by Callie Rose
I glance over at the newcomer and my heart ceases beating.
He takes up the entire doorway—tall, massive, tattooed, hotter than the Montana sun in August. Everything about him screams danger and sex, from the way his dark hair looks like he’s run his hands through it a few times to the tattoos that climb his neck and arms from beneath his white t-shirt. I can see the shadow of more tattoos beneath the thin cotton and my mouth waters because I want to fucking lick every inch of that hidden skin.
His gaze moves over the crowded bar looking as bored as I feel, and then his eyes lock onto mine.
Thick lashes cradle deep brown eyes with an intense ring of gold around the pupils. I’ve never seen anything like them.
The noise in the bar.
The music.
The laughter.
All of it fades away the moment our eyes meet. Desire unfurls in me just from the way he looks at me, and I press my knees together as my greedy imagination feeds me images of what he might look like naked.
He walks into the bar, and the door slams shut behind him. But the cool breeze doesn’t fade away—it follows him into the room, blowing his scent toward me.
Whiskey and woodsmoke. Jack on the rocks and a campfire and my fingers on his bare skin.
A dull ache starts between my legs, and I throb with every step he takes. His gaze remains locked on mine like he can see right through me, like he can smell my lust, and fuck if I don’t want to bend over the bar and demand he take me right here.
The first guy, the construction worker, is a distant memory. He seems to notice something is up too, because he steps away from the bar, glances between me and the stranger, and cuts out back to his party.
It’s fine, buddy. I wouldn’t want to tangle with a giant, either.
The tattooed stranger takes his time reaching the bar. He steps up beside me and taps my neighbor on the shoulder. The guy sitting on the stool to my right is an older, accountant-looking dude in wire-rimmed glasses, and the poor man takes one look at the sinful Adonis standing behind him and skitters off like a startled cockroach.
Up close, this gorgeous, tattooed hunk of man is almost overwhelming. His whiskey and smoke scent is intoxicating. It covers up the stale beer and fried food scent of the bar until I feel like I’m drowning in his presence.
He’s hardly settled on the stool before Barb shuffles down the bar. “What’ll it be, Rambo?”
The man flashes an amused grin that’s almost feral. “Whiskey. Neat. Top shelf.”
I fight the urge to moan. Fucking hell. A man after my own tastes. He has a deep rumbling voice that sends my desire into overdrive.
Barb nods. “Comin’ right up.”
I stare at him. God help me, I can't stop staring at him. They don’t make men like that around here. He’s a force of nature; he’s got his own god damned gravitational field, and I’m a meteor without a prayer.
Barb returns with a rocks glass half-filled with amber liquid. “You wanna run a tab?”
The man palms his glass, nearly enveloping the entire thing in his huge hand. “Please. Why don’t you go ahead and make another gin and tonic for my companion here and add it to my tab.”
My eyebrows rise a little as I realize he’s talking about me.
Barb turns to me and cocks an eyebrow as if she’s silently double-checking that I want to accept a drink from this stranger.
A drink. A kiss. His cock. I’ll take it all, please.
I nod at her, and she reaches for the Tanqueray.
The man angles on his stool to face me, one palm wrapped around his whiskey and the other resting comfortably on his knee. His gaze latches on mine again. “What do they call you?”
I love the blunt way he asks. He skips the pleasantries and the lines, doesn’t wax philosophical about my beauty. He just asks what he wants to know. It’s refreshing.
“Amora,” I reply, offering him my hand.
He takes the tips of my fingers and presses a kiss to my knuckles, and I swear to God, I feel it all the way down to my clit.
His eyes gleam a little brighter, as if he knows what that slight pressure of his lips on the back of my hand did to me. The gold in his irises is gorgeous, like sunshine manifested in his gaze.
“I’m Kian.”
Chapter 2
Kian.
The name rolls around in my head. It’s just as magnetic, just as relentlessly sexy as the man himself.
His luscious lips are still within inches of my hand, and I have this wild urge to slide my finger between them. I want to feel his mouth on me and his tongue wet against my skin. Just the idea sends another pulse of need through my core. I’m already turned on, and all he’s said is his name.
I came out tonight hoping to get laid by someone passably attractive, and now I’m going to walk out of this bar with sex incarnate. When did I start getting such good luck?
It’s almost enough to make up for the fact I fell on my face during the hunt.
“Pleasure to meet you,” I say, peeling my fingers away from Kian’s to pick up the new glass Barb has set next to my empty one. My fingertips damn near seem to spark from his touch.
“No, I think the pleasure’s mine.” Kian’s gaze sweeps over my body. He licks his lips, his eyes bright as he takes in the low-slung dress barely containing my breasts, and the way I’ve crossed my legs so that the hem rides high enough for him to see the curve of my hip.
Yeah, I’m naked under this dress, golden eyes. Don’t you wanna unwrap me?
He clears his throat and sips his whiskey before he asks, “Come here often?”
I drain half my glass in my lust-induced thirst, then place it back on the coaster.
“Sometimes,” I reply, going for coy. “What about you?”
Kian shakes his head, turning a slow circle with his glass on the countertop. “I’m just passing through.”
A tight pang lances through my chest, startling me. I’ve never wanted anything more than a one-night stand with anyone, but I’m not a fan of the idea that Kian will disappear after tonight. But, hell, I can’t dwell on that. I didn’t come here for a forever situation. What he gets up to after I’m done with him isn’t my business. The only thing I’m interested in is what he’s hiding beneath those tight jeans.
I lean over, closing some of the space between us as I put my hand on his knee. “Mm. What a shame. You better not waste your time while you’re here, then.”
A devastating smile spreads across his face, and he closes in on me, his lips close to my ear as he replies, “I absolutely agree.” His breath fans over my neck with his words, eliciting a shiver from me. Kian pulls away, and I feel his absence in every corner of my body. “So you’re local?”
“In a sense,” I hedge. I want to fuck the guy, not give him my backstory. So I redirect the conversation. “What brings you to town?”
“Business,” Kian says, his eyes flashing. One corner of his lips turns up. “And a little adventure.”
A deaf and blind woman would have gotten the hint. I lean into him, pressing my breasts against his arm as I whisper, “I’m always up for adventure.”
Another waft of his whiskey and woodsmoke scent swirls around me. I want to roll around in that smell and mark my body with him. It’s an odd reaction—I’ve never wanted to mark myself with a sexual partner’s scent before. It’s a very… wolfish response.
Could Kian be a shifter? It might explain why I was ready to climb his body to the highest peaks the second he walked in here.
Maybe. I’m not the best at picking up hints when someone is an expert at hiding their true nature.
His gold-rimmed gaze searches my face for a long moment. He slides an arm around my waist, and his fingers on my back are searing, even through the fabric. With his other hand, he dips a finger in his drink. Then he presses his wet finger to my collarbone and begins to trace a path down my skin.
“Baby, I’m starting to think you’re more adventure than I know how to handle,” he says,
his voice thick and his eyes hooded.
My heart rate kicks up a notch as his finger crests over the swell of my breast. I’m drowning in whiskey—the scent of him and the scent of the alcohol wetting my skin, both meshing with devastating consequences. I watch his finger as it slides over the top of my dress. We’re both watching it, and I know he can see the way my nipples are straining against the thin fabric. His thumb brushes over one pebble. I shudder like he’s slipped his fingers inside me.
A crowd of twenty-somethings starts cheering across the room, snapping us both out of our private moment. I glance over to see they’re egging on a guy who’s chugging a thirty-two ounce beer, and wrap my hands around my glass to anchor myself.
I’m shaking with need. Holy fuck. I’ve never felt like this before.
Kian drains his whiskey and holds up a finger to get Barb’s attention. “Another round.”
A third drink is the last thing I want, but considering I just lost myself enough to let a man fondle me in public, maybe it’s what I need. Barb makes my drink first, and it gives me something to do with my mouth while I watch Kian. I didn’t notice at first, but he has a scar above his right eye that cuts through his thick eyebrow. It adds to his devil-may-care allure.
“How’d you get the scar?” I ask, motioning to his eyebrow with my glass.
Barb gives Kian his drink, and he takes a sip before he answers. “Got it during a hunt.”
Ah. Shifter confirmed.
He wouldn’t have outed himself if he thought I was human, which means he’s already guessed right about me.
“I almost took a hoof to the face during a hunt tonight,” I tell him, then immediately flush.
I have no idea what made me say that. Maybe because for the first time ever, I’m sitting with a male shifter I didn’t grow up with, and I already feel a deep connection to him. I want to connect more.
But could I have picked a more embarrassing story if I tried? Shit.
Kian chuckles. “Been there, done that.”
The sound of his laugh is as smooth as the whiskey in his glass. It pours through me like a drug, making my fingers tingle with the need to touch him and feel that sound inside my body.
Feel him inside me.
I lift my gin and tonic to take another drink and realize the glass is empty. Again. I barely remember drinking it, but the alcohol buzzes through my veins, reminding me it's there. I’m not drunk—shifter metabolism is a little too strong for that. But it’s enough of a buzz to heighten all my senses and deepen my arousal.
There’s not a chance in hell he can’t smell how much I want him.
Kian cuts his gaze to my empty glass. “Do you want another?”
No. I want you.
Instead of answering with words, I set my glass down decisively and slide off my stool. We lock gazes again, and I hold there for a moment before I walk away toward the back of the bar.
I don’t need to look back to know he’s following me.
A back hallway leads to restrooms and an alley exit, cut off from the bustle of the bar by a sharp right-hand turn that takes the corridor behind the kitchen. My high heels tap loudly on the shiny concrete floors, under a song heavy with bass as it pipes from the stereo anchored near the ceiling.
I don’t even make it halfway down the hall before I feel his heat behind me. The delectable scent of him surrounds me in the split second before a strong arm catches me around the waist and yanks me back.
For a moment, I’m airborne. Kian whips me off my feet like I weigh nothing, and despite my height, maybe I don’t weigh anything to a man his size.
He yanks me against his hard body, one hand curling around my hip while the other fists in my hair. There’s a wild look in his eye that borders the line between lust and hunger. The way he dominates me, towering over me all brawn and heat and that intoxicating whiskey smoke…
Fuck, I’m lost.
Heat pools between my legs. I rock my hips against his and gasp as I feel the hard length of him pressing against me through his jeans.
Then our lips crash together.
The sparks that have been dancing between us since the moment he walked into the bar explode into an inferno of fireworks.
He tastes even better than he fucking smells, and I don’t know if it’s the lingering burn of the alcohol on his lips or just him, but I feel like I’m already addicted from just one taste. His mouth is firm and warm against mine, and he slides his tongue across the seam of my lips as if demanding access to what’s already his.
I open for him, and the second I do, our tongues meet in a fierce clash. Our teeth knock together, almost like we’re half biting, half kissing in our desperation for more of each other.
When his teeth clamp down on my lower lip, I moan hoarsely, and he growls in response. As he lifts me in his arms again, I wrap my legs around his waist without a second thought.
I’m barely aware of where we are anymore, but somehow, Kian manages to find the door that leads to the alley behind the bar. He shoves it open, making the cool night air hit my feverish skin like a blast of ice. My nipples draw up even tighter than they were, and I wrap my arms around his neck, plastering my body to his as I soak up the warmth that radiates from his broad frame.
I didn’t bother with panties tonight—they didn’t seem necessary, given what my goal was—and I can feel the hard ridges of Kian’s stomach pressed against my core. Only his shirt separates his skin from mine, and I grind against him, probably leaving a wet spot on the fabric.
With another low growl, he shoves my back against the wall of the ally, pinning me there as his hands roam my body. I unwind my legs from around his waist, and the second my feet find the ground, his large hand lands on my thigh, working its way upward with a deliberate motion. He reaches the apex of my thighs and just cups me there for a moment, his calloused hand covering my entire pussy in a gesture so dominant and possessive that it makes a needy whimper fall from my mouth.
The heat of his palm is searing, and when he draws back a little, the rings of gold around his irises almost makes it look like they’re glowing.
“You came here tonight knowing just what you wanted, didn’t you?” he murmurs, his voice heavy and thick.
“Yes.”
“Did you find it?”
“You tell me,” I shoot back huskily, pushing my hips away from the wall a little to press against him.
The heel of his hand brushes my clit, and I chase the feeling, arching my back even more. Kian grunts, slipping two thick fingers inside me as he works his hand over my clit, giving me exactly what I need—what I’ve been begging for without words.
His lips find mine again, and he kisses me like he owns me as his massive body pins mine against the wall. His fingers are moving in and out of me faster and faster, relentless and forceful. I’m so fucking wet that there’s a soft squelching noise every time he slams his fingers back inside me, but I don’t give a fuck. My gasps and moans are so loud that they nearly drown it out anyway.
I’m close, and I know he can feel it. My toes are curling, my leg muscles tensing as I try to brace for the rush of pleasure building inside me.
“Fuck. I can feel you clenching around me. You trying to milk my fingers, baby? You wish it was my cock?”
His words are low and rough, and I groan out some response that might be a “yes.” I honestly can’t tell anymore. I don’t think I could form a coherent sentence right now to save my life.
Kian’s free hand slides up my body, squeezing my breast before trailing up my neck. He grabs a fistful of my dark hair and wraps it around his hand, jerking my head back at the same moment he drives his fingers even deeper inside me.
My mouth drops open, my gaze locking with his as pleasure rips through me like a bolt of lightning. He keeps a tight grip on my hair, tugging at the strands and not letting me look away as the orgasm floods my body. He slows the tempo of his fingers just a little, somehow managing to prolong the crest of pleasure until my knees are
shaking from it.
I still haven’t closed my mouth, and even though my jaw is hanging wide open, I can’t seem to get enough oxygen. All I can do is stare up at him and gasp as aftershocks of pleasure ripple through me.
Kian takes advantage of my slack-jawed state, dropping his head again to kiss me. He sucks on my tongue before exploring my mouth with his own tongue, and when we finally break apart, he drags his fingers out of my pussy. Slick arousal coats my thighs, and his fingers and knuckles are shiny with it as he lifts his hand, breathing hard.
He’s still got a tight grip on my hair, so when he tugs my head forward a little and holds his fingers in front of my lips, it’s no secret what he wants.
And I give it to him.
Or maybe I just take exactly what I want.
Opening my mouth, I wrap my lips around his two fingers, sliding up and down on them a little as I lick up my cream. I hollow my cheeks as I do, dragging my tongue over every inch of skin I can reach, and the reaction from Kian is immediate.
His nostrils flare, the look on his face shifting from hungry to almost angry, like he’s pissed off that I’m doing this to his fingers and not his cock.
Well.
There’s an easy solution for that.
I release him with a wet slurp, then shove at his chest, pushing him back a step. I think my action catches him by surprise, which is probably the only reason he actually moves—that, or he’s already figured out what I plan to do.
It’s reckless. Even more reckless than letting my one-night stand finger me in an alley behind a bar. But I’m so far beyond caring about that, I can’t even see it in the rearview mirror. He’s right. I came here knowing exactly what I wanted.
And I don’t plan on wasting a fucking second of tonight.
I sink down to my knees in front of Kian, ignoring the way the rough pavement digs into my skin. His eyes darken as he stares down at me, and he widens his stance a bit to bring his crotch closer to my eye-level. I keep looking up, holding his gaze as I reach for the waistband of his pants and unbutton them. I drag the zipper down, and I can already feel how fucking hard he is.