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Chapter One
As I turn the barstool I say, “I don’t want…” Now, the thing I intend to say isI don’t want to be bothered. I guess I’m a superficial and simplistic girl because what I say is, “…to trouble you.”
The reason that makes me superficial and simplistic is standing in front of me. I’m responding to, “You look like you could use a drink and a sympathetic ear. What if I provide both for you.” I mean, it’s nice and all that but it’s not a great pickup line and I’m not here to get picked up.
But then I see him.
And this guy in front of me is stunning. I put him in his early thirties, which I guess makes him about ten years older than me. His clothes look… How do I explain it? You know how people wear clothes so they appear like they use them for functional reasons but they don’t? I mean, they wear big boots even though they never step off a sidewalk. They wear fingerless gloves and they’ve never worked on the docks or in a warehouse or even outside of an office in their lives. They live in the city and try to look like an authentic cowboy, that sort of thing.
This guy wears clothes like that but not as a fashion statement. I mean, this guy displays everything all of those people want except naturally and not through a carefully constructed look. He wears jeans that fit him but don’t look like their… Well, how the hell do I say that he looks like a mountain man but he isn’t trying to look like a mountain man? He wears jeans and a flannel shirt. It might seem silly if not for the fact that the man looks like some kind of deity. His body is muscular as hell, and I can almost see the definition on his chest and arms through the flannel.
He's tall, and his face is amazing, too. He has very handsome features a full beard that’s dark brown just like his dark hair. The most incredible thing about his face, though, are his eyes. They’re big and almost brown but almost green at the same time. They’re striking, really. I mean, they’re captivating.
Anyway, he responds with, “I was born for trouble. You don’t want to interfere with my destiny, do you?”
Well, that’s a lot better than the pickup line. So, he’s charming, too. “If you insist,” I say.
He smiles and calls to the bartender. We order and he says, “How about we drink them in a booth?”
I’m never this forward but I say, “Do you think they’ll let us leave with the drinks? I have a room upstairs.”
His eyes flash with what is unmistakably lust, and that thrills me. I mean, I know I’m attractive or, at least, not unattractive. Feeling okay with how I look, though, is a whole heck of a lot different than having a man who looks so damned sexy interested in me. “Well,” he says, “I say we don’t bother to ask but just sneak out. I have a bottle in my room anyway, so if we have to, we can just break that out.”
“Your room,” I say with a smile. “Even better.”
“I’m Carlton,” he says, “but everyone calls me Carl.”
“Annamarie,” I say, “but everyone calls me Anna.”
The drinks arrive and he drops money on the bar top. “Better than signing for the drinks,” he says with a smile, “in case we have to elude capture, we don’t want to make it easy on them.”
He offers me his hand and I take it and as we walk, I slip it into his arm. If we’re breaking any rules by leaving the bar and heading to the elevator, nobody notices or, at least, nobody stops us. We get to the elevator, and while we wait, he says, “So, are you going to let me be a sympathetic ear?”
I laugh and say, “I’m going to start working with a friend of mine. I’m just nervous about the life change.”
“What’s the business?” he asks.
I laugh and say, “You know. You’re very kind for wanting to be a sympathetic ear but I think there are other ways you can help me feel better tonight.”
As we step into the elevator, he says, “My father raised me to always take care of a lady.” He presses the button for his floor and adds, “and my mother made sure I understood that meant listening to her, not deciding for her.”
I giggle a little bit, which embarrasses me, of course. But I manage to say, “Well, maybe I’ll let you do some deciding, too.”
I guess that’s why the moment we’re in the room, he decides to kiss me pretty damned passionately.
I actually drop the damned drink I’m holding to the floor. He doesn’t seem to mind that at all. I sure as hell don’t. I don’t know if his drink ends up on the floor or not. I will say that his hands move over my body in very short order. I’ll also say that the two of us are clawing at each other’s clothes and behaving sort of like characters in a movie. You know those scenes when there’s obviously sexual tension and then the film just cuts to the two characters tearing at each other’s clothes.
Yeah, that’s what’s happening right now.
And he’s very effective at getting my clothes off. I’m not as effective at getting his off but the two of us nonetheless end upon the bed naked. As he kisses me, I take hold of his cock (a very, very impressive cock indeed) and adjust myself to guide him into me. I’m sure as hell ready for it.
He isn’t though.
The man moves down. My hand slides off his cock, and he kisses right down to my pussy and puts his mouth on me. A few guys have gone down on me in the past. Well, sorta, anyway. Its usually a kind of token gesture right before sex. I always get the feeling they just want to be thought of as guys who gave a damn about how it feels for me. It’s never very good and if it feels like it might become good, it ends too soon to matter.
But Carl isn’t performing any kind of token gesture at all. On the contrary, I can tell almost instantly that this isn’t just a launching pad to getting his dick where he wants it to be. On the contrary, he goes about this with the intention of staying awhile.
Chapter Two
