Madeline
I had been in the city for nearly four years now. I was on my last semester at school, nearly graduated, and it only just occurred to me the other night that I hadn’t done much in the city. My nights were filled with late night latte runs and more studying than could possibly be healthy for a twenty-four-year-old woman. I decided I needed to be out living my life. Yes, my degree in art was incredibly important to me, as was being here in the city at college. My father had made me stay two years after graduating high school to help with the failing farm—which I’d been okay with, because I loved him dearly—and it had only been by getting that scholarship and working hard that I’d been able to go to school at all.
But school couldn’t be the only thing in my life, right?
With this sudden realization in mind, I decided I needed a night out on the town. A town I’d barely even seen. I wasn’t a child anymore, so I decided I should go to the bar. I’d barely had more than a couple of drinks over the course of my entire life, thanks to my big brother, but I was of legal drinking age now and it was time to go out and experiment.
I didn’t know where to go so I did a quick search on the internet. Everyone said the best place in town was this place called Shadow—a place within a short distance, meaning the cab fare wouldn’t be outrageous. That was my destination, I decided.
It took about twenty minutes to get there and if I hadn’t been wearing the only nice dress I owned, I would probably have just walked instead of taking the cab. Most of that time was spent sitting in traffic, so I probably could have walked in the same amount of time.
The bouncer took a long time to convince that my ID was real—everyone was saying I still looked like I could be in high school, though I knew my breasts were large for an adult woman, much less a sixteen-year-old—but, finally, he let me in. I was flushed with excitement, the bar surprising me the moment I stepped in. It was dimly lit, and decorated with soft colors that reminded me of wine and midnight. I’d been thinking the place would probably be a loud, raucous place with bikers and bar fights and drunks slumped across the bar. I was relieved to see I was wrong; the place looked classy.
There were bunches of people around, women in fancy, slinky dresses who made me feel like I was still a girl in high school. Their faces were made up with smoky makeup and their hair was done perfectly, sexily. The men they were hanging on were older, but distinguished and still attractive, clearly wealthy in a way that I was certainly not.
I almost talked myself into leaving right then, but I reminded myself that this was about experiencing new things. I had to be brave.
So, I went to the bar, my eyes catching sight of a tall, dark man already sitting at the bar. He was the kind of gorgeous that made women’s knees weak and their hearts beat erratically in their chests. At least, that was how I felt.
I worked hard to be nonchalant, though I knew he probably wouldn’t even notice me. But I was wrong. He bought me a drink and as his sexy accent—Russian, I learned—slid over me like a lover’s caress; I knew I was lost.
I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander over his strong features, that hard jaw, those full lips, those long, dark lashes framing deep, dark eyes. I even let my eyes wander lower over his muscled chest encased in a dark button-down shirt that was almost too small, and lower still to his lap and the slacks that were just loose enough to let me imagine what might be hidden beneath the folds of fabric.
Things I wasn’t supposed to be thinking. Things I had never let myself think before.
But I thought them now. And I lingered on his mouth for a long time, licking my lips as I let myself wonder what it would be like to feel them press against me. I was blushing, I knew, but couldn’t make myself care. That drink had given me liquid courage, made me bold and flirty, and I liked it. I wanted to keep talking to him. And when his hand slid onto my leg, I wanted to touch him.
By the time my back was against that wall and his body was covering mine, I thought I might be going crazy. He had me burning up, my breasts heaving as I tried desperately to catch my breath and calm my raging heartbeat. But I couldn’t. His touch was like fire and passion, my own body responding to him eagerly. I wanted so much from him—everything from him. His hands burned through the thin fabric of my dress, leaving scorching handprints on my hips, making me wish there was less between us. And then his lips were against mine and I was lost. Lost, lost, lost.
His mouth devoured me, consumed me whole until I was his. I just knew it, felt it.
I felt wanton. Desire coursed through my veins like blood and the jackhammering beat of my heart pushed it faster through me until I was spiraling farther into lust. I didn’t care. This wasn’t me, had never been me, but I didn’t care. How long had I played by the rules, been the good girl? My entire life. Wasn’t I entitled to at least a small taste of the things I had been missing?
Maybe I thought so, maybe I didn’t. There was a good chance that I was just rationalizing the way I lifted my leg, bending it at the knee so I could hook it around Nikolai’s back, pulling him closer. I felt him hard against my thigh and felt a new sweep of lust pour through me. This was so new, but I didn’t care if my lack of experience showed or not. I wanted him, desperately.
His hand slipped from my hips down to my lifted leg, trailing until he found the bare skin of my thigh. I sucked in a sharp breath at the contact, electricity surging through me, my skin on fire. His hand moved back up again, but he’d found the hem of my dress and he took that with him. When his fingers brushed against my panties, in a place no man had ever been before, I might have whimpered into his mouth. I couldn’t be sure.
At the same time, he had broken our passionate, explorative kiss so he could drag his tongue hungrily down my neck. I shivered at the contact—at his tongue, his lips, his hands—and when his mouth finally made it to my ear, his hot breath washing over me like a caress, he said, “I’m taking you home.”
And this time I did whimper, only it came out in a velvety, lusty word, “Yes.”
The only downside to this I could see was he had to stop touching me. He pulled away, letting my leg drop back down to the floor, making me feel like I was standing on Jell-O, ready to collapse any moment. He then made a point of smoothing my dress back down over my thigh. A touch that was courteous and still made my blood boil with need. Taking my hand, he led me back through the bar filled with the rich and the beautiful, crossing the room to the exit. He led me outside to a black, sleek-looking car that was probably foreign and looked very expensive.
Like a gentleman, he opened the passenger door for me. “Do you have a car here?” he asked, his voice low and husky, telling me he was impatient but trying to keep himself in check.
I felt a thrill unlike anything else at the idea that I had something to do with that impatience. I shook my head, breathing heavily. “No. I took a cab.”
He nodded once. “Good.” Then he closed the door and I had a moment alone in the car where I noticed the interior smelled like clean leather with a mix of something just barely sweet, almost fruity. The dash looked like it was some sort of fancy computer and the back looked luxurious if seriously lacking in leg room. Not that it mattered, I wasn’t in the back.
The driver’s door popped open and he slipped inside, combing his thick hair back with a large hand—a hand that had just been on my body, sliding over my curves and skin like they belonged to him—before starting the engine. “We’re only a few minutes away,” he told me, and then we peeled out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires.
I laughed at the sudden movement and he looked over at me, his eyes taking a long moment to rake over my body. That look, hot and hungry, was enough to cause the laughter to die in my throat. My breath caught and I realized I was going home with a complete stranger. All I knew was his name, and not even his last name.
It was dangerous and maybe a little stupid, but it was so exciting. I thought my heart might burst. I had never gone home with a stranger before, never done anything like this before, but I wanted it. I wanted him.
I told myself that I was ready. That sex with him was what I wanted.
The drive there was quick but silent. It didn’t matter. The air around us was so charged I could barely breathe, and I saw his hand twitch once or twice as though he was desperate to do something—like reach over to caress my body once again. A thought that had me thinking crazy things.
We pulled up outside a high-rise building, like one of those fancy places you see along the skylines of the biggest cities. It was modern and sleek, with several trees and some weird metal sculpture out front. We got out of the car, Nikolai opened the door for me again, and he put his hand at the small of my back, guiding me into the building. He had to use a keycard to even get into the lobby. There was someone at the front desk idly flipping through a newspaper—Nikolai waved briefly and the man nodded in acknowledgement—then he steered us to the elevator, his hand at the small of my back, jamming a thumb into the button. He became impatient with the elevator and, no longer able to wait, his hand slid down over the swell of my ass and squeezed.
I let out a gasp just as the doors opened, and I saw him grin in the mirrors that lined the interior of the elevator.
When we stepped in and the door closed, he pushed me against the wall and kissed me. It was like fire all over again, his mouth tasting like butter and fresh snow and something sinfully delicious. I groaned into it, melting into him as his hands wrapped around my waist, dragging me to him.
He caressed my body, all over the top of my dress, driving me slowly insane. Just when he reached the neckline of my dress, his fingertips just barely skating across the tops of my breasts, the door pinged and opened.
He pulled away in an instant and escorted me down the hall as though there had been nothing hot and heavy going on in the elevator at all. Except his eyes darted to me every couple of seconds and I could see a fire burning in them unlike anything I’d ever seen before.
I shuddered at the heat in his gaze.
He led me into an apartment that could have been a house. It had to have been bigger than my house back home, much less my crummy, sorry excuse for a studio apartment I had now. It was furnished with modern black furniture, which included a large, plush-looking leather sofa, a coffee table with swirling silver designs etched into the top, and stools set out in a straight line of three along the bar portion of the kitchen counter which had the same swirling silver designs as the coffee table. There were lamps, too, with the same dim kind of lighting as the bar, though in normal tones, and a window at the far end of the wall across from us that was floor to ceiling and might have opened up onto a balcony.
That was all I had the time to take in, because when I turned around to tell Nikolai he had a beautiful apartment, I saw he was already unbuttoning his dark wine colored shirt. I swallowed heavily, my breath catching in my throat as he revealed a wide expanse of smooth, rock hard muscle coated with taut tanned skin.
“Are you ready?” he asked me huskily, his accent thicker with lust and hunger.
I wasn’t, but I was, and even if I wasn’t, I couldn’t resist him. Not now. Not when everything in my body burned with an insatiable need for him. I nodded, because it was all that I could do.
“Good.”