Sure Thing Read online

  All she has with her is a small bag that can’t fit much more than a mobile phone and currency. I watch her set it down on the sideboard across from the bed then turn to me, a tiny lift of her chin as she likely reminds herself why she’s here, a mental pep talk flashing across her face. Then she wets her lips and smiles, but it’s for her, not me.

  She has absolutely no idea how to proceed, does she? I’ve bedded virgins more aggressive than this woman.

  “So how do you want to do this?” I ask her as I close the distance between us, my hands in my pockets and my steps unhurried. I stop before her and when she doesn’t move I untuck my hands and trail one finger along the shell of her ear. She bites her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “Naked,” she replies earnestly, flicking her eyes from mine to my chest. “I’d like to do it naked.”

  I’m definitely keeping her all night.

  “Take these off,” I tell her, with a gentle tap of a finger to an earring. She removes them from both ears and places them next to her tiny bag, then looks back to me expectantly.

  “How do you want to fuck?” I ask and pick up her hand. I kiss the inside of her wrist and meet her eyes. “Soft or hard? Fast or slow? Dirty or dirty?”

  “Um…” She blinks, her skin flushed. “Yes.”

  I’m not sure she’s even processed what I’ve asked, but I’m certain I had the answer before the door closed anyhow. And I wasn’t asking for any particular reason other than to watch her response. She’s not aggressive, this girl, she’d love it if I took the reins, so to speak. Removed whatever doubts she has in her mind about her desirability by leaving no question of my interest. And I’m interested. Interested in fucking her in every position possible until she passes out, exhausted and sated. I drop her wrist and rub my bottom lip with my thumb while I enjoy that visual for a moment.

  “Your blouse,” I say, my tone brooking no argument, not that I’m expecting one. “Take it off.”

  “Okay. And you take off your pants,” she responds in complete sincerity, her tongue peeking out between her lips. Her fingers have already moved to one of the buttons fastening her blouse as her gaze drops to my cock.

  I swell in response. Hell, I was hard for her before I knew she was game. Her blouse hits the floor as I unbuckle my belt and unsnap my jeans before moving to my shirt and unbuttoning from the bottom up. Her hands pause for the briefest of moments before she reaches behind her and unzips what must have been a hidden zipper on her skirt. It pools around her feet and she steps out of the circle of fabric, leaving her sandals behind, then looks down with a tiny grimace before scooping her clothing off the floor and placing it quickly next to her earrings and bag.

  She squares her shoulders as she turns back to face me, naked save for a pretty bra and pants set. Cotton, I’d guess, with delicate lace trim. Sweet. She’s sweet. And I wonder again what brought her to me tonight. I wonder if someone’s hurt her, but the idea of someone cheating on her seems ludicrous, as does me having that thought when I’ve known her only an hour. Actually, not even that. I don’t know her at all. I’ve not even kissed her yet. Why does she want this? Why now?

  I drop my shirt to the floor and leave it there. My trousers follow suit and she glances at the pile of clothing for a brief moment, her fingers twitching. I think she’s contemplating picking my clothing off the floor like she did her own but she refrains with a slight shake of her head, then turns her attention to my bare chest with a smile. A feisty little grin that she must feel isn’t very sophisticated because she immediately tries to hide it.

  “So,” she says with a small shrug as she places her palm on my chest, her fingers spreading outwards in exploration. The slight inhale of breath and bubbly grin tell me she’s happy with her choice for a one-off, gaining confidence in the moment. She presses her lips together to hide the smile then asks, “Now what?” Her head tilts towards the side as she asks, the hint of her pink tongue pressing between her lips. I can find a better use for that, most certainly.

  That’s it. I’m not waiting any longer. I wrap my fingers behind her neck and yank her to me as I cover her lips with my own. Her lips are soft and warm and she tastes faintly like the cherry she sucked off my fingers earlier and smells of vanilla or possibly coconut. I think it’s her hair. And then she moans, the most delightful microscopic moan of excitement or approval. I like it, whatever it is. I dig my fingers into her hair as I maneuver her to deepen the kiss and it’s every bit as silky as I’d imagined. Thick, silky strands that feel seductive under my fingers. Strands I could hold like a leash while I fuck her from behind or while she kneels before me with my cock in her mouth.

  I lift her off her feet, her legs wrapping around my waist as I walk her towards the bed, unsnapping her bra as I go. Her arms are crossed behind my neck, her fingers working their way into the hair at my nape as she breaks away from my mouth, moving her lips to my jaw and grinding her pelvis against me with a subtle lift of her hips. I set her on the edge of the bed and slide the straps of her bra down her arms till it’s dangling from my fingertips, then toss it aside. Her right shoulder hitches a fraction but her eyes don’t follow the bra so I don’t think she’s contemplating picking it up off the floor. Instead her eyes rest on my chest and she quickly bites her bottom lip before releasing it again. What is she thinking and why do I care? She’s hot and she wants me, end of.

  “I didn’t expect you, Rose, but I’m glad you’re here. On my bed. Ready for me.”

  She looks uncertain for a moment, as if she’s second-guessing her decision, and I wonder how experienced she is. If I should be worried about her being underage. It’s doubtful but worth asking. I’ve always subscribed to the ‘ask, don’t guess’ policy when it comes to women.

  “How old are you, love?” I question and her eyes snap up from my chest to meet mine.

  “Twenty-six,” she answers immediately, and she no longer looks uncertain, she looks irked. “How old are you?”

  “I’m thirty-six.” I smile. I like her. I can’t imagine she gives a toss what my age is. I think she only spat the question out as some form of retaliation for asking hers.

  “Thirty-six?” Her brows rise and she gives me a quick once-over before shrugging and working to clear her face of surprise. “Right, okay. I guess that’s fine.”

  I raise a brow at her. Is this girl I’m never going to see again really giving me shit about my age?

  She runs her eyes across my chest again and then tilts her head to the side with a, “Huh,” said to herself. Then she twists her lips before meeting my eyes again with a, “Yeah, okay.” I can’t recall ever knowing a woman so transparent with her thoughts. I find myself smiling again, amused with her.

  I roll her nipple between my fingers and she inhales. Her reactions are stunning. Time to get this liaison back on track. I kneel on the floor in front of her, hook my thumbs into the sides of her knickers and pull until she lifts her hips enough for me to slide the material over her bottom and to the floor. Her toenails are painted hot pink and I slide my hands along the arches of her feet as I go about admiring how lovely she is. The soft arch of her hips, the shape of her calves, delicate ankles and a tiny birthmark on the top of her left foot.

  I slide her knees apart and move between them, her thighs spread wide. Her breath catches as I grasp a nipple with my teeth and lightly pull. Her tits are as perfect as every other part of her, but they’re not my focus right now. I want to taste her—no, I need to taste her. I need the memory of her taste on my tongue when I think of this night or I’ll always wonder what I missed.

  I push her back onto the bed and work my way down her stomach, my destination clear. Her legs flutter against my shoulders as if she’s tensed, but then they relax and fall further open as one of those delightful half-sighs, half-moans I’ve already come to associate with her emits from her lips.

  I spread her apart with my thumbs and now I’m thankful for the light, neon or otherwise, peeking into the
room from the street. Lovely. She’s so fucking lovely. She’s completely smooth and I want to cover every inch of her with my mouth, my tongue. She’s already wet and I’ve barely touched her, her arousal glistening at me like a dirty gift.

  I place my tongue on her and run it slowly from top to bottom. By the time I pull her clit between my lips her hands are in my hair. Within another minute she’s got one foot flat on the bed for leverage while the heel of her other foot is pressing into my back.

  Her enthusiasm is irresistible, her scent intoxicating. She really is a gift I wasn’t expecting tonight.

  I slip a finger into her and she moans something about Jesus. That won’t do.

  “Jennings,” I remind her. Her eyes are glazed and it takes her a moment to focus on the fact that my tongue is being used for talking instead of where she wants it.

  “Right.” She blinks. “Right, I didn’t forget. I can call you Jennings, sure.”

  She’s an odd little duck. A cute vixen with a dash of sexy and I want more. God, I want her. I keep my eyes on her as I slip my finger back into her wet heat. I love the feel of the inside of a woman—the warmth and texture, the slickness of her lubrication. I miss the feel of a woman bare against my cock with nothing between us. Fuck, it’s been forever since I’ve felt that. Not that I’ll be feeling it tonight either. I’m not an idiot.

  But when I suck her clit between my lips again while pressing two fingers on that tiny bundle of nerves inside of her and she screams my name, I sort of wish I was.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Violet

  Oh, holy hell.

  That thing he just did was like a public service—a public service that should be open to all women, everywhere. Regardless of political party, race, religion or border. It should be law or something, I think with a laugh as I throw an arm over my eyes. I wonder what else this guy can do? How did he know how to get me off so quickly? We’re not even done yet and this has to be the best one-night stand in the history of sex. I can’t believe this is my life right now!

  “Is something funny, love?” he asks as he stands and picks up his pants, retrieving a condom from his wallet before tossing them on the floor again. The skin around his eyes creases in a way that makes me think he’s amused, not hurt, by my laughter.

  “No, nothing’s funny,” I reply, but I can’t keep the grin off my face.

  I scoot back on the bed until my head is on the pillows. Then I remember that investigative news special I saw about hotel room bedding and cringe. I think I’m lying on a duvet cover though, and surely they wash those? But just in case, I slip my legs underneath and then flip the cover back and push it to the end of the bed.

  The guy—Jennings—pauses with a small smile on his face, watching me. Whatever. Germs are no joke. I lean against the headboard and smile back at him. “So what else you got?” I ask and—what the hell—I run my eyes over him from head to toe. He’s still got his underwear on so I can’t check out everything, but I like everything I can see, that’s for sure. Broad shoulders. Impressive abs—how the heck is he almost forty? Narrow waist. Strong legs. Impressive bulge. What? Like I didn’t linger a moment there during my perusal? I pat the bed next to me with my palm and grin.

  “What else have I got?” He laughs and tosses the condom on the nightstand before gripping my ankle and dragging me down the bed until I’m horizontal. I yelp in surprise before sucking in a breath as he lowers himself over me, holding himself above me with his arms. Then he kisses me and I groan. I can faintly taste myself on him and it makes me wet all over again. This man. His mouth. He’s… carnal and I love it. Maybe it’s a British thing? Maybe they’re all super-amazing in bed? I’ve never been with a man from another country before so I don’t have a comparison. All I know is tonight was a really good decision.

  His accent is going to be the death of me. In the best way. I’m glad he’s not calling me Rose right now. I wish he knew my name. Hearing Violet on his tongue… And the way he keeps calling me “love”—it’s so British of him, right? And it works for me—like a lot.

  His magic mouth skills do not disappoint in the kissing department either. It should be awkward, kissing a stranger. It sounds stupid considering what he just did with his mouth. That I’d even give a second thought to the intimacy of kissing mouth to mouth. Kissing is so filled with breathing and saliva, taste and tongues and angles and pressure and Mr. Mouth here is good at all of it. His lips move from mine to my jaw as I tangle my fingers into his hair. He sucks my earlobe between his teeth as the tiniest huff of breath in my ear makes me shiver before his tongue wets that spot just behind my ear, causing me to press my pelvis against him, desperate for more.

  More of this, more of that, more of whatever he’s got to offer.

  His mouth is on mine again and I moan when he drops his arms enough for my nipples to rub against his chest. When his tongue presses into my mouth and tangles with my own. When he nips at my lip and kisses his way down my throat. By the time he moves lower and cups the underside of my breast with one hand while flicking his thumb over the nipple, I’m ready to beg. Instead I swear at him.

  “Fuck… Jennings.” I moan and arch my back when he flattens his tongue across the surface of my breast and flicks his thumb back and forth over my nipple again. That fucking mouth of his.

  I need him inside of me. I can’t remember the last time I was this anxious to move from foreplay to penetration. When it didn’t feel like a cursory few kisses were delivered before the guy was whipping out his dick and grunting like he was fucking with way more skill than he had.

  Like sometimes my ex Mark liked to bark, “Take it, take it,” while he thrust aggressively and I’d mumble something like, “Hmmm, yeah,” while I’d snake my hand down to rub my clit and think, Take what? Take what exactly? Because it mostly just felt like he was bouncing me on the bed and poking at me with a super-plus tampon while he played alpha man. And I am not saying this from a place of bitter ex-girlfriend. His penis was perfectly normal-sized. It’s just that some men have a really overinflated opinion of the skill they have with their average-sized penises. That’s all.

  I’m positive that whatever Magic Mouth is packing under those cotton briefs he will use it with skill. He seems pretty skilled. Maybe being almost forty has its benefits? God, I hope he’s still got stamina though. Don’t men lose stamina as they age? Don’t let me down, Jennings, I think as I slide my hands down to his briefs and push them over his hips, my intent clear. Do not let me down. You are my first one-night stand, don’t be my last. Don’t be the reason I give up entirely and take up knitting and invest in a vibrator collection. Don’t be—

  Never mind.

  I’ve got his briefs past his ass. His cock just thumped onto my stomach. Like, if my stomach was capable of emitting a grunt from the contact, it would. Hell, yes. Keep calm and carry on. God save the Queen. Think of England. I let a giggle loose as he reaches for the condom.

  “You’re a very odd sort of girl, aren’t you?” he asks, but he’s smiling again, a lazy lust-fueled smile that reaches his eyes. He has nice eyes.

  “I’m usually the sensible one,” I murmur. Throwing caution to the wind has never been my thing, but I think it’s going to be. Why not, right? It’s not like I have an apartment or a job to lose. They’re already gone, might as well embrace it. Seize the day, carpe diem. Easy, breezy me.

  “The sensible what?” he asks as he tears the condom wrapper with his teeth. Why is that sexy? I should probably get out more if that move is enough to do it for me.

  “Nothing,” I reply. “Never mind,” I add while sliding one of my knees up to plant my foot on the bed next to his thigh. He’s slipped that condom on one-handed with practiced ease and settled both my legs outside of his on the bed. His weight rests on one arm as he uses the other to guide his cock, nudging at my entrance. He pushes just inside and it’s already good. I’ve missed this, and I decide then and there that the new carefree me is going
to put out more.

  Then he slides in deeper and it’s better than good.

  He locks eyes with mine as he sinks all the way in. He groans and I suck in air. I wiggle my pelvis a little, adjusting to the feel of him while trapping my lower lip between my teeth, which he promptly removes with his own then kisses me.

  I make a weird noise in my throat and rotate my hips towards him because he just feels so perfect. I clench around his cock and his eyes darken then close for a moment. When he opens them he grins and kisses me again before sliding back, almost out, then back in. He teases me with the most deliciously long, deliberate strokes. Deep then shallow. Receding then forging. When he pulls out to the tip I dig my fingertips into his shoulders, wanting him back. I’d beg him for it if he asked.

  Instead he withdraws and moves to his knees, hooking my thighs under his forearms and pulling me to raise my bottom off the bed, then sliding back in. This time when he enters me it’s fast and hard. I reach over my head and rest my hands against the headboard, both to stop myself from hitting it and to aid him in his task. Sex has never felt like this. Never.

  “Oh, my God, don’t stop.”

  “I’m not stopping, love. Not a chance.”

  His balls smack against me as he thrusts and it’s so lewd, the only sounds in the room skin slapping skin mingled with our breathing. It’s wet and hot, hard and dirty and I want to come right now, but I want it to last longer too.

  Spoiler: it lasts longer.

  Magic Mouth is also some kind of orgasm genie because he seems to know exactly how to keep me on the brink of coming, leading me right up to the edge then backing away. It’s agony.