Page 3 of Stranger to Love

Mia beamed, giving me a mock salute.

I turned back to the blonde. She had just slipped her phone away and was now subtly chewing on the inside of her cheek.

I moved over to her. She instantly stood a little straighter as I approached. I let my eyes purposely travel down her body: the simple black dress, the sliver of cleavage, the gem suspended above it. When I looked back up, she visibly swallowed as our eyes met. Oh, she was nervous. Cute.

I’d been with plenty of older women who were all teasing confidence until I actually took the bait; then they turned into a mess of stutters and overly expressive hand movements. I leaned on the bar with just my elbows—keeping my hands free from any sticky surface. “How’s the wine?”

“Better than the shit you were going to serve me,” she said, hitting me with a confident tone I didn't entirely expect. Her mouth said one thing, but the tight set of her shoulders gave away the internal nerves.

I smiled, a slow, knowing pull of my lips. “I'm sure if you had known you were going to get it for free, you would have chosen an even better bottle.”

A faint pink flush spread across her chest, and I didn’t even try to pretend I wasn't looking. Normally, I would berate myself for being no better than the leering guy I just overcharged, but frankly, I didn't care.

She took the last sip of her wine, setting the glass aside. She raised an eyebrow, biting her lip. “Do you… want to get out of here?” she asked, instantly chewing the corner of her lip as if regretting the rash decision.

I grinned in response. “No.”

I waited a beat, letting her brain visibly malfunction as she wished the floor would swallow her whole. Then I leaned closer, dropping my voice to a near-whisper. “I was just going to take a break. If you want to come with me.”

She looked at me, then her eyes darted quickly toward the booths where her friends still were, before settling back on mine. Something in her expression shifted, a forced bravery taking over. She offered a small smirk. “You think a lot of yourself.”

I chuckled, the sound low. “That’s not a no.”

“No, it’s not,” she confirmed, a fresh spark in her eye.

I hopped back onto my feet and slid out from behind the bar. Mia gave me a knowing hip-bump as I passed. The blonde stayed rooted to the spot as I walked over to her. She was only a touch taller than me, but enough that I had to tilt my head slightly to meet her gaze. I didn't waste time with more talk. I simply reached out, took her hand, and led her toward the back of the club, down the staff hallway.

She held onto my hand, matching the pace of my steps. A raw, electric thrill ran through my body. God, it had been too long.

As we reached the staff room, I pulled her inside and immediately locked the door behind us. The room was steeped in a dark, bruised light, illuminated only by the faint streetlights filtering through the drawn blinds. I could practically feel the nerves radiating off her, yet she hadn't let go of my hand—if anything, her grip had tightened.

I didn't give her time to overthink it. I pulled her flush against me. She let out a sharp, surprised gasp, dropping her clutch bag as I pushed her back against the door. I held the position for a fraction of a second, a silent invitation for her to pull away or protest. When she did neither, I crashed my lips into hers.

She dissolved instantly.

Her hands shot up, gripping my waist, hauling me tighter to her body. Our kiss was immediately demanding, a fast, growing hunger. Her hesitant confidence from the bar surged into reckless energy.

I glided one hand up her arm, burying my fingers in her hair, angling her head to deepen the contact. A low moan caught in her throat as my other hand slid down, slipping beneath the hem of her dress to firmly grip her thigh. Her hold on my waist spasmed as her tongue tentatively flicked my bottom lip. I opened for her instantly. Nice. She was getting bolder.

As our tongues fought for dominance, the hand on her thigh moved higher, lifting the skirt of her dress with it, settling hard on her hip. I pulled back from her mouth, breaking the kiss entirely as she gasped for air, and pressed hard, open-mouthed kisses across her jaw and down the column of her throat.

“Fuck,” she gasped as my teeth lightly grazed her pulse point. Her hips instinctively bucked into mine, and I smirked. Damn, I loved this. One minute she was all cool smirks and confidence, the next she was unraveling in my arms. I sucked lightly on her neck. One of her hands left my waist and threaded into my hair, pulling me tighter to the spot. I sucked harder, and she let out a deep groan.

This woman was either too drunk to realise the mark I was leaving, or she simply didn't care. Either way, I wasn't stopping then, not when the tightening grip in my hair sent a raw jolt of need through my body.

Her hand on my waist glided down, cupping the curve of my arse. She squeezed as she shifted, planting her hand on the back of my thigh, pulling me impossibly closer. I loved how needy she had become. Her breathing deepened; I could tell she was fighting for control. I pulled away from her neck, and she let out a small whimper at the loss of contact.

My eyes burned as I looked at the dark mark already blossoming on her sensitive skin. I nibbled on it gently, making her jolt, before pulling back entirely, placing soft, deliberate kisses across her jaw and finally returning to her lips. Her grip on the back of my head tightened, pulling me into a sloppy, teeth-clacking kiss.

I moved my hand on her hip, gliding softly, tentatively, across her underwear. She shivered, her breath hitching against my own as she momentarily stopped kissing me—anticipating.

I pulled back a fraction. I might have been all in, but I wasn't a maniac. I could clearly taste the wine on her lips and smell it on her breath; I wasn't about to be a sleaze who exploited a drunk woman without explicit consent.

She searched my eyes, a silent question as to why I had stopped. Then, she kissed me gently. Her hand dropped from my arm to my hand, which was hovering beneath her skirt. She cupped mine with her own, pushing it firmly to make contact with her incredibly wet underwear. Shit. She was soaked. I mentally patted myself on the back, taking every shred of the credit. I smirked into the kiss, and she blushed furiously.

I didn't let her embarrassment take hold. I nibbled gently on her lip as I pressed my hand more firmly against her crotch, making her shiver and moan.

I hummed against her mouth, brushing my fingers more purposefully against her knickers, tracing the path of her folds. Her head tipped back against the door and I smirked. I asked, my voice low and dominating, “How long have you stood at my bar, dripping, waiting for my attention?”