her like a siren. Just one last touch, one last taste. Then she’d leave forever. She
ran her fingers lightly over his back and shoulder, the warmth almost making her forget her decision to leave.
How had she gotten so lucky finding a man like Jason when she needed a boost? She had never believed in luck. Her father preached daily about the fairy tale that was luck. But something had brought this man into her life at the right time. Luck was as good a guess as anything.
She grinned, thinking of how she had worn him out. Maybe she was desirable. Clearly, someone had fun with her, found her sexy and attractive.
At the thought of her father, reality crashed in. A ripple of fear traveled up her spine. What if someone saw her leaving? The reporters should be gone; the story was last night. Thank God this was a one-time affair, no matter how much her hormones begged for a repeat.
He stirred, making a low sound deep in his throat. She froze, hoping he wouldn’t wake, although she’d heard that morning sex was always fun. She’d prefer to sneak out and avoid a scene. She turned to leave then paused. Should she leave a note? What would she say?
No note. No awkward goodbyes or insincere promises. It was an anonymous, wonderful evening.
She quietly slipped out of the door, with one last regretful glance at Jason, sleeping peacefully. He’d been the one aberration in her quiet, orderly life. The one act to feel she wasn’t a complete failure as a woman, as her father thought she was.
Now, it was time to move on.
*
Jason woke, stretching sore muscles and cracking a jaw-popping yawn. He reached next to him and only felt a cold pillow, soft but not warm as the woman he’d spent the night with. He bolted up and glanced around, taking in his suitcases piled by the armoire and the empty space by the easy chair, where her jeans had landed in their frenzy the night before. He strode to the bathroom. A still damp face towel rested on the counter. No Stacia.
Nothing of her remained. Not a trace that she had ever existed.
He sat on the edge of the bed. Maybe it was better this way. He didn’t need the trappings of a girlfriend or, God forbid, another groupie looking for a happy-ever-after with a rich ball-player, or even a blackballed, out-of-work player like him. Yet it stung his pride like an inside pitch—slipping out as if she was embarrassed by their night together. Was this how women felt when he did that? Now he understood why they were so pissed when he left. It was all part of the game, right? They knew there was no happy ending, not beyond that night.