His hand reached behind my neck and pulled me roughly towards him, my lips landing against his. I felt his tongue slide into my mouth, searching for mine. Dante’s other hand found my hip and squeezed gently as he tested my willingness via his kiss. His grip on my neck was strong as he played with me, gently biting my lower lip before finally releasing me. Not the best kisser, but he was assertive, and I liked that — required it, actually — in a man.
“Definitely not a hitman,” I said.
“How can you be so sure?” Dante asked playfully.
“You didn’t kill me,” I responded. “You only made me horny.”
He stared into my eyes and I knew I had him.
“Did I?” he asked.
“Do you live nearby?” I countered.
Okay, so I’ve always been a sucker for bad boys. As a chubby seventeen-year-old on the base where my family lived at the time, I lost my virginity to a young Army grunt who repaid me for my generosity by referring me to his thirty-year-old major. I continued to have sex with both of those scoundrels until we moved again a few months later. Over the years I’d gained a degree of self-confidence, but I never could shake my fascination with dangerous men. I would’ve gone home with Dante regardless, but the possibility that I was putting myself in a risky situation had me excited in more ways than one.
I hadn’t had a long-term relationship since I started with the Agency. Some of the people there do it, but I didn’t think it would be fair to any potential boyfriends. There were just too many long workdays and too much overtime requested on weekends. Instead, my thing was regular one-night stands once a month or so. Biker bars were perfect, because bikers were uncomplicated. Their “hump it and dump it” philosophy just happened to mesh perfectly with my needs.
Dante lived five minutes from the bar, and before I knew it he had me pressed against the front door of his luxury apartment, his thigh between my legs as he kissed me again, this time harder. I felt the warmth spread in my lower belly, my brain simultaneously wondering why an attorney would live in an apartment instead of a house. Was he new to the area? I couldn’t dwell on the question too long, though, because Dante took my coat off and dropped it in the snow in front of his apartment, then removed my T-shirt, exposing my breasts to anyone who might have been looking. The freezing February air gave me goosebumps instantly as he lowered his head and took a nipple between his lips. If Dante was testing me to see how sexually adventurous I was, that’s one test I would have no trouble passing.
Seconds later we tumbled into bed, leaving a trail of clothing along the way. As a shirtless Dante started to slide my panties off, I excused myself to go to the bathroom first, grabbing my purse as I went. After locking the door, I pulled out my phone and found an app that Zainul, my co-worker in OTS, had given me months earlier to test for him. It was a hacker app he had written and named RouterSniff. I clicked on it and searched for the strongest WiFi signal, which was coming from a router named 1BadMofo. It was so much stronger than the other signals the app discovered that I felt certain it was Dante’s. I chose that router to sniff and set the phone on the bathroom counter.
Having taken care of that bit of business, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. My heart was pounding with the double thrill of probing into the enigma of Dante while he was literally probing me. Turning on the faucet, I eyed my curvy frame. I had always been a big girl, but in my time with the CIA I had taken advantage of their workout facilities and had firmed my body up as much as I thought possible. Still, I saw a lot of boob, too much belly, very wide hips and thunder thighs.
My phone dinged. It had taken the RouterSniff app less than two minutes to hack into Dante’s WiFi network and find his computer, which he apparently left on, then hack into that as well. Kudos to Zainul — that thing worked like a charm. The app would search a computer’s hard disks for certain types of documents and then upload copies to a specified destination, in this case my CIA cloud storage account, carefully erasing its footprints as it went along. The readout estimated it would need roughly a hundred minutes to complete the task. I would have to keep Dante busy for about two hours. My pulse raced at what I was doing, while my body tingled at what I was about to do.
I dropped my phone in my purse and kept the panties on, assuming Dante would want to take them off for me. Then I turned off the water, arranged my long, thick, brown hair so that it spilled down over my breasts, and returned to the bedroom.
Dante was wearing gray boxer briefs, a nice bulge plainly visible. I slid into bed next to him and locked him up in a torrid kiss, my breasts pressing on his bare chest. His hands were on them in no time and I felt him growing harder against my thigh. As my fingers brushed over his erection, my CIA brain blissfully shut off for a while and all I thought about was being taken by this hot stranger. I kissed my way down his chest, then tugged his underwear down so I could see and taste him.
Dante managed to get my panties off and out of the corner of my eye I saw him reaching into a night stand. I tensed up momentarily until I saw a condom package in his hand, then relaxed as he lifted my head off so he could roll on a condom. As he got right to the point and slid between my legs, I wondered how I could keep him busy for two hours.
Dante, bless his heart, kept going for a solid half hour, turning me this way and that so he could try different positions. I felt awkward at times, in poses better suited to thinner women, but Dante’s firm body and firmer erection continued to bring my mind back to the sheer pleasure of sex. His moans became more frequent until he finally grunted loudly as he came.
When he was done, I was afraid I might be dispensed with since Dante had gotten what he wanted, but he kissed his way down my body until he was between my legs, then spent a while there working me into a frenzy. I tried to hold off as long as I could to stall for time, but eventually he pushed me over the edge. My resisting only succeeded in making my orgasm that much stronger, and I screamed loudly enough to wake his neighbors.
As I regained my composure, Dante smiled and went to the kitchen to get us a couple of beers. I quickly slipped my phone out of my purse and checked the RouterSniff app. It needed another fifty to sixty minutes to complete its task. When Dante returned, I ignored the beer and instead let my eyes roam down his naked body, saying, “Think you can get that hard for me again, baby? I’m not done with you yet.”
A few minutes later I climbed on top of Dante and eventually came a second time. I kept him in bed talking for another half hour to make sure I’d given the RouterSniff ample time to do its thing, then used my hand to leisurely coax him to another climax. After that, I told Dante I really needed to get going. He seemed equally ready for me to leave, so we didn’t prolong my departure.
I got dressed and he escorted me to his front door, where he thanked me for “a real good time.” I took one final look at his naked body before I kissed Dante goodbye, then turned to go. We didn’t trade numbers or last names and neither of us mentioned ever getting together again.
On the snowy drive back home to Reston, my sense of physical satisfaction gave way to my urge to find out what was on Dante’s computer — and thereby learn what his deal was. I still smelled like sex as I pushed the pedal harder, wanting to get home as quickly as possible.
Not even bothering to shower first, I dropped my coat and ran to my computer to log into my secure CIA account, then began to sift through Dante’s information, starting with his emails. It took me only a few minutes to get a feel for exactly what I was looking at.
Holy shit! I had uncovered a goldmine.
Most one-night stands are sadly forgettable. Not that one with Dante, though. That chance meeting in a bar and the two hours of sex that followed would eventually lead me into a world of adventure and intrigue and sex and power and money.
Meeting Dante in a biker bar turned out to be the springboard that propelled me into an entirely new life.
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About the Author
Living in the Pacific Northwest, Alexis Adaire spends too much time indoors, cuddling under blankets with her husband and muse, emerging from the bedroom periodically to refill her coffee mug and jot down ideas. Does Alexis draw upon personal experience for her short story ideas? She will never tell.
Alexis keeps her twisted identity separate from her everyday life; no one knows what debauchery lies behind her violet eyes. Although, she admits this double-life she leads — mild-mannered office worker by day and erotica novelist by night — keeps a glow to her cheeks and a sly smile to her lips!
Alexis takes her readers to those secret, unspeakable corners of their fantasies they never knew existed.
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Hollywood Bad Boys Club
Book 3: Marcus
Copyright © 2016 by Alexis Adaire
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All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for brief quotations used in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual living persons is purely coincidental.
Published by Twisted Pair Publishing
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Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 3: Marcus Page 23
