by Henry, Max
Table of Contents
TITLE
ALSO BY MAX
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
EPILOGUE
PREORDER
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ONE MORE NIGHT
Copyright © 2018 Max Henry
Published by Max Henry
All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Max Henry is in no way affiliated with any brands, songs, musicians, or artists mentioned in this book.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy.
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ALSO BY MAX
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STANDALONE
Malaise
Tough Love
Echoes in the Storm
DARK TIDE (Rock Star) SERIES
Down Beat
COMING SOON
Amplifier
TWISTED HEARTS (Age Gap) DUET
Desire
Regret
BUTCHER BOYS (Suspense) SERIES
Devil You Know
Devil on Your Back
Devil May Care
Devil in the Detail
Devil Smoke
FALLEN ACES MC SERIES
Unrequited
Unbreakable
Tormented
Existential
Misguided
YET TO RELEASE
Redundant
If you’ve read my work already you know that my stories tend to be deep, emotional journeys with relatable real-life characters.
Somewhere amidst writing my novels I realized something: I couldn’t keep diving from one gut-wrenching story into another without losing my mind.
So, I wrote a sexy over-the-top novella for a bit of fun.
I initially intended to release these under a different pen name to keep the differing genres separate. But then I figured, hell, if you’re like me you enjoy a varied diet when it comes to your books.
So, Red Hot Reads were born. Each of these erotic novellas will bear the above logo to set them apart from my contemporary novels, and at this stage will be available on all platforms.
I hope you enjoy this deviation from the norm, and I look forward to bringing you plenty more bedtime goodies!
ONE
Corinne
I’ve seen him before. Once on my brother’s eighteenth birthday, and again five years later when I graduated from college. It’s not everyday you remember somebody’s face so well that the years do nothing to diminish your confidence that yes, that really is the same person.
This man’s face—angels wept.
“Corinne.” My buddy knocks her elbow into me as I make love to the straw in my cocktail. “What the fuck are you staring at?”
I curl my lips on one side, black plastic pinched between my teeth, and nod in his direction.
Sarah flicks her blonde hair over her shoulder and props both elbows behind her on the bar as she scans the booths I indicated toward. “I don’t see it.”
Is she blind? “The guy right at the back of the second to last one.”
I wait as she narrows her gaze and blatantly eyeballs the elite. “Black shirt with the open collar?”
“Yeah. That’s him.”
She makes a purring noise in the back of her throat and cocks an eyebrow. “Intense.”
You don’t say. “He has more ink since I saw him last.”
He’s also added quite a bit of size. And by size, I mean muscle. Reow.
Sarah’s perfume washes over me in a wave as she spins on the spot and leans over the bar to signal the server. “You do realize who he’s seated with, right?”
I sip my cocktail, fingers pinched around the straw, as I look across at his table. He sits with his arms slung over the back of the seat—confident, cocky, and spread out for my perusal. His dark hair falls into his face in soft tendrils, a sharp nose complimenting his square jaw.
“The guy to his right,” Sarah whispers, leaning in as she waits on her order, “is the cousin of the current Black Devils MC president.” I shift my gaze to a stocky guy, maybe mid-forties, with a messy haircut, short on the sides.
“The sexy guy in the middle doesn’t look like a biker, though.” Apart from the tattoos, I suppose.
“That’s because he’s not.” She steals a glance over her shoulder. “Well, as far as I know, anyway. The man on the other side of him?”
“Yeah.” I let my eyes drift to a striking, lean guy. Tall, tatted, and pierced.
“I’m pretty sure he’s Irish mafia.”
“How on earth do you know all this?” I cast a dubious look her way as she retrieves her vodka mix.
“A girl doesn’t come out on the town every weekend without learning a few things about the men that frequent the same places.” She smirks before taking a gulp of her drink. “So, what’s the game plan?”
I have no idea. All I know is that I want to be up close and personal with that man by the end of the night. “I guess I better slut it up.”
“Girl,” Sarah says with clear disbelief. “You have any idea how to do that?”
“So I haven’t been out in a while.” Ten months. “I haven’t forgotten how to use what my momma gave me.”
“First,” Sarah says, waving her finger my way. “Don’t say that. And second, Aden would have had a panic attack if you tried to fuck him with the lights on, so …”
“Ugh,” I grunt. “What?”
“I’m laying bets on the fact you’re rusty as hell, girl. You’re goddamn broken!”
I down the rest of my drink in three long pulls while I watch my target. He tips his head back as he listens to the guy next to him, his lips curled in a sneer. Whatever he hears, he doesn’t like it, that’s for sure. I zero in on his face and read every twitch of his eyebrow, every clench of his jaw.
His gaze shifts across the dance floor and hits mine. Fuck. Fire washes through my veins as I spin toward Sarah.
“You okay?” she asks.
“He just looked right at me,” I whisper-yell. Hella intense.
The bitch breaks into peals of laughter. “Told you you’re broken.” Her face softens as she takes in my clear panic. “Oh, babe. It’s okay. We’ll get you fixed in no time.” She looks across the floor for a moment before pointing out a safer looking guy in a sensible gray button-down with dark jeans. “What about him? Start low and work your way up.”
I crinkle my nose at the college boy. Sarah tips her head to the side while she joins me in watching him make an ass of himself on the dance floor.
“I don’t think he’s my type,” I shout loud enough for her to hear over the bass that’s dropped.
“What would be your type?” Goosebumps skitter across my flesh in the wake of his words.
I daren’t move; his head is right there over my left shoulder. Sarah takes a step back; eyes wide as I slowly pull my head to the right and twist my neck to look at him.
My booth-candy lifts one dark eyebrow, face inches from mine. “Well?”
I let go of the breath I didn’t realize I’d held. He moves away, only to wedge himself between the bar and me. If I thought the man was potent from across the room, I had no idea what I’d be in for when he’s within reach. My entire body sparks to life, and to my utter horror my panties become noticeably damp when his leg brushes mine.
It seems my body has a mind of its own when he’s involved.
Then again, five months of orgasms by your own hand will do that to a woman.
Sarah’s right; I’m totally broken.
“You startled the hell out of me,” I mutter.
“You still haven’t answered my question.” He rests both elbows on the glossy surface behind him and showcases his wide, muscular chest. The black dress shirt holds on by the grace of four tiny buttons, the strain unbelievable.
“It’s complex,” I bluff, reaching around him to set my empty cocktail glass down. “I can’t explain my type in a few words.”
Dark eyes trace my every move as I step back, painfully aware I now have nothing to do with my hands. Damn it.
He glances at Sarah, and then back at me, before jerking his chin toward the booth where his friends wait. “If you have the time, I’d love to hear you break it down for me.” He looks to Sarah again. “We could use the company.”
I eyeball her, pleading silently for her to go along with this. The way my heart races, I don’t think I could cope with going alone.
“Sure,” she says with a twitch of her brow. “Why not?”
“Excellent.” Our host slides away from the bar and promptly wraps one hand around my upper arm. “Come on, then.”
I should probably pull away, demand he lets me go and treats me with some semblance of respect, but oh my God, his freaking hand is on my arm. I squeal on the inside and mentally jump up and down while on the outside I remain cool, calm, and collected as I follow across the floor to his table.
“Cyrus,” he says, pointing to the biker guy, “and Perry.” His hand shifts to the assumed Irish mafia before he sets it on my lower back and pushes me toward the seat. “They won’t bite … much.”
The men chuckle, their dark laughter washing over me like a warning. And yet I stay.
Perry presses himself against the wall, leaving the smallest amount of room for me to squeeze past him and into the middle of the booth seat. He sets a hand on my ass as I wriggle past, seemingly guiding me, although I wasn’t raised a fool.
“Enjoy yourself?” I sass as I take my seat where Mr. Mysterious previously sat.
He lifts a pierced eyebrow and smiles. “Aye.”
Sarah catches one whiff of his accent and damn near flings herself at his side. It seems she’s not all that worried about possible connections.
Cyrus slides out of his seat to let my dark, and most definitely dangerous, host take his spot beside me. “Jordan.”
“Thank you.” Jordan tips his head to the older man as he takes his place.
“I’ll catch up with you Tuesday, yeah?” Cyrus retrieves his keys from a chain on his belt loop.
“Sure.”
My skin prickles with awareness as Jordan presses himself tight against me. He places his arm possessively on the seat behind my shoulders and watches the biker leave before turning his head to mine and leaning in close enough that I can smell the whiskey on his breath.
“What brings you out tonight?”
I glance over at Sarah who’s lost in the sweet nothings Perry seems to whisper in her ear. “Tasting freedom after an ugly split.”
Rough fingers turn my face back to his. “You’re here with me now,” he states, “so you keep your eyes on me. Got it?”
Like that would be a task. “Of course.” I narrow my gaze in silent challenge.
I can be obedient, sure, but he needs to understand that I am of my own free will, nothing more.
“Why did you watch me?” he asks.
I fix my gaze to his lips as he lifts a tumbler to them, struck by the pout of his bottom one when the glass presses down on the supple flesh. Get it together, Corinne. “I’ve seen you here before.”
“That so?” He lifts both eyebrows, watching his hand as he sets the drink down. “When?”
“A year back.”
“And you remember everyone you saw a year ago, do you?” He still refuses to look at me, eyes on his hand as he turns the glass on the table.
“You know,” I test. “If you expect me to keep my eyes on you the whole time, it would be polite if you returned the favor.”
He smirks and lets out an amused huff. “I have reason not to look at you.”
“Really?” I lean away slightly, only to be tugged back by the arm behind me when it curls tight around my shoulders.
Still, he doesn’t look at me. “Really.”
I lean in; my lips brush against the shell of his ear as I whisper, “Tell me, or I leave.”
Jordan’s jaw sets hard, and his head tips slightly away as he makes a hum in the back of his throat. “You think you can play games with me?”
“Only fair,” I muse as I lean back against his arm.
“I’ll give you this one, but if you press me again, it’ll be you who regrets playing hard to get.”
I can’t help but smile—I’ve won.
“I won’t look at you,” he grumbles, “because if I get one more glimpse of those red lips, one more look in your dark eyes, then it won’t be just my empty whiskey glasses spread across this table.”
And he’s trumped me. Holy fuck. I break his rule to look across at Sarah, to see if she picks up on this guy’s intensity, yet she’s turned toward Perry, oblivious. Brutal fingers rip my chin around, my head snapping back to Jordan.
He looks straight over my head, gaze hard as he growls through a stiff jaw. “Eyes on me.”
“You don’t play fair, do you?” My words come out warped, thanks to his punishing grip.
“I don’t play for anyone but me.” His hand twists and changes to a softer touch, gentle as he caresses my bottom lip with his thumb. “Tell your friend you’re leaving.”
“Can I look at her while I do?” I can’t help it—I’m a natural troublemaker.
He chuckles. The low sound promises all sorts of pain and pleasure. “Just this once.”
TWO
Jordan
She might say she only remembers seeing me once, but I’ve spotted this succubus countless times over the years that I’ve used this place for business. She’s grown up a lot, found her confidence, and that makes me want to strip it all away.
The first time she came in here, she hid her curves behind sensible jeans and a baggy tank. It took me a while to recognize who she was: my old school buddy’s kid sister. But tonight—fuck me dead—the woman has everything on display in a tight dress that’s far too short for my self-control.
Time to test the goods before I invest.
“I didn’t bring my car,” she declares as she follows behind through the parking lot.
“Good,” I say flatly. “Wouldn’t give a fuck if you had anyway.”
She doesn’t respond, and yet, one quick check in my periphery and I can tell she still watches me, just like I told her to.
She’ll do just fine.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere private.”
“Nowhere in particular?” she asks as I hit the button to unlock my car.
“Wherever I can fuck you senseless without giving a free show.”
Her eyes widen as she takes in the beauty that is my Ford GT. Or maybe it was w
hat I said? Who would know?
“What do you do for a living?”
“Don’t ask loaded questions.” I open her door and indicate she should get her ass on the seat before I reconsider the whole free show idea.
“Drugs,” she mumbles as she drops onto the soft leather. “It’s always drugs when they have a supercar.”
I chuckle while I close her in and round to my side before I reply. “It’s not drugs.”
She frowns as I shut my door and then start the engine. “I find that hard to believe.”
“What else is everyone addicted to these days?”
Her brow knits as I carefully pull out of the parking space and head for the road. “Money?”
“Good answer, but no.”
It takes her two sets of traffic lights before she clicks. “Technology.”
I answer her with a smile, nothing more. She knows enough; if she’s smart, she’ll work the rest out on her own the moment she takes a look around my house.
The twenty-minute journey home has never felt so long. Her smell fills the car: sweet flowers mixed with the salty sweat of lust. By the time I switch the GT off in the lower garage, I’m ready to drag her out and lick that sweat right off her on the polished concrete floor.
“Can I use your restroom?” She looks up with doe eyes as I open her door for her.
I shouldn’t have looked. “Of course. Second door on the right when you get inside.”
Her hand moves to the small purse she brought with her.
I hold mine out and wriggle my fingers. “Give it to me.”
“Why?”
Five seconds of silence and she hands it over. I lean back against my daily driver—a Range Rove—as she sways that sexy butt indoors and breathe a sigh of relief. Addiction is one hell of a thing.
Her phone is ridiculously easy to hack. I scroll through her Instagram first, and then check her Facebook. Corinne Seaworth, twenty-four, and an ex-personal trainer. Explains the tight little body, then. Four hundred and eight friends, plus six thousand Instagram followers. No nudes in her recently sent messages—disappointing as well as promising—and her brother is in her top three. Not only does she still use her maiden name—nice to see I have no competition—but family remains important.