No Strings

by Cara Lockwood

  Emma rested her chin on her elbow and cocked her head to one side. “You think?” She shifted a little, so that their knees and legs touched. They were side-by-side now, elbows almost touching on the bar.

  “Sure. You decide who’s fit enough, strong enough, alpha-male enough. Every decision women make about men is based on that immense responsibility—those thousands of years of you being the ones bearing the reproductive cost and the future of the species. That’s a lot of responsibility. But how are you supposed to know who’s right for you, who’s the perfect man, if you don’t play around? What if the man you always thought was perfect for you wasn’t, because you’d never allowed yourself to date outside that very confining box?”

  She sent him a lopsided smile. “You’re saying I need to sleep around with bad boys to find a good one.”

  He was aware of the feel of her thigh against his, the heat coming from her. “You need to know what it is you want. How are you supposed to know that without experimenting a little?”

  “But, it’s all so impersonal... How are you supposed to find something real when it’s all just fake?”

  “Oh, it’s far from fake,” he said with a strong shake of his head. “People can often have their most authentic connections when they’re with strangers. You don’t have to worry about what the other person might think, or if you’ll hurt their feelings or how you might be judged. You can be your real self because you aren’t worried about the future. You’re just living in the now.”

  “Is that right?” Emma still seemed a little skeptical.

  “Sure,” he said, taking another sip of his drink, which was now three-quarters gone. “For instance, you can tell me anything you want. You can be a hundred percent honest. We probably won’t see each other again after this night.”

  “Okay...” Emma hesitated.

  “So, in that spirit, say you do sleep with me tonight.” Xavier leaned in closer.

  Emma barked a laugh and ran a nervous hand through her hair. “Aren’t you a little overconfident?”

  “Maybe,” he said, even though at this point, he thought she’d have to feel the pull between them, the magnetism that drew them together. “But, just indulge me in a little theoretical. Say we do fall into bed tonight. Say we go upstairs into this room.” He pulled out a hotel key card and laid it flat on the bar. Emma glanced at it, intrigued. Tread carefully, he told himself. “Which, by the way, is completely and totally up to you. But if we did...what’s the first thing you want me to do to you?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE KEY CARD ON the bar and his question sent a thrill through Emma. What did she want him to do to her? Short answer: Everything.

  She felt her throat go dry. She had a hard time concentrating when Mr. X leaned in so close to her. His strong chin, the unwavering golden-eyed gaze. The thick jet-black hair that she badly wanted to put her hands in. She glanced at the Ritz-Carlton key card on the bar. That was it. The key to a room upstairs where...where...she could indulge in...him. That squared-off, strong chin, the barely-there stubble, those full, sensual lips. All she could think about was how he’d taste if she kissed him, how those lips would feel on hers. The attraction felt palpable, as if it was a physical law of nature that couldn’t be denied, like gravity. Emma realized the absurdity of this situation: that just minutes ago she’d dismissed Happy Fun Time in an instant, but X was different. Calm, collected, confident. Emma couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this kind of pull, this kind of attraction. It had been instantaneous the minute he’d walked into the bar. She’d been aware of him every second, every little move he made.

  And the more she learned about him, the more intrigued she became. He had loved deeply before. She saw it in the hurt on his face. He was a complicated man, and as much as she hated to admit it, she loved complicated.

  He studied her, waiting for her answer, and she felt the weight of his golden gaze. For the first time since signing up for this ridiculous app, she almost felt tempted. What would it be like to follow this man up to a room and...?

  “If we went upstairs right now...” He leaned closer, so their elbows were now touching on the bar. “What’s the first thing you’d want? This would be a night for you. So...?”

  She stared at his full lips.

  “A k-kiss?” she offered.

  He let out a low chuckle, and she felt the reverberations in her toes. She loved how he laughed—almost like a sensual growl. “You’re still behaving like you can’t be one hundred percent honest with me. You can. You don’t have to tell me the answers you think I want to hear.” He studied her. “What did you want your last boyfriend to do...that he’d never do?”

  Emma thought about her predictable, staid boyfriend, Devin. He’d never been interested in how she felt about sex. It was always quick, the same position, with him coming in about two minutes, just when she was starting to get warmed up. Emma blamed herself: she never complained about it, and they’d just got stuck in this terrible kind of rhythm. But she didn’t know how to talk about it without hurting his feelings, so she didn’t.

  Now Mr. X was waiting for her answer. And why not be honest? After all, he was right: they probably would never meet again. Even if they didn’t have sex tonight, what did she have to lose?

  “He never let me...come first.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she felt a little bit lighter. Admitting that—the first time she’d admitted it to anyone—felt like a burden had been lifted. Like she’d finally let go of a dirty secret.

  Mr. X stared at her. “He always came first?” He looked shocked, even bewildered as his dark eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

  She nodded and took another drink of her gin and tonic, the second cocktail heading to her head with rapid speed. She felt pleasantly light-headed, but didn’t know if that was the Hendrick’s or Mr. X’s eyes on her.

  Her experience limited, Emma thought maybe that was how it went with most men: they’d do what they wanted first, and then if they had the energy left over, they’d handle the woman’s needs.

  “That’s unacceptable.” The finality of his tone sent another little thrill through her. “I’d make sure you came at least three times.”

  “Three times?” She nearly spit out her drink. “That’s a lot.”

  “Not nearly enough.” He grinned, and his bright white smile in his tanned face seemed blinding. “But we’d have all night.”

  “All night?” Devin subscribed to the one and done philosophy. She doubted sex had ever lasted for her longer than about twenty minutes, and that was a marathon.

  “And, of course, all positions. We have to find the one that’s right for you.” A teasing smile tugged at the corner of his full mouth.

  Emma felt the blush inch its way up her neck. She wasn’t even sure she knew all the positions. The thought was a bit naughty...and a bit thrilling. She was beginning to see the allure of anonymous sex. She wouldn’t have to worry about what she looked like from certain vantage points, a concern that nearly always plagued her, or whether or not she ought to suck in her stomach. X was a stranger, and would remain a stranger, so why worry about... any of the normal things she worried about?

  She ran her finger around the lip of her glass. “I’m beginning to see why women would want to fall into bed with you right when they meet you.”

  He leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. “Well, I can tell you this. If you do, you won’t be disappointed.” She felt the warmth of his breath on her ear and the delicious naughtiness of the whole situation delighted her. She liked flirting—scratch that—loved flirting with this man. She even found herself seriously considering his proposition.

  “Somehow, I believe you.”

  “You should.” His confident gaze never left her. He slowly reached out and took her hand. He held it palm up, running a strong finger down her life line. “I like to start slowly. Explor
e you. Like so.” His delicate, featherlike touch sent electric sparks darting upward. Goose bumps ran up her arm. “Every woman is different, and I’d spend a lot of time finding out how unique you are.”

  “Just how many women have you...” She figured probably hundreds. With eyes like that and a body that seemed ready for an underwear ad. She thought he probably got laid anytime he wanted it. Women lining up on Nost to have a drink date.

  He cocked his head to one side, looking coy. “I’ve had my share.”

  Now he was so close to her that when she looked up, she almost felt like she could fall into his gaze, a pool of hazel with flecks of gold. So close to him, she inhaled his spicy sweet scent, like cinnamon with a hint of some woodsy aftershave. He looked good. Smelled good. I wonder if he tastes good, too.

  The thought jolted her.

  “I’m not usually so impulsive.”

  “Why not?” He wasn’t being flippant, she could tell. He really wanted to know.

  “I don’t know. I guess I worry about what people will think.” There, she’d said it. It was her dirty little secret: she cared about other people’s opinions. She spent a great deal of time writing in her articles about how women need to believe in themselves and be independent, and yet, she feared the weight of judgment herself.

  And was she falling into the trap of believing that women who sleep around, who have casual sex, were somehow less than the ones who were more particular? That little feminist thread would have her head spinning for days.

  “No one has to know,” Mr. X said simply, as if this answered everything.

  “But what if I want to write about it?” she asked. And part of her did. This little drink date was bringing up all kinds of feelings in her: Was she wrong to assume casual sex just benefited men? Should she try to find out? Why did her gut tell her to lean forward right now and kiss this man she’d just met?

  “Then, do. I promise to give you something worth writing about.” He was so confident, so sure. And part of her knew he was telling the truth. She couldn’t imagine sex with this man being anything other than amazing. She could almost feel the electricity zapping between them. He was so close now that if she leaned forward, even slightly, their lips would touch. She held eye contact, unable to break it, caught in a kind of trance. He inched forward and she felt in that instant, he was going to kiss her. Suddenly, she got cold feet. Was he going to kiss her right here at the bar? Was she ready for where that kiss might lead?

  She pulled away, ever so slightly. He paused, studying her face. Then, he let her hand go and leaned back. He smiled at her, gently.

  “I think I want...I don’t know...a real connection,” she admitted. This was true. She wanted the whole package: amazing sex and love, but what she wanted above all else was a true connection. Something that meant something. Could she get that in one night?

  He nodded. “You’re not ready,” he declared as a statement of fact.

  “I’m...” Was he right? She felt all sorts of hormones rushing through her body, nerves tingling along her arms and up the back of her legs. She wanted love, but would she take sex right now in this moment?

  “It’s okay.” He squeezed her hand. “Nost isn’t for everybody.”

  That almost sounded like a goodbye. Was he abandoning the chase?

  “I make it a rule never to pressure women,” he said and shrugged, as he finished the last bit of his drink in his glass and signaled the bartender for his tab. “This is something you want or you don’t.”

  But...wait. I haven’t decided. Not yet. Maybe I do want this. The inner admission shocked her.

  He signed the check and tucked his credit card back into his expensive leather wallet. “Emma, you’re an amazing and beautiful woman and it’s been my pleasure sharing this time with you.” He took her hand and kissed it, lingering a little over it, his lips soft and gentle.

  She still felt shock. Was he leaving? Was this it? But she didn’t want the night to end. She didn’t want him to walk out of her life and never come back. This connection between them, it had to be real, didn’t it? He had to feel it, too?

  “Can I...call you?”

  He slowly shook his head. “I think we want different things.”

  Did they? All she knew in that moment was that she didn’t want him to leave.

  He stood, showing again how tall he was as he towered over her, and then he leaned over and gently kissed her cheek. She felt the warmth of his soft lips pressed against her skin and her stomach tightened. Don’t go, she willed him. Don’t.

  “Goodbye, Emma,” he whispered in her hair.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  EMMA SAT THERE stunned as she watched Mr. X turn away from her. “Wait,” she said, and snaked out and grabbed his arm. She felt the strong muscles of his biceps contract. Wow, they were thick. And strong. She wondered what they’d be like wrapped around her. He stopped, and turned.

  “Yes?” The single word held a question, an unspoken dare.

  “Maybe I am ready.” The words came out in a low whisper.

  Mr. X leaned closer to her, putting his body between her and his bar stool. “Maybe?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Maybe doesn’t sound very definite.”

  She inhaled his spicy sweet scent, suddenly feeling light-headed. Still seated, she stared directly at his chest, his taut pecs outlined beneath this cotton shirt. She had to crane her neck to meet his gaze.

  “I am. I am ready.”

  “You sure? This has to be your idea, not mine. You have to want this.”

  “I do. I do want this.” She had the strong urge to put her hands on his chest, feel the firm muscles there. His sensual mouth was so close to hers now that she tilted her head up and grabbed the front of his shirt. Before she realized fully what she was doing, she’d reached up and kissed his lips, ever so gently. The soft, gentle touch of her lips on his sent hormones buzzing through her brain. It was just a peck, but a sensual one, carrying the promise of more to come. Instantly, she felt herself grow hot and cold. He stood very still, as she pulled away once more, suddenly feeling like there were no other people at the bar.

  Emma surprised even herself. Normally, she was never so forward, never so...aggressive. She’d never been the first to kiss a man at a bar like this. Yet, Mr. X made her want to do things that...she never had before.

  Mr. X cocked his head to one side, studying her, the intensity of his gaze almost feeling like a heavy weight. She blinked fast.

  “I see. Well, you have to trust me. Do you trust me?” He studied her, his expression serious, as he reached out, under the bar, and gently laid his hand on her hip, resting it there. The touch sent a current through her, a delicious current. Then, he moved his hand back to the waistband of her jeans and tucked a single finger down the small of her back. She gasped a little, as he ran his finger along the top edge of her lacy black thong, the gesture containing a promise for things to come.

  She swallowed, hard, and nodded. He tugged hard at her waistband and she felt the pressure between her legs. She let out a little gasp. “I—I do. I do trust you.”

  “Good. Let’s go.” He handed her the key card to the room. Her heart beat wildly. Was she going to do this? Going to go up with this man she just met, this gorgeous, handsome man with the golden eyes? She looked at him and saw more than just a handsome man: she felt a connection with him. He’d been brokenhearted, and she could almost feel that pain in him. She wanted to heal him, somehow, because it was as if they’d met before now. The connection, the pull, she felt to him was real. Not just lust. Something more.

  “Okay.” She slipped her hand in his and followed him as he led her out of the bar. Every fiber of her being stood at attention: she was going to soon be in this man’s arms. This stranger’s arms. Doing things she usually reserved for the twelfth date. She met the bartender’s gaze as they passed. Did he know? Did all the people in the b
ar know? Emma felt a little thrill then. The thrill of doing something naughty, something risky, something...she never thought she’d do. She watched his broad shoulders moving a little bit ahead of her, as he led her to the elevators and pushed the up button. The elevators dinged, and Emma felt the sound in her belly. Was she doing this? Oh, God. She was going to do this.

  The elevators slid open, and a bellhop, pushing a cart of luggage, stepped out.

  “Excuse me, miss,” he said, and he gave her a half smile. Did he know, too? What she was about to do? She felt delicious guilt run through her. She almost felt that everyone knew. Mr. X squeezed her hand and she glanced up at him as they moved inside the empty elevator and he pushed the top button.

  As soon as the elevator doors slid shut, he’d pulled her into his arms and covered her mouth with his. The pent-up attraction of the last hour exploded then as he devoured her mouth and she responded in kind, her mind overwhelmed with the taste of him. She opened her mouth then, letting him inside her, as their tongues met in a primal dance. She wanted him in every way, as she felt herself grow wet, the slickness in her thong warm as he put his hands on her hips and pulled her closer to him.

  She felt him grow hard. Was that all him? Width and...all? Then, his hand reached down and unhooked her jeans. Right here? In the...elevator? She sucked in a breath, and then his hand went down the front of her waistband, all the way to her slickness. She moaned in his mouth, as his gentle fingers explored her, his palm cupped her through her open jeans and her hips moved, pushing her deeper into his hands.

  She no longer cared about the elevator, or the cameras that might surely be here. Was some security officer somewhere watching him claim her? She couldn’t care less. She almost felt like she could come right there. Then, the elevator dinged, and his hand slid out of her thong, releasing the smell of herself in the small space. He grinned at her, and pulled her down the empty, carpeted hallway to a corner room as she held her jeans together. He slipped the card into the door and it swung open, his lips once more finding hers as he backed her into the room. Once she broke free she had only a second to glance around at the huge suite: a master bedroom and separate living room, and windows with a spectacular view of the other skyscrapers along Chicago’s lakefront. A single lamp was lit in the corner, giving off a golden light, and the crisp white linens on the bed were turned down, an offering to them both.