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I’m reaching across the sticky wooden bar to grab my glass, when a deep, growl of a voice next to me says, “I’ll take one of those too, please .”
There is a man standing next to me, unlike any man I’ve ever seen in my life. He is beautiful, with the build and face of a boxer at the beginning of his career. He has huge, crystal blue eyes and scruffy, sandy blonde hair, but his beard almost has a tinge of red to it. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt and a corduroy jacket over snug jeans that show off his… everything. I try not to stare, but I realize he’s staring at me too .
“I’d offer to buy you a fresh one, but I don’t want you to think I’m trying to get you drunk and take advantage of you,” he says in a voice so low, and so deep, it sounds like pure sex. There is a hint of an accent, as if he moved here from England as a kid .
“Who says I’d object?” I answer before thinking about it. What are you doing, Harlow? You can’t be this reckless . But he’s inching his stool closer to me, and his leg brushes the bare skin of my thigh where my skirt has crept up just a little bit, and I feel my common sense slipping away .
He laughs lightly, and it’s an endearing, soft, boyish chuckle that I didn’t quite expect given his intense exterior. “You’re a little more sassy than I expected .”
“What did you expect?” I ask, sipping my gin .
“You to tell me to fuck off, honestly. I can’t say I hit on women in bars a lot, but it seems like the appropriate response. If I were a woman, I’d tell me to fuck off .”
“A handsome man like you? That’s crazy.” I raise an eyebrow at him. “You’re odd .”
“So I’m told. Do you want to get out of here ?”
I look around at the other people in the bar, suddenly convinced he’s talking to someone else. There is no way this god of a man is asking me to leave the bar with him right now. There is no way a man this handsome would ever ask me something like that. But he’s looking right at me, and the only other people in the bar are Ben, an old man alone in a corner booth, and a couple making out by the bathroom. I drink down the entirety of my gin and tonic, and turn to him .
“Where do you want to go ?”
You’re losing it, Harlow. You’ve had too much to drink. Settle down …
“We could take a walk. See where we end up. New York is a great city for taking a walk .”
Like he said, I should tell him to take a hike. Thanks to my job, I know better than most women that wandering off with a strange man for “a walk” is a terrible idea. But there is something about him, something I can’t put my finger on. There is a sadness in his eyes, and a desire that mirrors my own. He is looking for a night of trouble too, and maybe …
We’ve found it in each other .
* * *
I don’t quite remember how it happened, but I’m sitting on a soft bed in a hotel three blocks from the bar. Across from me this muscular, stoic man is pouring us whiskey into two rocks glasses as my hands shake in my lap. I barely remember the walk here, only that it was quiet, except when he stopped to press me up against a building and kiss the life out of me. That’s when I knew I was in for some trouble .
I’m lost in his cool blue gaze. There is something about this man that captivates me. That held my attention long enough to get me in this situation: in this room, on this hotel bed covered with a fluffy duvet. He doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get into my pants. If anything, he’s taking his time as we watch each other, surveying each other, cautiously. He crosses back over to where I’m sitting, and plops down next to me on the bed. I can feel the warmth from his body reaching mine, even from where he is sitting .
He reaches out to me, and runs his long fingers up and down my bare arm. His languid caresses send my heart rate into overdrive. Christ . Can he hear it thundering? I wonder as I try to calm my jangled nerves .
He stares at me, mesmerizingly, his huge sparkling eyes taking in every inch of me. I feel as if he’s a leopard, and I am his prey. With a gentle hand, he lowers me back on the bed, so I’m lying down, and his strong form is hovering over me. He brings his hands up to my face, and he tenderly pushes my hair back, touching and stroking it, fanning and arranging it out on the white swath of the bed. His thumb lightly brushes over my brows, around and down over my cheeks, over the bridge of my nose and down to my lips. His hungry eyes follow the lazy trace of his fingers .
Bending over me, he brings his face closer to mine, stopping a hair’s breadth away from my lips. My lips tingle as if he has been kissing them all night, when he hasn’t touched them since we were out on the street. He doesn’t move any closer until my lips part. As soon as they do, he kisses me with a passion and heat that I have not felt from another man in years, perhaps ever. It sets something inside me aflame. His tongue snakes into my mouth and explores me with a biting intensity, licking and rubbing along mine .
Where the hell did this man come from? More importantly, where has he been all my life? He needs to bottle whatever it is about him, his alpha male aura, his intense vibe, and sell it. He would make millions—maybe even billions .
His kisses leave my panties drenched. My lips are swollen, throbbing and tingling with every lick, nibble, and suck from him. Our mouths explore each other for what seems like hours. I can’t get enough. He tries to pull away, but I won’t let him .
Chuckling, he finally breaks our connection and stands up, pulling me along with him. He removes my jacket, tossing it onto the leather wing chair. Unbuttoning my silk blouse, he drags it free from the waist of my black pencil skirt. It joins my jacket, tossed aside. My breathing quickens as his rough, callused hands rub over my skin. He seems to moan or hum, the sound coming from deep in his chest, as he caresses me. Turning me around, he unhooks and unzips my skirt, pulling and tugging it down over my curvy hips .
After he has removed my clothing, including my underwear, he turns me to him and places my hands on his chest. I undress him, his hands moving all over me, drinking me in as I pull his clothes from him .
His corduroy jacket and tight black shirt displayed his broad shoulders and muscular physique quite well. What they hid makes my mouth water and my pussy throb. Forget about his dirty blonde hair and his blue eyes; these features are common. He has an intensity I can’t pull away from, and his cut, muscled body, veins and sinews proudly showing under his pale skin, keeps me fascinated. Tattoos decorate his biceps, forearms, chest and back. A detailed depiction of the Madonna and Child spreads over one well-formed bicep, and I trace it with my fingers .
My hands move down his chest, over his taut, washboard abs, down to the most beautiful cock I have ever seen. It’s long, smooth and thick without being monstrously so; dusky, lightly veined. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I pull him to me. I can't wait to taste him. I kiss just below his belly-button and watch the muscles in his abs and thighs tighten and flex, as thick as tree trunks. Hmmm... I think I might play with him a little . Grasping his shaft in my hand, I pump him slowly, then press it along his belly pointing straight up. Kissing and sucking down his body, I finally focus on the peachy sac below .
I suck one small globe into my mouth, pulling on it gently before I do the same to the other, licking up the underside of his cock and stopping below the corona, sliding my tongue torturously slowly along the seam on its underside. Hearing his moans and sharp intakes of breath spurs me on. I continue my teasing, stopping before I put my mouth where he really wants it. Finally, he grabs my hair and yanks my head back. A smile tugs at my lips; he’s waited long enough .
In a low, raspy voice he says, "Open your mouth ."
How can I say no, when he asks so nicely ?
