the reactions I’m having to him. I do the polite thing and offer my hand.
He nods, slowly and understandingly. “Undoubtedly the wisest decision you’ll make for both of us.”
He takes my hand and, I swear, explosions happen. The stupid type that people read of in books, the ones where you roll your eyes because it’s so ridiculous to think that two people could have such a powerful connection. Blindsided.
“Here.” He opens my fingers and places something in my palm. “Something to remember me by.”
I look down and see a Budweiser bottle top. “Why would I want to remember you?” I ask, glancing up at him.
“Because this night will go down in history.” He smiles as he forces my hand into a fist, locking the bottle top tightly inside my grasp.
He’s right. There’s no way I’ll ever forget my encounter with Jack. “And what do you have to remember me by?”
He reaches forward and ghosts a finger down my cheek, robbing me of cognitive thought. “I have this,” he murmurs, taking his touch to his temple and tapping lightly. “Stored away up here.”
My knees go weak, my blood’s on fire. I don’t need a bottle top because I, too, have his face stored in a safe place in my mind. Jack leans into me and takes the tops of my arms, holding me in place. When his chest meets mine, my knees actually give, and I whimper, my forehead falling onto his shoulder. Oh my God, who is this man?
His lips meet my ear and he spends a few incredible moments breathing into it before he speaks. “If I ever lay eyes on you again, Annie, I can’t promise I’ll do what’s best and walk away next time.”
He breaks away and leaves, signaling to his friend, a fair-haired man, who follows. He gives me a questioning look as he passes me, taking in my obvious condition. Which is what? Thunderstruck. It’s the only way to describe it. I feel like I’ve been tackled from the side without warning, winding me.
My lungs begin to burn, and I realize I’m holding my breath. It all comes rushing out, so fast and so much of it, I lose my stability and make a grab for the bar.
“Hey, you okay?” Lizzy appears by my side, her eyes traveling between me and Jack as he leaves the bar.
“Yes,” I squeak, and the shakes set in, an aftermath of my encounter with the most handsome and intense man I’ve ever come across.
“Well, wasn’t he just the finest piece of arse you’ve ever seen,” Lizzy says, grinning at me, before slowly losing her chirpy face and replacing it with a worried frown. “Hey, you sure you’re okay?”
Jesus, I need to snap out of it. “Yes, fine.” I shake myself back to life and swipe up my water, chugging it down at an epic rate.
“So where’s he gone?” she asks.
“He was a cocky twat,” I mutter indignantly, lying through the skin of my teeth. It’s the only way to go. Telling Lizzy that my body burned with want, not only every time Jack touched me, but with every word he spoke, too, would be a mistake.
“He could have been the rebound screw I need,” Lizzy sighs in dismay.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do. What a waste. You’ll regret this.”
“Maybe,” I muse, casting my eyes to the bar entrance, seeing no sign of him. He’s gone, and it’s beyond me why that’s making my stomach sink. “Anyway, are you okay?” I divert, a sensible move. I need to forget the last half hour ever happened. The best decision I’ve ever made? What, walking away? And what did he mean, for both of us?
“Perfectly fine,” Lizzy says, taking my arm and starting to walk us back to the table.
I look at her. “Micky definitely shouldn’t be your rebound fuck.”
“We’re just flirting.”
I don’t miss the look that passes between them as we approach, but I’m too sidetracked to give the situation the concern it deserves, still tingling from top to toe. I look to the door again, his last words playing on repeat in my mind.
If I ever lay eyes on you again, Annie, I can’t promise I’ll do what’s best and walk away next time.
Chapter 3
The night ends with no further wobbles from me, but lots from my friends. Everyone is totaled, but having only drunk water since my enthralling encounter with one prime example of an unholy delicious man, I’ve maintained a sensible level of tipsiness. I’ve been knocked sideways, and it’s taken the rest of the evening to gather myself.
Lizzy has harped on endlessly about my failure to bed said man; Micky has flirted outrageously with Lizzy, and she with him; and Nat has worn away the wood of the dance floor.
It’s time for taxis.
“It’s been the best night ever!” Nat sings as I herd them like sheep to the line of cabs. She throws her arms into the air and swishes her hair. “And I fucking love my new hair! Do you love my new hair?” She looks to Micky, who now has a wilting Lizzy in a headlock.
“I fucking love your new hair,” he agrees, hiccupping.
“I think it makes you look older,” Lizzy chimes in on a slur.
“Sophisticated!” Nat screeches indignantly. “Eh, Annie?”
“Sophisticated,” I confirm on a laugh. “In you get!” I order, pulling open the door of a waiting cab and guiding them in one by one. Surprisingly, no one trips up the step, but they do all land in their seats with a thud. The taxi man looks at me, his years of experience telling him that I’m the one he needs to communicate with.
“Evening,” I say as I bend to get in, but as I lift my foot from the curb something catches my attention across the road. I straighten my body to look over the roof of the cab as heat creeps through my veins, making my blood pound its way to my heart until it’s racing. If I ever lay eyes on you again, Annie, I can’t promise I’ll do what’s best and walk away next time.
He’s standing on the other side of the road, his hands resting lightly in the pockets of his jeans. And he’s staring across at me, intensity in his gray eyes shining bright, even from across the street. My stomach begins to fill with butterflies.
“C’mon, Annie!” Micky yells, reaching for my hand that’s resting on the door. “Get in!”
The rest of the group starts chanting, possibly telling me to get in the cab, too, but I can’t hear them. Nor can I hear the rush of traffic as it zooms by; the cars passing between me and Jack are just a blur.
I don’t know what to do. Get in the cab—the sensible option—or shut the door and send my friends on their way—the stupid option. I’m not stupid. Never have been.
He looks like a statue, frozen into position. He’s waiting for me to decide, our eyes never unlocking. Then he nods, so very mildly I nearly miss it. He can see my inner conflict. He’s silently willing me to remain where I am, because despite what he said, I could be the one to walk away. To make the decision for both of us.
The choice is down to me. Whether it’s the right decision for both of us is unknown. But right and wrong aren’t featuring in my mind. It’s too consumed by him.
I shift my grip on the door, ready to shut it. “I’ll see you tomorrow, guys,” I say, not looking at them.
“Huh?” they all call in unison, but I ignore them and turn to the cabbie, reeling off their addresses. But my eyes remain focused on Jack across the road. I slam the door, hearing my friends’ confused mumbles, but the driver pulls away before they can protest further. There’s no question that any one of them would leave me alone on a night out, but the alcohol is in my favor tonight. I look to the back of the cab as it drives off, seeing Lizzy looking out the back window, her confusion evident. Then her eyes cast to the other side of the road and her mouth drops open. I just catch the sight of her straight lips before the cab takes a corner.
My phone rings two seconds later. I don’t answer it, but I do send a text, telling her that I’m fine and I know what I’m doing. It’s a lie. I haven’t the faintest idea what I’m doing.
I look up through my lashes to Jack. There’s a road between us—him standing on one curb, me on the other, cars whizzing on by between u
s. And when he steps into the road, having a quick check for traffic, I start backing up as he comes closer, until my back’s pressed into a brick wall. My breathing is shot to bits and my body is trembling like a flame in the breeze.
When he reaches me, both of his palms land on the wall on either side of my head. I’m staring at his neck, afraid to lift my eyes to his face now that he’s this close. “Why didn’t I carry on walking home?” he asks, his frustration clear and present. “Why the fuck didn’t I just carry on walking?”
Because you felt it, too, I scream in my head, feeling dizzy from the intoxicating smell of him—his closeness, the light skim of his groin across my dress.
His hard stare drills holes into me as his face slowly lowers toward mine. I hold my breath and let him brush his lips lightly over mine, our eyes still open and locked. My breath stutters, as does his. Then he pulls away a few inches, his tongue running across his bottom lip, as if tasting what he’s just had. His chest forces against mine from his deep inhale. “Tell me to go,” he whispers, the demand licking its way from the base to the top of my spine. “Tell me.”
“Go.”
“Not a fucking chance.” He swoops in and takes my mouth as if he owns it—deeply, passionately, and with an unfathomable conviction. I’m immediately lost in a haze of want and lust as he grinds into me. Our tongues duel, our bodies press together, and it’s beyond any level of pleasure I thought possible.
I bring my arms up to circle his neck, holding him while we kiss like we might never get the opportunity to do this again. One of his big palms slides onto the back of my thigh and tugs, bringing my leg to his waist. I’m inhaling his groans, swallowing them down into the deepest parts of me, whimpering each time he circles his hips into mine, forcing me harder to the wall.
Holy fucking shit, I’m lost.
“I need more than this,” he says desperately, working his lips to my ear and licking the shell slowly, panting hard. “I need you naked. I need to be inside you. I need you fucking now. Where do you live?”
His question gives me a moment’s pause. I’m as desperate for all of that as he is, but I still have a tiny scrap of sensibility within me somewhere. No way am I taking him to my place. I still have to be wise.
This isn’t me. I’m not reckless, but right now, halting this is impossible. It might be the spontaneity; it might be how illicit this feels; it might be the thrill factor, the danger and the unknown. Or it might just be something as simple as intoxicating chemistry. I don’t know, but I want more.
“Your place,” I counter, nuzzling into his neck, feeling him shake his head.
“I can’t wait that long.” He pulls away from me, leaving me a shaky mess held against the wall. “Hotel.”
I nod, thinking that’s best all round. Mutual ground. He wastes no time, sliding his hand to my lower back and putting some weight behind it. I manage to pry myself from the bricks with his support, but my legs are still quivering beyond my control as we walk urgently down the street. I look at him discreetly out of the corner of my eye, finding him focused forward, his jaw tense. And I definitely detect his trembling beyond mine. We’re both wound up like tightly coiled springs, dying to let loose on each other. It’s new to me—odd and thrilling.
The walk to the nearest hotel is excruciatingly long. Jack approaches the reception desk and asks for a room, and though the lady eyes me knowingly, I don’t even blush.
He gets a room card, marches me to the elevator, and virtually tosses me inside. He doesn’t even wait for the doors to close. He’s on me again, kissing me brutally, pinning me against the back wall and making sure I feel what’s concealed behind the fly of his jeans. He rolls us, now his back against the wall, our mouths going at it like starved lions. The small space is drenched in moans, groans, whimpers, and cries of passion.
When the doors open we practically fall out, our mouths still glued as he walks me backward down the corridor, having a quick check for the right room before he fumbles with the card and kicks the door open. He breaks our kiss and pushes me inside. I stumble back, dazed, disoriented…wanting like I’ve never wanted before.
He starts to unfasten his shirt as he prowls toward me, and once he’s worked his way through his buttons he shrugs it off.
And I gulp down my awe as I take in the smooth planes of his torso, the perfection of his body making me giddy. He can’t be real. Is he real? Am I here?
The way he’s looking at me—the hunger, the resolve. I’ve never felt so wanted and, weirdly, needed. It’s a satisfying revelation. But there’s an alien feeling, too, one that I should probably devote a little more time toward analyzing. How much I need him right now. A stranger.
His hands move to the button of his fly as he comes to a stop before me, just a few feet away. The waistband of his boxers is peeking above his jeans, taut material spanning a taut stomach. My eyes fix on his fingers as he lazily reveals more of himself to me, torturing me, his shallow breathing matching my own. Why so slow now? Why is he dragging this out? I flick desperate eyes to his and find him watching me closely. Then his jeans hit the floor. Followed by his boxers.
The muscles in my legs threaten to give up on me as I stare at him before me, stark naked and beyond stunning. This isn’t me. I don’t bend to a man’s will, but this man has had me bending from the second he found me at the bar. I’m unsure whether I loathe the notion, or love it. What I do know, though, is there is nothing I can do about it. Neither do I want to. A night of dirty, raw fucking is currently standing before me, with illicit promises shining from his gray eyes, and I’m going in feet first.
As soon as I find my feet.
Kicking away his shoes, jeans, and boxers, he takes my hands delicately, like he’s sensed I need a moment of gentleness and reassurance.
“Ready, Annie?” he asks softly. “Because I sure as hell am.”
He doesn’t wait for my answer. He must see the certainty in my eyes. Moving into me, pressing me against the window behind me, the side of his coarse face resting against my cheek, he grips the hem of my dress and pulls it up between us. My arms lift with it as my mind searches frantically for some poise, anything to match his calm, measured actions. I have nothing.
He’s taking it slowly now, savoring every moment, every movement, every sound. My dress is gone, but he’s still pressed against me, moving his hands around to my back. I feel the clasp of my bra release and then he steps away, pulling the straps down my arms, his eyes falling down my body.
He swallows.
Hard.
He blinks.
Slowly.
He growls under his breath.
Then he drops my bra to the floor and his eyes to my skimpy black knickers. The sight of his big, naked body before me distracts me from any shyness. The power of his presence distracts me from any restraint I should be working hard to find.
My fingers reach for the sides of my knickers and push them down my thighs, revealing myself in my entirety to him.
And I wait.
And wait.
I wait so long for him to make his move, wondering where my mind has gone. It’s lost, fallen into a pit of recklessness. All I can do is admire what’s before me.
“Ever experienced this before?” he asks quietly. “The chemistry, the need?”
“No.” My answer is easy and it’s the truth.
“Me either.” He steps forward and cages me against the window, picking up on the crazy, passionate kiss he started on the street and continued in the elevator. My mind swims with pleasure.
He’s naked. I’m naked. We’re touching everywhere that two people can touch, his erection wedged against my lower stomach, pulsing in time with my body. He moans around my lips, his hands sliding down to my bum and onto my thighs, squeezing constantly. I lock his wide shoulders in my arms and let him at me.
A swift tug hauls me up to his waist on a whimper, his cock poised and ready to enter me. The glass behind me is becoming slippery, my back sliding across the
smooth surface as a result of my dampening skin.
“Open up to me,” he orders, feeling the constriction of my thighs.
Without a moment’s thought I relax, letting him hold me against the window with his body. “Condom,” I breathe into his mouth, managing to locate a shred of sensibility through my hunger.
“I don’t have one.” He continues to kiss me, and my heart sinks. “Jesus, this wasn’t part of my plan for this evening, Annie,” he declares. “You?”
I lap my tongue around his, digging my nails into his shoulders. “I don’t have one. We should stop.”
“Are you on the pill?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t make this right.” I continue to kiss him, speaking into his mouth. “We should stop.”
“I know.” He takes my hands from his shoulders and pushes them up the glass, releasing my mouth briefly to bite my lip before plunging his tongue deep again, exploring far and wide. “We need to stop.”