by Lila Monroe
“Then do you mind if I buy myself one and drink it here with you?” he asked.
I considered. I was doing research here. Important research. Research that could change the very trajectory of my career and make all those dreams come true. I didn’t need any distractions.
On the other hand, those shoulders. And those lips, mm-hmm. And truth be told, for all my defensive posturing, there wasn’t a damn thing about him that didn’t scream ‘charming’ and ‘good company’ and, most importantly, ‘eye candy.’
My old science teacher did always say that it was important to have a research partner.
“Well, it certainly would improve the view,” I said, relieved to have finally given myself permission to cozy up to this intriguing stranger.
He grinned wider then, sliding into the booth opposite me, our legs bumping together slightly. Butterflies danced in my stomach. Damn, what was this, sixty seconds and I already had it this bad? Guys this hot should come with a warning label. Not that I’d stop to read it.
Hottie McHotterson—also, damn, how had I not asked his name yet, was I really that far gone into the Lust Canyon?—flagged down the waitress, and ordered a Knox whiskey.
I made a face.
“Not a fan?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Of the whiskey? Sure,” I said. “It tastes great and gets the job done.”
“What is it, then?” he asked. He seemed genuinely curious, and that made me open up. “What’s missing?”
“Well, it’s just—” I gestured at the label. “Look at this packaging. Just the name stamped on there in an old-timey font, and the same barrel logo they’ve been using since B.F. Skinner first strolled up to an ad agency with some rats in a box and a lot of fancy promises. It does nothing to catch the eye.”
“The label?” He raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”
“That’s hardly it!” I shot back. “Their whole branding approach is the same, stuck in the past! Print ads whose copy never changes, radio jingles with slang from the second World War, TV spots with the same Bob Hope lookalike every year—it doesn’t matter how good it tastes, it looks old-fashioned. Like something my grandpa would drink.”
My mysterious visitor’s drink arrived, and he quirked a brow in amusement and raised his glass in a salute. “To your grandfather—a man of excellent taste.”
I snorted, but raised my own glass to match his. As they clinked together, his fingers brushed against mine, and I felt a spark leap where our skin met. He must have felt it too—he started, looking up at me, and our eyes locked. His eyes were so deep, golden-brown like molasses swirled in honey, and they warmed me up inside with a heat like the sun, spreading out from my heart down to my toes, and up to my head until I was dizzy, my heart pounding. I wanted nothing more than to sink into those eyes. I wanted nothing more than to keep touching his fingers.
I wanted nothing more than to invite him up to my room, then and there.
Focus, Ally! You have a presentation tomorrow! No rando is worth throwing away your entire career for a roll in the hay.
Maybe the whiskey was just getting to me.
I pulled away hastily and downed my drink, all of it this time. This sample had more of a honey flavor, less of a bite. If I were writing copy I’d call it ‘soothing, charming, a genteel liquor.’ Since I wasn’t, though, I didn’t pull any punches. “The truth is, though, my grandfather and his friends aren’t the customers of the future. You see this same trend in advertising for comic books—the company panders to its original base—not even all of the original base but a small, vocal fraction of it—and alienates all of its potential new customers in the process.”
“Tell me more about what you think,” he said intently.
Which would have been catnip for me even if I hadn’t been storing up a host of criticisms that went unheard at work, and even if he hadn’t been so damned hot. I didn’t need telling twice.
“This is your typical Knox buyer.” I launched into an imitation of my grandfather. “‘I jus’ don’ know how much longer they can be ‘spectin’ this centralized government t’ last. Times wuz much simpler when a man jus’ brewed his own whiskey and shot at the revenooers.’”
The man laughed, and waved a hand in acknowledgment of my point before raising a challenging eyebrow. “So what would you do if you had control of the rebrand? Throw in some hashtags and make a Facebook page? Get a celebrity endorsement?”
“As if,” I snorted. “Millennials might be self-absorbed, but we can still see through pandering just fine, thanks.”
“Oh?” His thumb brushing over my knuckles was an invitation, and a challenge, and both made my breath catch in my throat. “A pink label, then?”
I watched his eyes dip to the side and a lazy grin spread across his face, and I knew that he had spotted the pink strap of my bra peeking out from the side of my short-sleeved button-up shirt.
“Strange as it might seem, the color pink doesn’t brainwash women into buying things,” I replied, trying not to let on how breathless he had made me. Trying not to imagine his hands instead of his eyes on that pink bra strap, easing it slowly from my shoulder as he kissed my neck.
I raised the stakes, slipping my foot out of my shoe to stroke his ankle, and then moved it slightly higher. This was really out of character for me, but something about our conversation, the flush of whiskey in my cheeks, the way he was looking at me…I felt emboldened in a way I never did at work or even when I was out with my friends.
I was rewarded with a flush of heat in his gaze, his pupils dilating as his grip tightened slightly on mine. He leaned forward, close enough that I could have kissed him without rising from the seat. His lips were so full, they looked so soft—
He was so close I could feel the heat of his breath as he murmured his next words: “So, tell me, what would you do?” He picked up his glass and drank, the muscles in his throat working as he swallowed it down. I didn’t look away. It was safe to assume my panties were on fire, and there was only one way to put that fire out.
And you know what? I decided I’d been overthinking things at work. Either I had confidence in myself or I didn’t, and doing some last-minute drinking wasn’t going to change a damn thing about my presentation tomorrow.
But some really good sex just might give me an edge.
I lifted my own glass and downed the remaining Knox. My decision was made.
It was go time.
I leaned towards him until our lips were barely a millimeter apart. “Do you really want to know what I’d do with this brand?” I whispered. Before he could answer, I brushed my lips against the corner of his mouth. He tasted like smoke and cinnamon and danger, and I liked it. “Or would you rather know what I’d do with you?”
His eyes gleamed, and I knew his answer even before he spoke.
Why had I never made out with a stranger before?
Pinned up against the wall of my hotel room, I pondered that very question as my still-nameless about-to-be-conquest nibbled and sucked at my neck, eliciting shrieks and giggles and moans as he found my most sensitive spots. His hands dug possessively into my hips, and I could feel his rising erection against my thigh as he pushed into me, heat flooding me down below as my nipples tightened against his chest.
I was hungry for his skin, starving, and my own hands found their way under his shirt to knead at the muscles of his back and then slip under his boxers to grip his perfectly sculpted ass. I licked at his neck just below his ear, and he growled, his head rising to claim my lips once more. I moaned eagerly into his mouth, opening in response to his demanding tongue. His lips were just as soft as I had imagined, and if we were both occasionally missing where we meant to put them, it was all right—we were tipsy and turned-on and laughing, and on top of the world.
“Eep!” I shrieked as he scooped me up in his strong arms. “Dude, you are drunk, you are not supposed to be—I don’t know, doing things like operating heavy machinery—”
“You’re not
heavy machinery,” he told me in that very serious way that slightly drunk people have. “You’re light machinery. Light, soft machinery with great boobs. More machinery should have boobs.”
“I hope for your sake you had a head start on me at the bar,” I told him. “Or I am mocking you for being a lightweight forever.”
“Guess I’ll have to find something else for that mouth of yours then,” he said with a grin, and oh, the images that flooded my mind. These panties were ruined forever.
He tossed me onto the bed and I shrieked as I bounced. “Asshole!”
But I was giggling.
He shed the remainder of his clothes, dropping to all fours on the bed in front of me, and then advanced, his eyes pinning me in place. He backed me up against the headboard and took my wrists, holding them over my head as he kissed me thoroughly, his tongue gleefully plundering my mouth before he began to nibble at my jawline and neck, my giggles dissolving back into moans as he traveled ever southward.
He shifted his hands so that just the left encircled both my wrists, his right joining his mouth as it closed over my breasts, sucking at them through the thin fabric of my shirt. I keened, squirming at the tantalizing touch and trying to bring the rest of my body into closer contact with his. As he chuckled the sound reverberated against my skin, and he began to unbutton my blouse, his hands and mouth hot against me. I leaned forward and bit at his shoulder, pressing my hips into his to urge him on.
“So perfect,” he murmured against my tender skin before sucking my left nipple into his mouth, and I cried out as he began to kiss my breasts in earnest, his other hand finally abandoning my wrist to dive down the front of my pants.
His knuckles bumped against my clit and I gasped, rubbing myself wantonly against him. He withdrew, teasing, and I slid my hands over his shoulders, savoring the feel of his smooth skin before digging my fingernails into his back in retaliation.
As he tugged my pants off, I took a moment to congratulate myself on my excellent decision-making skills. No matter what happened tomorrow, this was the most fun I’d ever had during a work trip, and I knew I’d be showing up to my presentation the next day with a little extra bounce in my step.
He tore my panties off and stood there, groaning appreciatively at the view as I spread my legs for him, and then he came at me and began to kiss and lick his way down my stomach, making me writhe in anticipation. He circled my belly button teasingly before trailing his tongue down there. The first touch of his mouth was electric, sparks shooting up my spine as he traced my wet opening before kissing me deeply, his tongue spearing straight and sure, deep inside.
“That’s it,” I panted, encouraging him. “Right there.”
“Is that what you like?” he growled.
That clever tongue flicked over me before plunging into me again and again, his thumbs tracing tantalizing circles on the sensitive skin of my thighs. I was whimpering, bucking upward against him, feeling the beautiful burn of his stubble against me, needing only a little more, only a little more—
He hummed in satisfaction as he tasted me thoroughly, and I felt the vibration of his mouth up through my entire body and down to the tips of my toes.
“So beautiful,” he whispered against me, lapping my wetness with long strokes of his tongue, and without another thought I came harder than a freight train crashing into a mountain, moaning blissfully as I rode out the waves of my orgasm.
When my brain was once again capable of receiving the images transmitted by my eyes, I saw him resting on his elbows beside me, a smug grin on his face with just a hint of shyness, as if he knew exactly how great a job he had done but wouldn’t mind a little confirmation.
A glance downward told me the best way for me to give him that validation.
I licked my lips, loving the way his pupils dilated as his eyes dropped to my tongue, and began to trail my hand down his sweaty, chiseled chest, taking my sweet time on the way to that long, hard cock. I was going to make this so good for him. I was going to stroke him and pump him gentle and slow, firmer and firmer. I was going to sink down and take him slowly into my mouth, teasing him with the promise of more as I drew spirals around his length with my tongue. I was going to take him deep into the back of my throat and—
His phone rang.
We both froze, and for a moment, looking into those lust-darkened eyes, I thought he was going to let it go to voicemail, and we would spend the rest of the evening learning every inch of each other’s bodies.
Then he made a disappointed but resigned sound in the back of his throat, and pulled away from me. “Sorry. This is probably important.”
“Sure,” I said. Maybe it wouldn’t be, though. Maybe it would be some unimportant thing he could immediately resolve without leaving the room, and I could get back to the important business of finding out exactly how he tasted and whether I liked it better than bourbon. Maybe I could find out exactly what noise he would make when—
He rolled out of bed, giving me a great view of that cute ass as he bent over to search the pockets of his discarded clothes for his phone. He pulled it out and cut off the ringing with a stab of his finger, running a distracted hand through his hair.
“Yeah? Yeah, it’s me. Look, I’m kind of in the middle of—no. No. No, I see what you mean. Yeah, that’s—of course I take this seriously!” The volume of his voice rose, and I could see his jaw clench and his Adam’s apple bob as he visibly struggled to maintain control. “Yes. Yes, of course. No, I understand. I’ll be right over. Yes. Goodbye.”
He snapped the phone shut as if he were imagining snapping the neck of the person who had called him, and began to pull his underwear and jeans back on.
I struggled to keep my disappointment from showing. “Gotta run?” I asked, and immediately wanted to slap myself. Of course he had to run. Hadn’t I just heard him say that? What, did I think that if I just asked out loud, the universe would magically turn back time so that that conversation hadn’t happened?
Damn, but that would improve my sex life.
“I’m afraid so,” he said, glancing up from his zipper to shoot me a rueful smile. “It’s an emergency.”
“No one hurt, I hope?” I asked.
He had looked back down to hunt for his socks, and now his head shot back up, surprised. “No, no, not that kind of emergency. Just…” He did drunk-person-trying-to-gesture-like-they’re-sober gesturing. “Boring stuff. It’s a very boring emergency.”
I tried to smile. “Well, you certainly put a new spin on wham, bam, thank-you ma’am.” I let my gaze trail down his muscular chest and the still-tented front of his blue jeans, the way my hand had been set to only moments before. “Was really looking forward to returning the favor.”
A faint blush lit his cheeks, and oh, this was only a one-night stand, that gentlemanly blush shouldn’t be making my heart go pitter-pat.
“Not half as much as I was looking forward to it,” he admitted. “Maybe I’ll see you around…”
“I don’t know how much longer I’ll be staying,” I said. “Work stuff. But I…well, you never know. I wouldn’t mind it.” Yep. Playing it cool.
He finished buttoning his shirt and leaned forward, pressing a chaste yet passionate kiss to my cheek. “I hope you have a wonderful time while you’re here.”
“I already have,” I confessed, and the way he grinned, I almost thought he was about to throw off his clothes again, and stay.
But he just kissed my other cheek, and left.
I flopped back on the hotel bed and sighed, staring at the ceiling.
“Well, that’s the way the cookie crumbles,” I told myself. “And there’s no use crying over spilled milk.” Maybe if I just kept reciting clichés, I’d start to feel better.
It wasn’t the end of the world. It was just a hot guy, who I didn’t get to spend as much time with as I wanted to.
I tried to run through my presentation in my head as I drifted off to sleep, but nothing could keep my mind from replaying the
scene with mystery man over and over. Those eyes, that mouth…that damn phone call. I’ll probably never see him again, I told myself, so it’s best to let it go. That’s just how the world works.
Chapter Two
“Oh my god, Sandra, I’m so sorry, but I completely blanked on that, can you say it again?”
I cradled my phone against my ear as I swiped my badge at the door to the company offices. Thankfully I didn’t need my full brain to navigate, even though I’d never been there before—corporate structured all these places the same, right down to the brain-deadening beige of the carpet and the mass-produced inspirational posters on the walls. The whole place had a completely predictable layout and color scheme, all gleaming sterile neutral tones and easily disassembled cubicle partitions, all traces of individuality scrupulously erased from the workspaces except for the odd golf trophy.
I trotted down the hall, avoiding the curious gazes of the men in expensive suits, the younger ones looking at me like I was the dessert option on the menu, and the older ones looking at me like I must have taken a wrong turn on my way to the kitchen.
I tried not to fumble my phone in my suddenly sweaty hands. There was no reason to be nervous. No reason to be nervous. No reason.
Maybe if I repeated that enough times, I’d actually believe it.
“‘A warm color scheme,’” Sandra repeated as per my earlier instruction. “Lots of rich carmines and golden browns, think hunting lodge meets the red carpet.”
“Got it,” I said. I most definitely did not have a hangover, not even a tiny little bit, but this headache I’d woken up with was really starting to get on my last nerve, and the coffee and ibuprofen I’d had for breakfast weren’t working their magic just yet.
“I’m sorry to make you memorize all my crap,” Sandra apologized, before her voice went slightly tinny and further away. “James! Icky! Icky icky no no!” Her voice returned to its normal timbre. “Sorry about that, he was trying to get into the cat food again.”
“Tell the little monster hi for me,” I said with a grin. I just couldn’t be annoyed at that little moppet with his big brown eyes and mess of dark curls, not even if he was keeping the best art partner I’d ever had stuck back in Washington, D.C. “Has he figured out how to dismantle the DVD player yet?”
