by Staci Hart
I liked the way she felt there.
“Some view you’ve got here.” I nodded out the window.
She chuckled. “A gift from my father.” There was approximately zero love in her voice.
“The view or the apartment?”
“He’s so self-important, he’d take credit for both.”
“So you guys are close then?” I joked, and she nudged me.
“He left when I was little, but the divorce left me with a sizable trust fund. Honestly, I think he just put the money there so Mom wouldn’t get it.”
I thumbed her bare arm. “He sounds like a real delight.”
“An absolute joy.” She turned to face me, looping her arms around my neck. “What’s your last name?”
There it was—the second lie.
I swallowed the knot in my throat. “Jepsen. Why?”
“Just like to at least know the last name of guys I bring home. Makes me feel more responsible.”
A chuckle through my nose as I brushed a loose lock of hair from her cheek.
“You look worried,” she noted with a smile. “Nervous?” Her hands moved to my buttons again, unbuttoning the one she’d left off on.
A laugh huffed out of me. “I was just thinking about you straddling my bike.”
“And that worries you?”
“Only if it doesn’t happen again.”
“Tell me when we can ride again.”
“Whenever you want.”
“A dangerous offer.” Another button.
“I’ve got more where that came from.”
“I bet you do.” With the flick of her fingers, the opening of my shirt widened. Red lips met the hollow between my pecs, the softest of kisses followed by a light sweep of her tongue that sent a shock straight to my cock.
When she made to move lower, I stopped her, slid my hands down her arms, to her wrists. I stepped into her, bringing her hands together behind her back, clasping her wrists in one fist. “How about I show you.” With a tug toward the floor, she gasped softly, arching her back, exposing her throat to me.
And I took the offering.
It wasn’t slow, but it wasn’t careless, the open and close of my lips, the sweeping circles of my tongue against salty skin. She couldn’t move, restrained by my hands and the extension of her body, her lips parted to the ceiling. My hand slid to her throat, holding it gently, thumbing her chin, my eyes on those lips.
And then they were mine.
My mouth and hers were a seam, and I kissed her as if I could swallow her. Breath loud and hard as if I could breathe her in. Tongues seeking as if we could consume each other.
If I could, I would.
Arm around her waist, I lifted her, not breaking the kiss as I took two steps and pinned her to the window with my hips. A well-placed shift pressed the length of me to her core.
She broke away with a hum of pleasure, her brows drawn, eyes closed, lip between her teeth. I watched her greedily as I exposed her thighs, only stopping the grind of my hips to slip a hand between us, her legs clamping tighter to bear her weight. My fingers hooked in the web of her fishnets and pulled, rewarding me with a satisfying tear of nylon. And with a stroke, my fingertip was met with the slick heat of her. A rush of desire sent a pulse to my cock.
I tested the silken valley, charted the fluttering flesh, circled the swollen tip of her, earning me another moan.
“Was this just bare on my bike?” I slid my middle finger into her heat.
A gasp, this one joined with a flex of that tightened her thighs and straightened her back when she pushed her body into my hand to get me deeper.
“Yes,” she hissed—as an answer or a plea, I didn’t know.
“Fuck,” I breathed, my eyes on her lips and my mind on what was in my hand.
Her hands moved from their clench in my hair straight to my belt buckle, and I didn’t stop her. I didn’t stop touching her. Again, I swallowed her moans as she peeled back layers of my clothes until her hand fisted around me. A stroke. Another, my crown in her palm and her core in mine.
I reclaimed my hand, though she didn’t, my heart a jackhammer behind my sternum. Shaky hands retrieved my wallet, found a condom, and discarded the rest. She took it, lifting her chin for a kiss, one that I gave, my hands framing her face and hers busy, first rolling it on, then guiding me to the slick center of her.
The kiss broke with a thrust of my hips. Broken breaths and another thrust, and I came to a stop, the two of us panting and hot, eyes hungry. The city stretched up behind her in shades of blue and squares of light, and she was pale against it. Flaxen hair and skin like cream. Eyes like midnight, and she was sparkling starlight.
With a roll of my hips, I pulled out, only to fill her again slowly. Deliberately.
She sighed, her lashes fluttering closed, head lolling, giving me another advantageous stretch of her long neck. Though one hand was busy bracing her by way of her thigh, the other was free to trail fingertips down the line of her neck, the line of her collarbone, the swell of her breast, the rosy curve of her nipple spilling from her corset as I drove into her. I grabbed the bottom hem of the corset and pulled, freeing them.
I wanted to slow down, to take my time, to savor the sight of her breasts, round and snowy and tipped with dusky rose as they jostled from the force of my hips. But that glorious sight drove me on instead. There would be time to go slow.
That time was not now.
My free hand left its place on her breast and headed south, my thumb seeking the place I knew she wanted me. And when I stroked her, she sucked in a breath, her eyes clamping shut as a flush rose from her breasts to her neck to her cheek. Breath shallow. Body tight.
An uncontrollable draw of pleasure pulled from deep in me.
There was no stopping the pump of my hips or my thundering heart, spurred by desire and the promise of release. My circling thumb begged her to catch up, the point of no return far behind me. A flick. A press. She gasped.
“Come,” I growled. Because if she didn’t, I was going to.
Her eyes opened slowly, her pant from parted lips matching the rhythm of my hips. A purposeful stroke of my thumb, and they slammed shut again.
A slow tightening around me, a painful squeeze, her body pressing into mine in opposite force, a rising whimper that burst with her pleasure in a pulse that pulled me in, pulled me deep.
“Thank fuck,” I breathed, leaning in, arching over her, slapping a palm on the window as I slammed into her, my eyes on her as she rode the end of her high.
She looked up at me, eyes lust-drunk and smoldering.
And that was all it took.
Blinded by sensation, stripped of everything but this, of my body and hers, I drove into her until I was spent, still holding her against the window with my body, her legs trembling around my waist and mine shuddering with pleasure.
My heart hadn’t slowed, but the rest of me caught up. And her lips were waiting to occupy mine with a languid, luxurious kiss.
With a growl, I swept her up, keeping her around my waist where my pants hung open, half off my ass as I moved to the hallway where I figured the bedrooms were. She leaned back, laughing, her chin tipped and eyes closed. The picture of freedom. The epitome of joy.
I padded down the hall, knowing the image would stay with me for a long, long time.
“Which one of these is yours? Because I’m gonna fuck you in a bed tonight, or so help me.”
“End of the hall,” she said on another laugh. “And do you promise?” She tightened her arms, bringing her close enough to kiss.
“Guarantee.”
And I closed that gap between us without stopping, kicking the door at the end of the hall shut behind me.
9
Plus-One
STELLA
I flopped onto the bed, slick with sweat and panting at my ceiling.
Light filtered in through my sheer curtains, the summer sun high and bright. It was morning for us—afternoon for the rest of the wo
rld—an unsurprising late rise. I smiled over at Levi as I tried to catch my breath, taking a moment to appreciate the perfection of the male specimen I’d shared the last twelve hours with. His profile a line of strength from brow to the bridge of his nose. The plane and swell of his lips and the cut of his jaw. The rapid rise and fall of his broad, glistening chest moved in opposition to his abs, and my eyes followed the line of him down, charting his nakedness with the appreciation of an art curator.
He lifted a large hand to drag his fingers through shaggy, dark hair before he felt me staring and glanced over with that crooked smile and a flash of teeth.
I rolled over and into his side, wrapping myself around him. “Morning.”
He curled his massive arm around me, his hand cupping my shoulder. “Morning.”
“Sleep well?”
“Woke up better.” He smirked down at me.
“Did I mention I’m glad you came to the party last night?”
“You might have. Where was it … in the shower?”
I pretended to think about it. “Or was it when you had me tied up with your belt?”
“Oh, you definitely mentioned it then. And when I woke you up—when was it? Three?”
“Three thirty,” I said on a laugh.
Levi pressed a kiss to my damp forehead, his hand moving to tangle his fingers in my wavy, air-dried hair. “When will I see you again?”
“You’re not coming to the next party?” I asked with my first frown since I’d met him.
“Gonna have Cecelia put me on the guest list?” he joked.
Through a pause, I thought about it. “Oh, I think you can scrounge up a date somewhere.”
He leaned back so he could see me, his face colored with amusement. “You offering?”
“Maybe I am. Somebody’s got to convince you we’re not just a bunch of spoiled rich kids.”
“And that somebody’s you?”
“Got any other offers?”
He angled for my lips. “If I did, I wouldn’t take them.”
Before I could laugh, he kissed me. And for a long, lazy moment, that was the sum total of my universe. “Consider the invitation open.”
The self-assured expression on his face made my stomach do a back handspring.
“Stella Spencer’s plus-one to indefinite Bright Young Things parties? How could I refuse?”
“Guess you can’t,” I said with a smirk to cover the skipping of my heart.
“No, I guess I can’t.” He kissed the tip of my nose and rolled away with a sigh. “The last thing I want to do is leave, but the deadline waits for no Bright Young Thing.”
I tucked my hands under my head and shamelessly cataloged every glorious inch of him as he stood. “On a Saturday?”
He bent to pick up his pants and stepped into them. “Weekends don’t mean a thing when you’re working against the clock.”
“Pity, that.”
With a sigh, I rolled in the other direction and padded to my closet in search of clothes. My limbs and muscles groaned in protest, tired and aching pleasantly from a night in Levi’s company. I smiled to myself, stepping into a pair of cheeky panties and pulling on my Blondie T-shirt. Regrettably, by the time I made it back into my room, he was dressed, his vest hanging open and his muscular chest disappearing with every fastened button.
I walked over with the objective of another kiss, and at my approach, he glanced up. His fingers froze, but his smile rose, and when I threaded my arms around his neck, he granted my wish.
Levi was something I could get used to.
Something I couldn’t have.
Typical, Stella. You really know how to pick them.
When he’d told me he was leaving, I’d been disappointed, no doubt. But the truth was, I needed something temporary. The situation was ideal, one that met both our expectations, and though he really had tried to be a gentleman about it, that wasn’t what I wanted from him. And I’d made damn sure he knew it.
“Coffee before you go?” I asked when we parted.
“I think I can make a little time for that.”
He popped me on the ass, and with a yelp, I led us from my room and into the empty apartment. As Levi gathered his discarded wallet from the living room floor, I got the espresso machine going.
When he met me in the kitchen, it was with a frown on his face and a dubious look in the direction of the machine. “Got any regular old coffee?”
I smirked. “Don’t worry—I won’t make you drink it out of a tiny cup or anything. I’ll make you an Americano.” He still looked wary, so I clarified, “Espresso and hot water. Tastes just like filtered coffee, but better.”
He relaxed a hair and sat at the island bar just as the door burst open.
Betty and Z walked in, arm in arm and still drunk, swerving and leaning on each other as they laughed hysterically at an unheard joke.
They looked a glorious mess.
“I see you two made it out okay,” I teased, and they turned to me in unison.
“Stellaaaaaaa,” they cried like Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire, a joke that I’d never found particularly funny. But a wasted Z and Betty howling it in rumpled circus attire left me laughing.
And then they saw Levi and skidded to a stop.
Z appraised Levi shrewdly. “I’d ask what you did last night, but it looks like he’s sitting in your kitchen.”
Levi lifted a square hand.
“Tell me you’ve got a friend who isn’t Ash,” Z said with a twisted smile.
Levi laughed, and I poured his coffee, setting it in front of him with a smile. “One or two. I’ll see what I can do.”
“I knew I liked him,” Z said. “Aren’t many gentlemen left in the world, and one who stays all night and for a cup of morning coffee is a keeper.”
“No pressure,” Betty said on a laugh as her shoes hit the ground with a thump.
Levi and I glanced at each other and flushed.
I mouthed, I’m sorry.
“Hard not to be with a girl like her,” Levi said, his smile tilted and eyes smoldering.
“Tell me he’s coming to the next party.” Z addressed me rather than Levi.
“A girl can hope,” I answered.
Z’s smile was sinful. “Yes, she can.”
Levi drained his cup and stood. “On that note, I really do have to go.”
I tried not to pout.
Z didn’t—her lip poked out pitifully. “But I just got here.”
Levi chuckled as he made his way around the island to slide his hand into my waist. “Don’t worry—I’ll see you soon,” he said to Z before pressing a kiss to my hair. “Sooner, if you’re interested.” The promise was hot against my ear.
“I’m interested.” I turned around in his arms, our open mouths meeting for a searing kiss that didn’t stop.
Until Z hosed us with the sink sprayer.
I squealed, holding up my hands. Levi put himself in front of me to bear the worst of it.
“Cool off—some of us just got dumped,” Z said without stopping the sprayer.
“All right, all right,” Levi said. “I’m going.” With a kiss too swift for Z to interrupt, he headed for the door with everyone calling their goodbyes. And with a final look in my direction, he was gone.
I sighed, smiling into my coffee as I leaned a hip on the counter.
Z and Betty turned piqued, amused faces in my direction.
“What?” I asked innocently and took a sip of my coffee.
“Would you look at that?” Z said with a smirk. “Stella’s back.”
Betty clapped and cheered. “Dex who?”
My heart flinched, but the rest of me shrugged. “Never heard of him.”
“So what have we learned about our favorite hammer swinger?” Z asked, unhooking his corset, letting loose a long, relieved breath at the freedom of his rib cage.
“He drives a motorcycle—”
Betty sighed wistfully. “Be still my heart.”
“
He’s a photographer—”
“Be still mine.” Zeke pulled off his boots. “I need new headshots.”
I chuckled. “He has the stamina of a bull, and he makes me laugh. I like him.”
Zeke rolled his hand to get me to hurry up. “But is he packing?”
“What do you think?”
He raised his eyes to the ceiling and crossed himself. “There is a God.”
“Think you’ll see him on the regular?” Betty asked, starting the espresso machine for herself.
“If I’m lucky. But …” My smile faded. “He’s leaving for Syria. War correspondent.”
“Ew, no!” Zeke shot. “So did he tell you he just wants to fuck around or what?”
“No. I mean, not exactly. I think it’s pretty clear he’s not looking to get attached.”
“Hate that,” he said.
“Either way,” Betty started, “enjoy it while you can. I’ve got a feeling he’s a good one. Trusting eyes or something.” She raised her bagel in salute. “Proud of you, Stella. First step in getting over assholes is to get under somebody else. Especially some body like the body he’s got.”
“Amen.” Zeke raised a praise hand. “Did you see him last night?”
“I did,” I answered with saccharine cheer. “And I met Elsie.”
Zeke’s brow rose. “How was she?”
“Fucking adorable, and I got, like, nice vibes from her. Made her impossible to hate.”
“Ugh, it’s just not fair.” Betty’s nose wrinkled up.
“Tell me you had your hammerhead motorcycle stud on your arm,” Z said.
“That I did. I can’t pretend I didn’t love the expression on Dex’s face when he looked up at Levi. And he had to look way up.”
The keypad on the door beeped, and the three of us turned to the sound. But as I moved for the door, it swung open, and Joss floated in, looking fresh as a daisy after what I imagined was a miserable flight in from Italy.
Just like that, the three of us beamed, bum-rushing her for a tacklehug that only remained upright thanks to Zeke.
Joss laughed between kissing our cheeks.
“You’re home!” Betty cheered, squeezing us tighter.