Stroke of Midnight

by ANDIE J. CHRISTOPHER

  His words went right to her center. No one had ever said anything that crude to her before. She knew she ought to protest; she would have slapped him if it wasn’t just so arousing to hear him talk that way to her.

  He let her go and stepped back.

  She squirmed, standing in front of him in nothing but her bra. She felt fully exposed; his gaze made her feel as if he could see right through her. She wasn’t used to anyone just looking at her. She was the relentlessly efficient one who got everything done behind the scenes. As if he sensed her drawing inside herself, he stopped and tipped up her chin. She blushed—again. She wasn’t thinking about anything but the bulge under his zipper right now. She licked her lips.

  He pulled back and looked at her. His long stare allowed doubt to weave its way through her lust haze.

  He must have noticed because his brow furrowed. “Hey, what’s going on?” She marveled at how he could go from dirty to sweet so quickly.

  “I’m just . . . used to doing this in the dark.”

  “If it was dark, I wouldn’t be able to do this.” He leaned down and kissed a freckle on her shoulder. And another. And then another. She’d always kind of hated her freckles, but she could see the benefits when his mouth brushed against her skin. Her misgivings vanished as his touch pulled desire back to the forefront.

  When the tension left Alana’s body, he flicked the front-clasp on her bra. The expression on his face made her laugh. He looked like a kid in a candy store, as if he couldn’t wait to get his hands and his mouth on her.

  “These are awesome,” he said. She was glad he thought so.

  He pulled on one of her long, loose curls and brushed it across one breast. He groaned as he palmed her breasts. When he brushed his thumbs across the underside, she made a pleasured sound, and her head fell back into the wall. She had never felt so much with so little stimulation. Her whole body felt fevered.

  He looked into her eyes and smiled. “I’m so glad . . .”

  “You’re so glad, what?”

  “That you didn’t smile at me.”

  “Why?”

  He picked Alana up—again—squeezed her ass cheeks and urged her to wrap her legs around his hips. She was wet, almost embarrassingly so. She hoped she didn’t leave a spot on his jeans, but she couldn’t help wiggling against him, just to be closer.

  “’Cause I never trust a big butt and a smile, darlin’”

  “Are you calling my butt big?” She was ready to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that her butt was absolutely fantastic.

  He tossed her on the bed. It was so plush that she bounced and then sunk into the rich, white duvet. She propped herself up on her elbows and bit her bottom lip. If she wasn’t so turned on, she’d walk out the door.

  “It’s fucking perfect.”

  His smile was everything. Everything.

  When Cole stood up and pulled off his T-shirt and she got to see all of his rippling muscles and inked biceps, the combinations of his words and that body made all her snappy comebacks fly out of her brain. Santa might have come late, but she must have been a very good girl last year. She loved that he had a hairy chest.

  She wasn’t going to let one stupid 90s R&B reference ruin this for her.

  Then, he unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. He wore black boxer briefs, which outlined his considerable erection and his powerful, sparsely haired thighs. Much to Alana’s chagrin, he didn’t shuck his underwear. He did, however, pull a condom out of his jeans pocket before he threw his pants on the floor.

  He took a deep breath and almost looked nervous, even though there was no way that this was his first one-night stand. Alana assured herself that she was one of a cast of many. He was probably one of those guys who just loved women. The combination of his perceptiveness and dirty words made her think so anyway.

  She gasped again when he grabbed her ankles and spread her legs. He joined her on the bed and kissed the soft curve of her belly and the sensitive skin on her thighs. She started to shake when he brushed his fingers right above where she wanted him, looked her in the eye and said, “So pretty. Spread them a little more, darlin’.”

  This was going to be different from the sex she’d had before. He knew what he was about and he told her what to do. She was surprised how much she liked it. Just the way he talked to her, touched her, told her that he would be the best she’d ever had.

  She was fine at the mechanics, but sex was usually just another bodily function, like eating or sleeping. Every so often she needed it. That’s the itch she’d thought she was scratching tonight. Right now, she had the sneaking suspicion that she’d leave this room knowing what all the fuss was about.

  He seemed anxious to get down there, so she spread her thighs further, and he nuzzled her inner thigh before he licked her. Softly at first, then more. Her head fell back, and she nearly passed out as he explored her with his tongue and then his whole mouth. No one had ever made her feel this way before.

  “Oh, God!” she cried out as he sucked on her clit.

  “Delicious,” he said into her slick folds. He resumed sucking on her clit and rubbed one of his fingers at her entrance. Her hips strained toward his face and hand. He stilled her with his other palm on her belly.

  He put one finger inside her and then another, almost lazily feeling her inside. When he rubbed one spot, she thought she would leave her body entirely. She felt like she was floating somewhere near the ceiling. She whimpered for relief from the exquisite torture, but he continued to stroke her. The muscles in her legs flexed, and she let out a throaty moan.

  He sucked harder on her clit, and she fisted the duvet next to her hips. He pressed his fingers toward her stomach and she exploded, milking his fingers.

  “That was...I.”

  He moved over her body. Before she completely recovered, she realized that he had gotten rid of his boxer briefs and sheathed himself with a condom.

  He looked into her eyes and hovered over her. One of his hands curled over the top of her head and he searched her gaze for lingering uncertainty. “Are you sure? I’m happy to lick that sweet pussy some more.”

  “Don’t you want—”

  “I want to be inside you. But I want you to need my cock just as much.”

  She rolled her hips. Somewhere between the time she got naked and the instant she came, having him inside her went from a “want it” to a “have to have it.”

  “I need it. Please.” Her voice sounded rough, panicked with need.

  He kissed her and pushed himself inside her. She cried out, stuffed full of his heat. Surrounded by his body on all sides. He felt like home to her. She almost shook her head to rid herself of the unwelcome thought. This was just a bit of fun. Over before the morning.

  He stilled. His silver eyes were stormy with lust, and he pinned her with his stare. The moment was much more real and intense than she had bargained for when she spotted him across the bar.

  He broke and started thrusting again. “You’re so delicious that this isn’t going to last long.”

  “Hmm. I’m all good. This is about you.”

  “Oh no, darlin’. You’re not nearly done.”

  He rolled his hips, making sure to hit her clit every time he went deep. She could tell it was a strain for him to go slow, and she really wanted hard and fast. She wrapped her legs around his hips and met his thrusts.

  To her surprise, she spiraled up again when his pubic bone kept up the friction. He moved faster, sweat breaking on his brow and on his upper back where Alana clutched at his skin.

  He pumped his hips faster. “Come on, darlin’. Come again...”

  As if his words were a magic trigger, she did. This orgasm was even stronger than the first. Her spine arched and she felt him stiffen inside her.

  He touched his forehead to hers, his breath brushing her ear and cooling the sweat on her skin. After he caught his breath, he withdrew and threw the condom in the trash beside the bed.
>
  Alana moved to get up and gather her clothes. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to his body.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere, apparently.” She sighed and cuddled into his side.

  “Just give me a minute.”

  “Mmmhmmm,” she murmured. As they lay there, she traced the curls of a tattoo on his biceps. It depicted a skeletal hand, and it looked like it was grabbing at him. “What’s this about?”

  “A reminder that death tried to take me down.”

  She turned over to face him and traced over a puckered scar on his shoulder. “With a bullet?”

  “Yeah.” When he looked her in the eye, she felt connected to him. Despite his light humor and the fact that he’d come to Miami alone on New Year’s and taken a strange woman back to his hotel room, there was serious purpose there. “Better than a roadside bomb. I’m a lot better off than some of the guys I served with.” The tone of his voice made her think he’d trade places with some of the guys he served with.

  Respect for what he’d been willing to sacrifice for his country flowed through her just as surely as lust.

  Uncomfortable with the intimacy of pillow talk, she dropped a kiss on his scar. He took her cue and ran the tips of his fingers up and down her spine, waking up the nerve endings and making her squirm against him.

  She teetered on the edge of sleep when he spoke. “Why’d you leave the bar with me?”

  She didn’t know how to answer that. She propped her chin on his chest. The way he looked at her—it was as if he really wanted to know the answer to that question. As if he didn’t know. He wasn’t like the guys who usually hit on her, thinking they could use a socialite housewife. But she couldn’t tell him that. It would freak him out.

  “I guess I needed a break.”

  His brow furrowed, making him even sexier. Like he was planning to slay her dragons. “From what?”

  “I’ve been working a lot lately. I haven’t had time for . . . this.”

  “Sex?”

  “Fun.”

  “Did I fulfill your expectations?” He sounded so unsure that she almost laughed aloud.

  “And then some. I’ve always wanted to—”

  “Come all over a stranger’s tongue?”

  Her cheeks heated—again. She had always wanted to have sex with a stranger. That’s when she remembered that she didn’t even know his name. Maybe that’s why this felt so intimate? She’d never see him again. He didn’t know her stats. She could just be real with him.

  “I’ve never had sex like this. I mean, I’ve never done a lot of stuff.”

  He screwed up his face in surprise.

  “Really? What else haven’t you done?”

  He wanted a list? They could spend the rest of the night on that. “I’ve never had sex outside of a bedroom. Before tonight, I’d never made out with a guy in a bar.”

  “Go on.” She giggled, and she wasn’t a giggler. It wasn’t just sex things that she did with him and no one else.

  “I’ve never done anything,” she hesitated, “kinky.”

  “What kind of jerks have you been fucking?” His tone was so serious she wanted to laugh.

  She laid a light slap on his chest, and he trapped her hand under his. His warm palm and the crinkle of hair felt decadent, sort of like the whole night. “I think the problem is that I’ve only slept with very nice guys.”

  “Nope. A guy isn’t nice if he doesn’t want to tie someone as beautiful as you down. Your ass...” He grabbed one of cheeks and pulled her closer. With that simple gesture, she felt herself softening for him again. “Begs for a spanking.”

  Her whole body heated up at the suggestion. She imagined draping herself over his lap, and his hand stinging her skin. He would be wearing jeans. Yes.

  No. This is a one shot deal. Keep it light.

  “What if I want to be on top?” she asked.

  A slow, sexy grin spread across his face. “Well, darlin’, I always aim to please.” She squealed when he flipped over and came up behind her. “But, if you’re going to be on top, you better bring it.”

  He put another condom on, and drove into her, which made her forget about closeness, intimacy, about anything but feeling.

  She had never been so sated and had clearly exhausted him. When he fell into a deep sleep at nearly dawn, Alana quietly dressed and crept out onto quiet Collins Avenue. She’d done pretty well for her first—and last—one-night stand.

  Chapter 3

  Cole woke up, realized he was alone, and cursed.

  He’d been hoping for another round with his beautiful new friend. It had been the best sex he’d had in years, maybe ever. Instead, he’d woken up alone to retina-searing light coming through the window. And he hadn’t even gotten her name, much less her phone number. And then he’d actually smelled her pillow. Like a fucking pansy.

  Would he ever learn? Spoiled, rich girls might take a tumble or two with a guy like him, but they didn’t stick around. At least this one hadn’t humiliated him in front of his whole hometown. The girl from last night wouldn’t do that; she oozed class. Just thinking about it in the shower had him taking himself in hand. The steam did nothing to erase the smell of her soft skin from his nostrils—it was something like honeysuckle and spice.

  Her skin was incredibly soft; the curve of her hips and the tight muscles of her inner thighs against him rushed through his mind. His lower back ached with the need to come, and the thought of her taste pushed him over. He came on his hand drowning in the memory of her moans, sighs, and murmurs when she squeezed tight around him.

  Lord, he wanted to see her again.

  But then he remembered how innocent she was. Not innocent, sheltered. Girls like her always were, and they always sought out guys like him for a walk on the wild side—guys who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks and didn’t have sweet cars or country club memberships to impress a girl.

  Until they moved on to the suit-and-tie that they could bring home to their family. A headache, unrelated to his lack of sleep or the scotch from the night before, hit him.

  He got dressed and put on a good face. His buddy had texted him, inviting him to a party at his parents’ house in Coral Gables. He was about to run into a lot of rich girls today.

  As Cole handed the keys to his pick-up to the valet in front of Hector and Molly Hernandez’s Coral Gables home, he had to stop himself from whistling. From what he understood, Javi’s parents could certainly afford to live on fancy-pants Starr Island, but their Mediterranean Revival home was impressive nonetheless.

  Attending a garden party in Miami was certainly different from trying not to get blown up in a sandbox in the Middle East. Cole pretended not to see the valet looking at him funny when he rolled up in a beat-up pickup. To him, it was vintage. He’d look less out of place in Dorchester, South Carolina, than he did down here. His love of big trucks was just about the only thing he’d kept from that one-stoplight town.

  Before he entered the house, he got his game face on and straightened the lapels on the white blazer he’d had to rustle up the day before—all he had with him were swim trunks. Apparently, rich people liked to force their guests to wear uniforms to parties. He guessed that it wasn’t so different from Navy whites, and the open-collared shirt was worlds more comfortable.

  What was he doing here?

  He would never understand why a party required a theme other than beer and food.

  The dark, wooden doors were wide open to reveal a level of moneyed elegance that he’d only seen from the outside growing up. The house was fancy, but lived in—books piled on tables, family photos crowded in with paintings that probably cost more than his truck. He didn’t slow down to examine them closely because memories of how he grew up smacked him in the face. This place wasn’t like the shack he grew up in—cigarette butts and empty beer cans covering every surface. His mama drunk or drying out on the tattered couch, most often with a black e
ye.

  He shook his head, trying not to remember that house. He didn’t live there anymore, and neither did his mama.

  Following a group of women dressed in tight white dresses and on the arms of men old enough to be their fathers, he entered the house. He pretended not to notice when one of the women looked him up and down, then winked at him behind her elderly date’s back. He wasn’t here to start something with some old rich guy’s girl. If he didn’t have enough money for a wealthy daughter of Dorchester, he didn’t have enough money for a rich girl from Coral Gables. Just like he’d had nothing to offer the woman last night except for something hot and sweaty in the sheets. He still couldn’t believe she’d snuck out of his room while he was sleeping.

  That was his move.

  * * * *

  Alana was still a little worse for the wear when she shifted her car into park in front of the valet stand her parents set up for the party. She took a deep breath before smiling at the man waiting for her keys.

  She passed through the kitchen as caterers worked on the meal, which looked and smelled delicious. A giant plate of paella would make her stomach feel a lot better. She snagged a piece of cured meat from a platter and made her way through to the party. Her mother would have the brunch set up on the back patio.

  She found her mother under the shade of the patio. She looked fantastic, as usual, in a gorgeous white maxi dress and straw hat.

  When Alana’s mother saw her, she smiled, ended her conversation with a group of women all wearing the same Herve Leger dress in different variations of cream and white and rushed over for a hug. “Happy New Year! You look beautiful. Get some champagne. Or . . .” She motioned to a waiter, and said, “a bloody Mary.”

  Alana groaned.

  Even though the thought of drinking more turned her stomach, her mother was trying, and it was tedious being the uptight prig in the family. So, instead of scowling, she forced a smile and said, “That sounds great, Mom.”

  “Did you go out last night?”