All our dreams
can come true, if
we have the courage
to pursue them.
Walt Disney
“If I step outside for a minute, can I come back in afterwards?” I ask the man guarding the door to what I think is a side exit. I’ve been dancing in the club for almost an hour straight without a break. My feet ache, and I’m in dire need of fresh air.
He glances at me, roaming his eyes up and down the length of my body in a violating scrutiny. It’s the same look the bouncer gave Aimee and me earlier, full of unrestrained judgment, contemplating whether or not we’re good enough to be here.
To my relief, he nods. “Knock three times when you want to come back in.”
As soon as I step outside, the cold New York air relieves the pain building in my temples. It’s quieter out here, but I can still hear the music that’s playing inside. What was initially hypnotic is now giving me a headache, making me desperate for the fresh air.
I press my back against the brick wall of the building, stopping to take in my surroundings. I’m in an alleyway, but the only entrance and exit is the door I just entered from—another security measure, no doubt. The narrow street has been blocked off on either side by mountainous brick walls. They’re painted black, and Rogue’s logo is stamped onto the center of each wall in white spray paint.
It’s odd being in an alley that’s not actually an alley—more like an outdoor room with asphalt for floors and the night sky as a ceiling. I’m grateful for the privacy the surrounding walls give, though, because a dark alley in New York City isn’t exactly the safest place for a girl to be alone at night.
I jump in alarm when the doorway opens beside me. “Just another minute or so. I promise,” I say, turning to face the bouncer.
Instead, I find the guy from earlier.
Blue Eyes.
He’s staring at me with amusement in his face, so different from the coldness I witnessed earlier. “I think this will take longer than a minute.”
My breath catches in my throat as I take in his words and the dark promises they hold. His eyes are devouring me, skimming the length of my body and holding me captive. I scare myself when I take an unconscious step in his direction, wanting to be closer to him. To touch his face, his body, wherever he’ll let me.
I clench my fists, forcing myself to stop that ridiculous line of thought.
Now I understand what heroines in romance novels are feeling when they meet their alpha males. It’s not insta-love. It’s insta-lust, and it’s so strong and overwhelming, it’s easy to confuse the two. Lucky for me, I have my head screwed on tightly enough to realize that what I’m feeling is simply pure, unadulterated lust.
And it needs an outlet.
But this is a man that followed me into an alleyway. A man I neither know nor trust.
I level him with an accusatory glare. “Did you follow me out here?”
“Yes.” There’s no hesitation nor remorse in his voice, just a lingering truth that hangs boldly in the air. He eyes me warily as I take an instinctive step back, pressing myself against the wall again. “Tell me you don’t want me here, and I’ll leave. No questions asked.”
I wonder if he’s telling the truth. If he is, it would do wonders to ease my safety concerns. Because the truth is I do want him here. I want this. I want the promises of pleasure his eyes are giving me. I want to kiss those full lips. I want his hands to ravage me. I want everything.
So, I test him.
“I don’t want you here,” I lie, waiting to see if he’ll leave.
He nods his head and turns around, rapping on the door three times—the signal to open up. I’m relieved to learn he was telling the truth. That I can have this night of pleasure without worrying for my safety.
When the door opens and the guard sticks his head out, I say, “Wait.”
I mean it. I want this. I want him.
Call it instinct or insanity or probably a little bit of both, but I can already tell that, when he touches me, it’ll be electrifying. Just from looking at him, I can see that this is a man who takes what he wants. Right now? It’s me. Tomorrow? Who cares? That’s not what one night stands are for.
Blue Eyes nods to the security guard, who closes the door again. He turns my way, and the fascinated look of approval on his face sends a shiver of delight down my spine. “You were testing me.”
I nod. “I was.”
He takes a step closer to me. “And if I hadn’t passed?”
I hook a finger into his belt loop and pull him nearer. “We’d probably be in the same position, only I’d be lying to us both when I tell you I don’t want this.”
He places his hands against the wall on both sides of my head, caging me in. “And now?”
My left toe brushes against his ankle, trailing its way slowly up the length of his leg until it’s hooked around his waist. I use it to push him forward until we’re pressed tightly against one another.
“I don’t have to lie. I want this.”
His lips are on mine before I can blink, his tongue fucking my mouth the way I hope he’ll do to my body. I respond eagerly, my tongue brushing against his and savoring the distinct taste of spearmint and amaretto. It’s a filthy kiss, harsh and violent and messy, filled with the sinister promises I can’t wait for him to unleash on my needy body. It’s unfathomable how much I want this, how much I’ve thirsted for this since my eyes connected with his and saw the desire lurking within their depths.
His lips move to the skin below my ear, sucking lightly before he bites down gently, sending a jolt of pain straight to the stiff peaks of my nipples. An animalistic groan escapes my mouth as his tongue flicks over the sensitive skin he bit, lapping away the delectable pain. His lips trail down my throat, meeting his hands at my breasts.
He pinches a nipple with one hand, while his mouth sucks roughly on the other pebbled bud through the thin fabric of my dress. My hands tangle themselves into his hair, pushing him lower, wanting him there. He lets me, chuckling at my lack of patience, while purposely trailing his fingers slowly along the length of my inner thighs in a teasing touch.
I groan, taking the leg that was wrapped around his waist and hooking it over his shoulder. The movement lifts the skirt of my dress higher, exposing more of my skin to the crisp fall air. He leans forward and digs his nose into my sensitive flesh, dipping it into my slit through the cotton fabric of my underwear.
Hooking my fingers into the elastic band of my panties, I shove them downward, too eager for the skin to skin contact to wait. The vibrations of his responding growl send my hips thrusting forward, forcing our lips to clash.
I cry out at the feel of his tongue, tracing the length of my mound. He takes one of my lips fully into his mouth, sucking softly, before releasing it. The pad of his thumb brushes against my clit, spreading the wetness from my opening onto it and rubbing in slow circles.
When his lips take over his thumb’s position on my clit, I nearly lose myself. He swirls his tongue around it, teasing me with the slow pace. I’m panting by the time one of his fingers enters me, pumping into my body with ease. A second finger joins the first one, and I ride them both, savoring the feel of his warm mouth on my clit and his long fingers in my body. With each thrust of his tongue, I can feel myself reaching the edge, coming closer and closer to the release I desperately need.
This is it. This is the moment I’ve waited for for years. The end of my dry spell. The beginning of ecstasy. I’m so close to coming. I can feel it in the quickening of my heartbeat; the phantom taste of his tongue in my mouth, his lips against mine; and the scrape of my nails against the nape of his neck.
I moan loudly, my voice thick from pleasure. “I’m close. I’m close. I’m so close,” I say, gasping between each breath.
He pulls back suddenly, and the loss of his warmth is replaced by the still coolness of the air. “Can it wait?” he asks, his tone sharp and demanding.
“W-what?” I ask, struggling to settle myself through the dense haze of lust.
It’s unnavigable.
Is he…?
I look down at him, following his line of sight. He’s still staring at my exposed flesh down there.
My jaw drops.
Did he just ask my vagina if it can wait? To come?
Because the answer is a resounding no. It’s waited, like, two years to come on someone’s hand that’s not my own.
I reach down and tug my underwear up from its position on my knees. When it’s properly protecting me, I quickly cover it with my dress, realizing belatedly how ugly nude, cotton underwear is. I might as well be wearing granny panties.
There’s a resounding silence as I wait for him to stop staring at my now covered crotch. When I chance a glance down at his handsome face, I discover that he’s not staring at me. He’s staring into space—in the direction my ugly ass panties once were. I side step discretely, putting as much distance between us as possible.
He may be the hottest man I’ve ever seen, but I don’t hook up with Crazy. Even if he comes with a mouth capable of inconceivable pleasures. My eyes dart to the door, wondering if I can make a quick escape without him realizing I’m leaving.
“Fine,” he says, and I gather that he isn’t talking to my girly bits.
He’s talking into an earpiece. It’s smaller than the coiled ones the guards are wearing. Whereas theirs are larger and wired, his is wireless and tiny, fitting entirely into his ear and camouflaged by its flesh-like color.
He stands up, straightens his suit, and barks, “I’ll be there in a minute.”
With that, he raps on the door three times and enters the club as soon as it opens, leaving me to gawk by myself, my dry spell still intact.
No apologies.
No goodbyes.
The douchebag doesn’t even give me the courtesy of looking at me.