One night? What in the hell was she talking about? One night.
Bull. Fucking. Shit.
That wasn’t going to be enough.
I hadn’t figured out what was going on in her head, but whatever it was didn’t feel just right. I didn’t want us to be some one-night stand. Furthermore, I wasn’t going to be some guy who she hooked up with before whatever plan she had went into effect.
So I wasn’t going to have sex with her. Probably.
Okay, I was going to do my damndest not to, but kissing her neck was a terrible way to start my whole not-fucking-her strategy.
Her hand ran over my fingers at her hip, and she rolled her head to the other side, inviting me to sample it in comparison. I loved how she relaxed against my touch. She was warm, and her skin was sweet, like licking ice cream off your fingers.
I moved her thick red hair to the other side. It smelled like flowers.
Roses? No. Lilacs or lavender. I’d have to look into that because it was the most inviting scent to ever fill my lungs.
Her right hand moved behind her and held onto my thigh. She fisted my jeans, then abruptly turned in my arms. I rose to my full height again, having bent to kiss her neck. Chest to chest, we had an obvious height difference.
She wasn’t small and fragile looking though. Instead, Dana was perfectly proportioned, but she was shy of the loftiness I needed to kiss her properly.
As it stood, if I picked her up to kiss her how I wanted, I was committing to something.
Less than sex, but more than just a kiss.
God, I needed her.
Cord, do not have sex with her.
Her hands roamed higher up my chest, and she stretched for me on her tiptoes.
I probably wasn’t going to fuck her.
According to her, I only had one night. That only reminded me I needed to make sure I didn’t let things go too far. Yet another reason to bide my time. Meanwhile, maybe I’d change her mind about whatever change she felt she had coming that obviously didn’t include me.
“Cord, please kiss me.”
What a request. She was sweet, even if she tried to hide it.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yes. Don’t worry. I’m not expecting you to stay the night or do the cuddle thing.” I hated that she didn’t sound like she was lying, not that I knew her well enough to tell yet.
Where did she get this crazy idea of male propaganda?
What if I wanted to stay the night and do the cuddle thing, dammit?
Ultimately, I’d done those things before, but the idea of doing those things—with her—was ever more enticing.
Was she using reverse psychology? Did she want me to stay?
God. Women.
There was also a possibility I was over thinking everything. Because up until that very moment, that was all I’d been able to do. Think about her.
“Why not?” I asked.
She kissed my chest through my shirt and impatiently moved against me. “Don’t treat me like I’m a fool. I know what this is, and it’s what I want too. No strings attached. We don’t have to pretend we’re anything.”
Pretend? She was out of her gorgeous goddamned mind. However, I refused to take advantage of whatever it was she was going through in her irrational head.
She took my hand and pulled me to the couch, and I didn’t protest because I couldn’t help myself. I one hundred percent wanted to both fuck and not fuck her.
How in the hell did she do that to me?
I wanted her, but not like that.
She wanted me, but only for the night.
I sat on the grey sofa, and she lowered to the ottoman facing me. Her knees pressed together beside my legs, and I had the strong urge to part them and lift her to my lap.
While I fought the fantasy of doing just that, she cupped my cheeks and inched closer, drawing my face to hers.
First, it was a quick press of her warm mouth to mine. Then she pulled away and looked at me.
I never would have guessed I’d reserved that much control. I wanted her so much, and adrenaline surged to every corner of my body.
Was I going to fuck her?
Again, her lips momentarily met mine, so lightly. Then twice again before she tilted her head to change the angle.
I forced myself to breathe and think of other things until I was confident I’d be able to control myself.
My truck needs an oil change.
I’m out of trash bags at home.
Convince Reuben he needs a bachelor party.
The wedding.
Yeah, she’ll be there. In a dress.
And just like that, her felonious mouth stole my attention.
Kiss. Tilt. Kiss.
That time it was faster, and there was more urgency behind it.
My baser instincts came to life, and I reacted, deepening the kiss. My arms followed suit, and reaching out for her, they ran up the outsides of her thighs in an attempt to bring her even closer.
Her mouth opened and she kissed my top lip and then the bottom one just the same. She was an expert kisser. After each feminine, yet deliciously aggressive move, she’d slow and let me lead. It was a seductive push and pull.
I needed vigilance because I didn’t want her the way she’d mentioned and refused to let her think I was all about some one-night stand kind of end game. Then there was the promise I’d given to Reuben. If she hadn’t been so hell-bent on hooking up, I might not have been about to break my word.
Yet, there we were. Her pulling my shirt over my head; me doing the same to her. Two firm legs straddled mine as she climbed over me and pushed me farther into the cushions. It had been too easy to wrap my arms around her warm skin and feel her glorious fucking mouth on my neck.
Oh, don’t fuck her, Cord.
Once. She said once.
I tried to slow down, and moved my hands from her ribs to her cheeks and pulled back a bit to catch some air. There’d be no sex, but when I looked into her eyes, I was driven to find a compromise.
I could please her before I left, and enjoy doing it. So that wouldn’t really count.
Dana fought me for more and greedily deepened each kiss, nearly killing me as she swept her tongue over mine. Clever fingers left my neck and wandered to my belt.
“Slow down,” I pleaded. Inside my head looked like a video game right before you’re about to die and the screen flashes red as a warning.
Flash. She just rubbed against my dick.
Flash. Fuck. She’s fast with a buckle.
“I can’t stop, Cord.”
Son of a bitch. Game over.
I gave up, not able to hold back any longer. The urge to kiss her like I really fucking wanted to was too damn powerful. Swiftly, I moved her hands behind her and held them together with one of mine.
“Is this okay?” I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, and I usually saved my bondage-for-beginners moves until the second date—that was a joke. Still, I needed to literally take measures into my own hands if I was ever going to make it out of that night alive and unfucked.
That was the mission I accepted.
She tested my hold, then the sexiest smile spread across her face. From the position I was holding her in, her breasts heaved forward in the lacy white bra she wore.
She was the fucking devil with lips kissed pink, and I’d never wished to vacation in Hell more than in that single moment. I caught her mouth with mine quickly, mostly to force myself to stop staring. I tightly shut my eyes to escape the provocative vision of her.
Meanwhile, in my pants, my dick protested, threatened to emancipate from my body, and then sue me for negligence.
After a few seconds, I marginally found my bearings.
Usually, I didn’t open my eyes when I kissed, but for some reason, I did just that, and she was looking at me.
“Whoa. What are you doing?” I asked into her mouth around our kiss.
“I don’t know.”
“Why are your eyes open?”
“Maybe I like looking at you.” She rose up on her knees enough to press herself against me again. The move also allowed me to move my hand to her center, and I boldly ran my fingers over the denim seam between her legs.
She rocked into my touch. “You don’t have to do that.” Her mouth said one thing and her actions said another, complete contradictions. It was clear she liked it, her body told me.
I was glad to oblige, but it was a weird position, and she had her pants on. These situations don’t happen often, but there we were. Smack-dab in the middle of Can’t-touch-this-land considering I didn’t have rubbery, double-jointed Stretch Armstrong arms.
Since I held her hands, I drew her closer to me. Leaning forward, I kissed her chest as I felt for her shoe. Luckily, I got it on the first try.
She was wearing heels, but fortunately they were the ones that were easy to pop off without having to call a locksmith. When the first one hit the floor, I passed her wrists to my other hand and took off the second.
Her creamy white skin felt like silk on my tongue. I begged God to give me another chance—another night.
Please let me taste her for hours on end, at least once before I die.
That night, I would settle for using my hand. It was all I could bare.
I scooted to the edge of the couch and requested, “Stand up, Dana.”
She didn’t hesitate.
Since I was still holding her wrists behind her back, I steadied her as she stood off to one side. I unfastened the buttons on her fly—too many buttons if you’d ask me. It seemed like there were dozens before her jeans were loosened and easy for me to lightly tug down her legs.
She shimmied to help them down. All the while, she looked at me, slowly blinking. Her thinly covered nipples were hard, and as she kicked her jeans off completely, I took one of them in my mouth through the fabric.
Why did she have to be in Reuben’s stupid ass fucking wedding?
Why did she have to have some plan that apparently didn’t include sleeping with me more than once?
Why was I just meeting her now in a town the size of Lenox?
Why did her kiss and her smell and her eyes have to be so arresting?
More importantly, why was I letting all those things keep me from what I wanted?
Her.
On her own, she climbed back onto my lap, and I let her hands go. But when they headed for my cock again, I once more redirected them to another location. I brought them around my neck.
“Keep these up here.”
She leaned into me, sucked my earlobe into her mouth and softly bit it. “Why?”
“Because …”
Because I’m about to lose my shit.
Because I’m three seconds from rolling you over on that couch and kicking my pants off too.
Mostly, because I couldn’t. It wasn’t the right thing or the right time. I had to figure her out some more.
“… just because.” I didn’t have more of a reason to offer in terms of words, but as my hand slid up her leg, she did what I’d asked and kept her hands up north.
She was wet, and I swallowed a sound that welled up in my throat as I felt her through her panties. My fingers mapped her, and when I could no longer take not touching her bare skin, I moved the thin material to the side and let my middle finger sweep through her center.
She released a seductive sigh against my neck and my heart hammered in my chest.
Of course, as my luck would have it, she had Dream Pussy. Wet. Shaved. Perfect lips. I quickly brought my fingers to my mouth for a lick. I was right. She tasted like Dream Pussy, too.
Fuck my life.
“Stop doing that stuff,” her breathy voice pled.
My hand snuck between us again. “What stuff?” I teased her with one finger and circled her entrance until she bucked and lowered herself on my middle digit.
She whimpered, and her breath hitched. “All this extra stuff.” She lay her head on my shoulder and moaned again when I added another finger. I barely had to look for the spot she wanted me to stroke, because she positioned herself there and moved against my hand, grinding her clit against my palm.
“I’m not doing anything that I don’t want to, Dana,” I lied. I’d rather it be my dick buried inside her opposed to my fingers, but, at the same time, it was no hardship to give her pleasure. “Just stop thinking.”
Her back began to arch, and her thighs flexed as she tensed.
Was she about to come already?
Dream Pussy with a hair trigger?
I’d found the sexual Holy Grail. A knock-out beauty with an interesting personality and a sharp tongue who liked to fuck. A woman who came faster than I did into a many tube sock in my teen years.
Had I been drugged?
“Shake your hand a little,” she requested. “Oh, God. Yes. Just like that.”
A woman who told me what she wanted?
Drugs were the only answer. I was passed out somewhere, dreaming all of it.
She sat up ramrod straight and kissed me ferociously, all the while getting off on my hand.
My dick would likely never be soft again. I’d be the guy with the permanent boner, and it was totally fucking worth it.
Dana did this thing when she came. She tensed around my fingers and relaxed. Then she let out this sound that was equal parts satisfied moan, sigh of relief, and lazy giggle.
“You should stay,” she suggested.
Nope. No. Fucking. Way.
“I have to go.” I didn’t really have to, but if I wanted any chance at seeing her again, leaving was the only road getting me there.
I stroked her back with my free hand as she caught her breath.
A few minutes later, I slowly withdrew my fingers from her. Then she got up and walked away.
Painfully smashing my dick down against my leg, I tried to adjust my balls so that everything didn’t feel like it was crammed onto one side, but nothing really helped. So I threw my shirt on and walked to the door. I wasn’t about to leave without saying something, but I needed to get the fuck out of there—and quickly, before I changed my fucking mind.
She reappeared wearing a short bathrobe, which didn’t help my cock at all. If you’ve never had to walk around with an erection, it’s hard to explain. Just imagine you have to carry something heavy with your genitals. It was like some force pulling them in the opposite direction, weird and uncomfortable. In severe conditions, like mine, it kind of hurt.
My case was most aptly described as terminal. I had one raging, terminal hard-on.
The Terminator, if you will, of boners. If he ever left, surely he’d be back.
Or maybe it was the Die Hard of boners. It didn’t matter, the point was I was hard as fuck, and it wasn’t going anywhere until I took care of it. Disappointingly, it would be a one man-show.
It was one of those things I couldn’t hide easily, but she showed me mercy. Thank God.
Barefoot and cloaked in terrycloth, she tiptoed up to me and said, “Good night.”
Then she leaned up, braced herself with a hand on my stomach, and reached for my lips. One lightning fast smack on the mouth, and she was done.
Like a ninja, she had the door open and guided me out with her hand.
“Bye, Cord.”
I wasn’t a pussy, but she was damn near cold. Of course, I was fucking vulnerable standing there with an erection that could pick up HBO.
“Good night, Dana.”
Then I did something so fucking weird that it still boggles my mind. I patted her on her fucking head and left.
I replayed it over and over in my mind. When I got home and into the shower, and through jacking off both times, the sight of her face when I gave her two swift taps on her pretty red head never faded.
Who in the fuck does that?
Where in the hell had I lost my game?