Bad Bachelor

by Stefanie London

  God, she was hot. Miles of porcelain-white skin, all that long, dark hair. The tattoos, the piercings, and the chunky, black boots. It was everything he shouldn’t want. She looked like a throwback to the nineties, a Goth girl who’d been told to tone it down for a Sunday family dinner. Restraint mixed with rebelliousness. A potent combination if the blood flooding to the southern parts of his body was anything to go on.

  He wanted to blame this ludicrous crush on the fact that he was in the longest dry spell of his life. Ever since the Bad Bachelor bombshell had dropped, he hadn’t slept with anyone. Too risky. He couldn’t add any more fuel to the fire until he’d smoothed things over at work. Which would get a whole lot easier now that he had this fundraising opportunity to present to Dave Bretton’s agent.

  Realistically, he could have gone ahead without Darcy’s permission. After all, he was there for his expertise, not to play Mr. Nice Guy, though he couldn’t deny it’d made him pretty fucking happy to see the smile lighting her face when he’d handed over that book. Something had him wanting to keep her on his side…and take her out to dinner.

  Yeah…dinner. That’s really what you want.

  Okay fine, so his desires were a little along the lines of hauling her up to a hotel room and burying himself in her over and over until she’d gone hoarse from screaming his name. But that was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

  He slid into the seat beside her and gave the address to the driver. “You are interesting.”

  “Interesting enough for dinner but not for anything else.”

  He shot her a sidelong glance. Those startling, blue eyes were trained on him and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say that she wanted him. But Darcy had made her disdain clear before. “You don’t want anything else. Not from me anyway.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I’m not the guy who calls the morning after.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Or ever.”

  “Not all girls want to be called the next morning.”

  “Yes they do, even if they don’t admit it. My reviews are testament to that.” He rubbed his hands up and down his thighs to keep them busy. “And you definitely do.”

  “You think you know a lot about me and what I want.” She picked at the hem of her dress, her short, unpolished nails working at a thread that threatened to come loose. “Maybe I’m tired of looking for nice guys.” Her full lips twisted. “Maybe you were right and I don’t want a guy like Five-Star Darren.”

  Well, fuck. He wouldn’t have persisted with teasing her if he’d thought she would come around to his way of thinking. Not that he could deny she deserved fireworks in bed. But she also deserved the guy who’d get up and make her pancakes in the morning. And that guy was not him.

  “That’s a big range you’re talking about.”

  “What’s wrong with jumping in the deep end?” Her voice had grown a little breathy, and it took everything in him not to unclick her seat belt and yank her into his lap.

  “You’ll wake up in the morning and regret it, that’s why.” He was hard as a rock and quickly losing his grip on control. “There’s a reason I’ve pissed a lot of people off. I’m not a nice guy.”

  She frowned. “Sure you are. You got me an ARC of my favorite author.”

  “Because I wanted something.” Self-loathing flowed through him, thick and fast. This was the guy he’d become, the one would use people any way he could to get what he wanted. The one who would manipulate a situation to his advantage without a worry in the world. “I got you that book because I wanted you to say yes to having Dave at the fundraiser. He’s not my client and I know I can use this event to sign him to Bath and Weston. I did it for me.”

  “I’m not an idiot,” she said softly. “But I also know that your job is important to you because you support your father.”

  “I like shiny things,” he lied through gritted teeth. “I like money because it means people say yes to me.”

  “Why are you trying to convince me you’re a bad guy?” She placed her hand on his thigh, the gentle touch slaying him. He was used to grabbing, pulling—the passionate touches of people driving toward a pleasurable goal—but not this. “You got pissy the last time we spoke because I called you out.”

  “And now you’re Team Reed all of a sudden?” He grabbed her hand and meant to push her away, but instead he held on to her. “What’s changed?”

  “I…I don’t know.” Her eyes were wild—scared and excited. The blacks of her pupils grew. God, she was gorgeous. “I’ve just been thinking…”

  “About?”

  She squared her shoulders. “I’m sick of going to bed alone.”

  “And you think a wild night with Manhattan’s biggest bastard is a good way to indulge yourself?” He all but snarled the words.

  Damn her. He was tangled up in knots and that never happened. She’d crawled under his skin when he wasn’t looking. When he was too busy taunting her because he thought he had the upper hand.

  Big fucking mistake.

  “Yes.” She nodded as though convincing herself. “I do.”

  “Don’t go thinking I’ll act like it means something. I don’t pretend, Darcy.” He reached across the spare space between them and pushed down on the seat belt lock. The click sounded like a gun being cocked. “I don’t act.”

  “So when you kissed me it wasn’t an act?”

  “I kissed you because I’d been thinking about that goddamn mouth for days.” He pulled her closer, still gripping her wrist in one hand. She didn’t fight him. “I wanted to know whether you were as prim as you acted or if all that ink was a sign of a tiger in sheep’s clothing.”

  “And?”

  “You were lucky you weren’t wearing a dress that night.” His lips were at her ear now, the last vestige of his restraint hanging by a thread.

  The second she tilted her face to his it would all be over. The waiting now was just drawing out the inevitable. His palm came to her knee, slipping up and in, so he could feel the tightening of her muscles as she pressed her legs together—though whether that was to stop him or to trap him, he had no idea.

  “What would you have done to me?” she whispered.

  “Let me show you.” He gently parted her legs, giving himself room to skate his fingertips higher. She placed her bag over her lap, to hide what they were doing.

  His touch barely created friction on her skin. It was a tease. A promise. When he grazed the soft cotton of her panties, he twisted his hand, brushing his knuckles over her sex. Darcy stifled a moan by sinking her teeth into her lower lip, that sexy, little action hardening him beyond belief.

  “I would have warmed you up,” he whispered, stroking her gently. The material grew damp against his hand, but he took it slow, stringing her anticipation out. “Then I would have slipped my finger inside your underwear, like this.”

  He almost groaned aloud at how wet she was. How ready. They needed to take this somewhere private. Now. Because Reed had crossed the line and there was no way he’d be going back until he got his fill.

  “Yes.” The word hissed out between her teeth. “More.”

  He sucked her earlobe between his lips as he pushed a finger inside her. Christ, she was even tighter than he’d fantasized. Her hips rolled against his hand as he thrust in and out with slow deliberation.

  “I would have fucked you with my finger until you were shaking and dripping all over my hand.” He kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear and she shivered. “I wouldn’t have stopped even if people could see me sliding my fingers in and out of your wet pussy. Not until you came so hard your knees gave out.”

  Her muscles fluttered around his finger. God, he wanted to slip another one in, to stretch her in preparation for him. But not yet. If Darcy wanted a walk on the wild side, then he was going to give it to her—but he would make her wait. He wouldn’t call tomorrow, but
he’d send her home aching so much she’d think of nothing but his cock inside her for weeks.

  He pulled his hand away and stifled her frustrated moan by pressing a finger to her lips. Her eyes widened. No doubt she could smell herself on him. When he was confident she wouldn’t say anything, he leaned forward.

  “Change of plans,” he said to the cab driver. “Turn us around.”

  Chapter 13

  “I knew what I was getting into when I dated Reed. The guy doesn’t have what it takes to be in a relationship. It’s sad, really, how broken he is.”

  —NotYourGirl

  Darcy felt as though she’d been holding her breath ever since the driver had swung the car around and headed back uptown, toward some hotel. Reed had carefully buckled her back into her seat belt with hot and dirty words whispered into her ear about how he wanted her in one piece for all the things he had planned.

  Planned, like he’d thought about it before. That must be how he knew exactly where to take her. He hadn’t even hesitated when reciting the address to the driver. Was this usually where he brought women?

  They certainly hadn’t struggled to get a room despite the lobby being full to the brim with people—some in suits, some in tourist getups with chunky cameras hanging from their neck like Olympic medals. Darcy wondered if it was obvious what she and Reed had come for, that they were about to embark on a debauched night of no-strings, carnal pleasure. But with nothing more than a swift “of course, Mr. McMahon” from the concierge desk, he had a key card in his hand and she didn’t have time to ponder the potential consequences of her actions—or if anyone was judging her.

  Does it matter? You said you were sick of all the rules and bullshit. You know he’s going to make you feel good. Who cares if there’s nothing more than that?

  She was a modern woman who’d been determined to do her own thing, despite growing up with a strong sense of guilt instilled in her by her parents. Sex was something to be enjoyed, so why should she feel bad for wanting it with a partner who was likely to be very skilled?

  “Stop thinking so loud.” Reed pulled her against him as they waited for an elevator. “You’re disturbing the peace.”

  It was a strange feeling to suddenly have a barrier removed. His hands were splayed over her hips as he hugged her from behind, his breath warm against her ear. It was intimate.

  No shit. You just agreed to a one-night stand and now you think it’s strange he’s being intimate?

  “I’m not thinking,” she said.

  “So many lies, Darcy. Be careful or else you’ll start to believe your own bullshit.” He pressed her harder against him, the curve of her ass fitting squarely against his crotch. Even after they’d kept their hands to themselves while checking in, he was still hard.

  “More chance of that than me believing yours.” She shot him a look over her shoulder, but he just smirked.

  The hotel was sleek. They had a fancy setup for the bay of elevators, where you had to punch your floor into a PIN pad and it would tell you exactly which elevator to stand in front of. When another couple walked up beside them, Darcy stepped out of Reed’s grasp and smoothed her hands over her skirt.

  “So we’re clear, I don’t expect anything out of this,” she said quietly. Her eyes darted to the other couple, but they seemed caught up in one another.

  “You should expect something.” The elevator pinged and Reed held the door for everyone before taking his place next to Darcy. He draped an arm around her shoulder in a way that felt far too casual for what they were about to do.

  She swallowed down the rising tide of anticipation in her throat. Her whole body buzzed with energy—some good, excited…some worrisome. The negative, little voice in her head was never far away, no matter how much she rationalized her decision.

  I want this. End of story.

  When the other couple exited on the third floor, Reed jabbed at the button to close the doors. Then he pinned her against the wall, his thigh nudging her legs apart. “You should expect me to make you come so many times you forget how to say your own name.”

  Her breath hitched when his mouth came down to hers, hovering so close that his lips brushed hers in a series of microkisses as he spoke.

  “You should also expect me to make you so wet and so hungry that you’ll be begging me to stick my cock in you.”

  Oh dear. “Well, uh.…”

  Really, what could she say to that? Her brain had decided to pack up shop for the night and had officially handed over the keys to her lady parts. Words were not required—her words anyway.

  “You should expect me to make you feel like a fucking goddess all night.” He nipped at her lower lip, only pulling back when the elevator dinged, signaling their arrival.

  This was it. Welcome to the sex zone.

  “A goddess, huh?” She stepped into the hallway and headed in the direction of their room. “I like the sound of that.”

  Nerves bundled tightly in her belly as they walked. The opportunity for her to turn and flee was closing fast. She could walk away now, forget that she ever started down this path, and go back to being the old Darcy.

  Why? So you can continue to not do anything about your sorry excuse for a love life? Not. Happening.

  But what had Reed said about her earlier? He wanted to know if she was a tiger in sheep’s clothing?

  “What are your expectations?” she asked as Reed swiped the key card. A click sounded and he pushed the door open.

  “That we keep this night to ourselves.” He held out his hand. “Other than that, we just enjoy the hell out of it.”

  “Right.” She hovered at the door.

  “Do you need a formal invitation?” he asked, a dark brow raised.

  She gazed past him into the plush suite. It was light and airy, certainly no seedy, pay-by-the-hour motel vibes here. “Does a goddess need an invitation?”

  He chuckled and pulled her to him, crushing her body against his with one arm around her waist. He moved them into the room, letting the door swing shut so he could back her up against it.

  “Are you nervous?” He hoisted her thigh over his hip, his hand sliding along her bare leg until he cupped her ass.

  In this open, vulnerable position, she could feel everything—the hard length of his cock rubbing at the sensitive spot between her legs, the sharp press of his belt buckle into her lower belly. The bite of his fingers into her flesh.

  She let her head drop back against the door. “A little. I’ve only ever been with one man.”

  That was her way of telling him not to quiz her on the Kama Sutra. Because her experience with Ben had been about as spicy as baby food—missionary or doggy. Never with her on top. Oral sex had been an annual birthday treat, but Ben had made it clear he didn’t enjoy it, so she’d never asked. Had she been satisfied? She’d thought so, but now that illusion was about to be shattered.

  “You’re not going to make me do any weird shit, are you?” She wrinkled her nose.

  Reed dropped his forehead to hers, his warm, dark eyes crinkling at their corners. For once, he looked totally at ease…like maybe this was who he really was. “Weird shit? What have you read about me?”

  His hands continued to massage her ass cheeks, the lazy rhythm making her hum in enjoyment. He was taking it slow, giving her time to ease into the idea of a one-night stand. Something told her this wasn’t how he usually operated.

  “That you’re a wicked rake no girl in her right mind would get involved with.” She grinned. “That you’re a master manipulator who’s so good in bed you turn women into quivering messes.”

  “And you wanted to be my next quivering mess?” One hand skated up her back, his fingers feeling for the long zipper that ran the length of her spine.

  “Yes,” she breathed. “Very much.”

  He drew the zipper down while his lips feasted on her n
eck. She sighed, but nothing would quell the cavernous ache until he threw her down on the bed and had his way with her. The thought of him pressing her into the soft-looking duvet while he plunged deep inside her sex sent Darcy’s temperature skyrocketing. Her nipples beaded against the fabric of her dress, and that’s when she remembered it was laundry day.

  No bra. Thursday panties on Monday. Shit.

  “I should freshen up,” she said breathlessly.

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” He slipped the shoulder of her dress down, kissing the exposed skin in a way that would have been sweet if he wasn’t pinning her to the door with his erection. “You taste pretty damn fresh to me.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a compliment.”

  The other shoulder followed and soon she was bare-chested, the cool air making her nipples achingly hard. “Oh it is, Darcy.” He kissed his way down her chest until he was at eye level with her breasts. “In the end, we all become stories.”

  She stiffened when he ran a finger along where the tattoo curved underneath her right breast. It was like he was branding her, the touch hot against her already-flushed skin. This wasn’t the intimacy she’d imagined—in her head, it had been quick. Shades drawn and lights off, furious and fast and over before she had time to think. Not this gentle exploration.

  “Tonight you’re going to become a dirty story, Darcy.” His smile was wicked. “Maybe not quite as dirty as the monster erotica you so favor, but I’ll do my best.”

  She swatted at him. “Just get on with it, will you?”

  “Get on with it?” He chuckled. “There’s no rush at all.” He sucked one nipple into his mouth and she gasped. The way he rolled it around over his tongue, using his teeth with a pressure so perfect it would have made Goldilocks weep—damn, he was good.

  * * *

  There was nothing more satisfying than a woman’s excited moans. The pleasure sounds emanating from Darcy were particularly enjoyable, however, because until today she’d held him at arm’s length. She teased and bantered with him; occasionally she barbed him. But there was always an invisible—and yet very real—barrier between them.