The bartender leaned against the polished, scarred wood of the bar. “Another one?”
Elise looked at the bottom of her glass and debated what the correct answer should be. Would she rather drive home or call a cab?
“Yes, let the lady have another.”
She turned her head at the man who had come to straddle the barstool next to hers. Short auburn hair and ice blue eyes. Arms covered in bright, colorful tattoos and fingernails painted black. Hot didn't cover it. But it was the smile combined with a sex appeal that reached out and enveloped her from head to toe. She wanted him. Right here, right now.
She cleared her throat, found her voice, pleased at its steadiness. “I appreciate it, but no. It’s time for me to call it a night.” In his bed would be a nice place to do that, but she’d called a halt to all men for a while. Even gorgeous ones with hard cocks pressed against worn denim, and solid muscles framing lean perfection beneath faded black.
God, she needed to go home. He was too tempting and her bruised ego was too vulnerable.
“Why?”
Yes, why indeed. “It’s ... time. Been a long day.”
He reached out and stroked the back of the hand she had wrapped around the empty glass. “Going home alone?”
Would you like to come home with me? “Yes, alone.”
“Hmm. That doesn’t sound like fun at all. Tell you what. Why don’t you let me buy you another drink and you can fill me in on why it’s been such a long day. I’m a pretty good listener.”
He had a delicious, well-defined mouth and Elise wanted to let her lips fall down on his. His deep voice rolled over her like a soft, warm blanket. “The guy I’d been seeing ended things today. I got the text at lunch.”
“Text? You serious? Dumbass man.”
She tried not to smile, but couldn’t help it. It was only a small one and when he answered her with one of his own, she swore her panties melted.
No. I was the dumbass in this one. I knew better and now, well, hindsight is twenty-twenty.” She shrugged. The bartender chose that moment to set another rum and Coke in front of her. The smell of the alcohol made her feel lightheaded. Whoa. She didn’t need to drink it. It was that strong. Instead of calling a cab, she would be sleeping on the floor beneath the stool she sat on.
“What did you know better about?”
“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” She took a small sip of her new drink. The rum burned going down and it felt good. Tattoo Man would feel better, but …
“I do.”
"Smooth. Too smooth. And married.”
“Oh.” Tattoo Man shook his head. “Yeah, that’s never good. Are you?”
“Am I what? Good? Yes.”
He grinned at her and heat flooded her cheeks. She had no idea where that teasing, suggestive comment had come from, but she liked it, liked that she made him grin. He was devastating to look at.
“Mmmm. I’ll give you a chance to prove it later. Are you married?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then why waste your time on a man who is?”
She never would have if she’d known. Where were all the damn warning signs? “I didn’t know. See, that’s me being the dumbass. He gave all his numbers, his address. There were never any restrictions on communication or seeing one another.” She could call him whenever, though she always let him call her. She’d never been one who could chase a man, even one she was dating. She could see him every night, every day. He’d introduced her to people he worked with, friends he hung out with.
She been wracking her brain all afternoon trying to figure it out. There had to have been something that hinted at there being a Mrs. But Elise couldn't find it.
“When did you find out?”
“In his message. He said he was going back to his wife.” And there it was. All over again. The shock, the humiliation. There hadn’t even been a tan line on his ring finger. She’d looked.
It seemed obvious that going back meant he and his wife were separated, but still …
She lowered her forehead to the bar. That twinge inside her gut, gnawed at her. Where had her character judgments gone so wrong? When had her ability to read people become so flawed? She used to be able to read people because she watched more than she talked. What had happened that she couldn’t choose a guy anymore who was worth anything, who wasn’t a loser or a liar? What had happened to her once-upon-a-time, never-let-her-down intuition?
Tattoo Man leaned in close. His breath whispered into her ear, and fanned across her skin. She had to fight the shiver, fight not to lift her head, fight to keep from turning it a fraction of an inch to her right. “Let me take care of you.”
And then there was hot and yummy next to her. Her intuition was screaming loud and clear in regard to him.
Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t. You. Dare. Ask. “Take care of me how?” Dammit. She couldn’t help but ask though. No man had ever said those words to her. It didn’t matter right then what he wanted to do to her, how he meant those words. All that mattered was that he’d said them, offered them.
He smelled of beer, of smoke, and of every sinful thought she’d ever had. Guys like Tattoo Man never looked at her twice. Normal, everyday, business men did. They were the ones she thought she needed. They were the one’s she thought were like her. Corporate. Buttoned-up. He asked why she would waste her time with a married man. Had she known, she wouldn’t have.
Damn.
Talk about a wake up call.
Or wake up text.
Her blood flowed like lava through her veins, hot and thick. Looking at him, her imagination ran wild. Thoughts of all he could do with that voice, those hands, that mouth, and that body. Tattoo Man was the type of hot-blooded man she’d always wanted, but never the type she ended up attracting.
Until now, that is.
He winked and one corner of his mouth tilted up as he sat back again. “You. Me. A bed. Naked. Fucking all thoughts of that loser right out of your pretty head.”
She should’ve been shocked at his frankness. She shouldn’t have been turned on by it.
He couldn’t be serious, could he? The look in his eyes told her that yes, he was very serious. Oh wow. When? Where? For how long? “I don’t think—”
He gave a sharp shake of his head and reached for her drink. “No,” With his eyes trained on her, he took a swallow that would have choked her going down, but didn’t faze him at all. When he put the glass back down, half the liquid was gone. “This isn’t one of those thinking moments. This is one of those go-for-it ‘doing’ moments. I want you to smile big and bright and I want to see tears in your eyes because you’ve come so much, because you’ve come so hard. I want you to walk funny because I've been inside you for hours and you don’t me to stop.”
Well … She had no words. None. When put like that, how could she? And how could she say no?
N.O.
No.
But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She might not get the happy ending with Tattoo Man, but he was offering her a down and dirty good time. He was offering her the kind of naughty sex she’d only ever dreamed about and she couldn’t, wouldn’t say no to him. She wanted to be able to say she’d had a bad boy.
She’d think about the consequences later. Then, she’d have that talk with her intuition and find out why it was only now deciding to start issuing warnings. For tonight, though, she was going to make at least one fantasy come true.
She’d swear off men, for sure, tomorrow.
She grabbed her purse and began to pull her wallet out, but he stayed her hand and the contact was electric. Jolts of hunger and need traveled through her body. She knew he felt it, too, when the ice blue of his eyes darkened, taking on a smoky-blue hue.
“It’s on the house.”
His voice had deepened as well, rumbling through her. They said fantasy was always better than real life, but she was going to have to disagree in this instance. The reality of him was going to be better than any erotic dream she'd ever had. “What about the other drink? I still need to pay for it.”
“That one’s on the house, too.”
“Oh.” She was fresh out of stalling tactics. “Well, in that case …”
Vinter grinned again. He couldn’t help it. He’d watched her from the moment she walked in. He’d had innocent intentions from the get-go. He only wanted to say hello, talk to her for a few minutes, give her a friendly ear, listen to whatever her story was. That was often why people ended up in a bar for the first time. They didn’t know where else to go. They wanted to get lost in a place no one would know them and some would open up in that safe environment of anonymity.
Vinter had wanted to know what brought her into his bar. Getting her into bed had been the farthest thing from his mind. But, the second he sat next to her and she turned those big emerald eyes on him, he’d been a goner.
Lust flared when she looked at him, and his gut twisted into a knot that slid down to his nuts and tugged hard. She tried to bank it, to mask it, but it remained steady as her eyes traveled up and down his body. Her gaze lingered on his tats, then zeroed in on his mouth. He would have kissed her, but had the feeling the second his lips touched hers, they’d be on top of the bar making out, naked. Not that he would care.
“What’s your name?” he asked, crooking his finger, beckoning her closer.
“Does it matter?” Her steps were hesitant.
Does it matter? Of course to hell it mattered. How was he supposed to whisper it in her ear as he pounded her ass if he didn’t know it? “Yes.”
“It does? Why? This is about sex. Names don’t figure into it.”
Was she serious? It might start out as being about sex, but he had a feeling that it wouldn’t end that way. “Trust me, names do figure into it. You can say not tonight or even tomorrow, but by the end of the weekend, names will figure into it a lot.”
She stood with her lips compressed into a thin line and her eyes looking everywhere except him. “Okay.” He’d relent. For the time being. “I’ll give. You don’t have to tell me yours. Yet. Mine is Vinter.”
Her eyes snapped to meet his. He read in them a relief that he wasn’t going to press the issue. “Thank you. Names are a complication this kind of thing doesn’t need.”
“This kind of thing? What kind of thing do you think this is?”
“You know, a one night stand.”
“Huh.” He nodded once and slid off the barstool, gesturing for her to walk ahead of him. He guessed she missed the part about the weekend.
She stopped short and had he not been paying attention, he’d have bumped right into her. As it was, he was able to catch himself a hairsbreadth from her. When she turned around, her nose brushed his chest and she ended up being the one to stumble back in surprise. He caught her around the back of the neck only to haul her into his body.
Her breath came out on in a whoosh. “The … The drink. Are you sure?” she panted, her gaze locked in the center of his chest.
“I’m sure.” Vinter breathed deep, the warm scents of citrus and spice wrapping around him. She looked up, questions in her eyes, and he smiled. “I own part of the house.”
“Oh.” She gave him a short, crisp nod and maneuvered out of his hold and out the door.
Laughter rang out from behind the bar, but Vinter ignored it.
As soon as he walked outside into the cool night air, she was there, launching herself at him. She pressed him back against the wall and pulled his mouth down to hers.
Her kiss was hungry and desperate. He hated that she’d been forced to need what he could give, but at the same time, he’d give it all and then some.
His arms wrapped around her and he turned them, reversing their positions. With a groan, he tore his mouth away, only to trail kisses along her jaw. “Put your legs around me.”
“N … no, I can’t. I’m too heavy. You can’t hold me up.”
He nipped at her neck and tugged on the skin, wanting to soothe the anxious edge in her voice. “I may be lean, but I’m strong enough. Trust me, I can handle you.”
He reached down and wrapped one hand around the back of her knee, and lifted her leg around his thigh. He pressed into her harder. “Lift your other leg, baby. I’ve got you, I swear. You’re not going to fall.”
Her hands slid up his arms and her fingers gripped his shoulders as she lifted her foot off the ground. He shifted and caught both her legs in his hands as he moved her up the wall with his body. She was heavy against him, but God, it was a glorious weight and he fucking loved it. Her soft body and full curves welcomed him. His cock strained against the zipper of his jeans where the heat from the juncture of her thighs teased him.
“Shit, woman. You’ve got to be the sexiest …” His lips captured hers again before he finished his statement. Tongue met tongue, breath mingled with breath.
Her hands slid up over his head, and his fingers flexed around her thighs and ass, wanting her naked. She rocked against him. He shoved himself against her. And they fucked through their clothes creating a frustrating, delicious friction. Could she feel the ridges of his cock piercings through the layers separating their flesh from one another? He sure as hell could. He felt them rubbing the inside of his jeans. What would she think, how would she react to seeing the metal along the shaft and through the head? He wondered these things and a lot more in the space of a few seconds and then stopped wondering altogether.
Forcing an end to the kiss, Vinter looked into her face, his hips still pumping against her. She tightened around him and gasped air into her lungs with her lower body bearing down. She was going to come. He saw it in her face, felt it in the tensing of her muscles. The street lamps, the parking lot lights showed him everything in her expression.
“Please …”
It was a whisper as he surged up hard. It was a whimper as he ground into her.
When they got naked back at his place, he was taking her this way. Up against the door, the wall, set her on the kitchen counter, anchor her on the back of the couch … He was going to hoist her up and fuck her. There wouldn’t be to be a single surface left untouched in his house when he got through with her.
Then, after a little recovery, they’d start all over again.
Outside.
On the porch, on the hood of his car, in the grass.
He strained, tried not to come in his jeans, but when she stiffened, and bucked, and shuddered in his arms, he lost it. His cock pumped semen against the denim, but he had no complaints. Fucking her like that had been hot, erotic and one of the damn sexiest things in his life.
When he thought he could talk and make some sense, he gave it a shot. “C’mon, let’s go. There’s so much more I want to do to you that doesn’t involve the wall outside my bar.”
“Um, yeah, okay. Let me make sure I’ve got my AmEx card. I wasn’t planning on this tonight.” She was still breathless, her voice soft, a little rough and sexy as hell. But her thoughts were calm, rational. He wanted her to let go of that control.
“Why do you need it?”
“For the room," she said, rummaging through her purse.
“Room? Hotel room?”
“Yeah.” Seconds later she pulled her hand free, holding a gold credit card between her fingers.
Oh hell no. “We’re not going to a hotel. We’re going to my place. Or yours.”
“Oh.” Wide eyes stared up at him. “No. I … No, a hotel is a better idea.”
He leaned in, letting his lips trail kisses along her jaw again. His cock still throbbed in his wet jeans and she wanted a cold bed in a room with cold wall? “My bed is a better idea. It’s the best fucking idea.”
She sighed and he steeled himself against the rejection she was about to deliver. He wasn’t backing down on this, though. He wanted time to explore this hotness, this insane hunger he felt inside. Besides, she couldn’t scream in a hotel room and he wanted her screaming his name.
“Vinter, this isn’t going to work. I only wanted—”
“To be anonymous and unnoticed. To understand why you let him use you, even though you didn’t know he was doing it at the time. You wanted a drink. You wanted to forget. You wanted something different because the normal things aren’t taking care of you like you need. Yeah, baby girl, I know. By morning you won’t remember his name and you won’t want to forget mine.” He lowered her legs to the ground and held her until he was sure she could stand on her own. He wasn’t even sure he could, but where there was a will, there was a way. And he had a will to get her naked, in bed, and have his way with her.
“Your place is too personal. It—”
“Personal is exactly what you need.” He bent his head and tugged at her bottom lip with his teeth. “Very. Personal.” He tweaked one of her nipples. “But if distance in a hotel room is what you want …” He shrugged, then took one, two, three steps away from her and disappeared around the side of the building.
He left the words hanging and wondered how long it would take her to follow. He didn’t have to wait long.
When she appeared, he was leaning against the trunk of his car. Casual. At ease. As though he had all the time in the world. As though he wasn’t wearing a pair of jeans with a load of come in them.
She came to a stop in front of him. “I shouldn’t do this.”
“Tell me why not.”
“I can’t,” she whispered.