After Hours

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  “I’d like to give you a few other things to tell her about,” he said, his voice low and full of promise.

  There was no mistaking the intention in his words. And my thighs shook with anticipation. But worry hit me again, harder than it had that first time.

  “We can’t leave here together,” I said quickly.

  “Why not?”

  I took a breath and decided to go for the truth. “Because there are people in this bar who’d make my life harder because of it. It could affect my career.”

  “That really matters to you?” he asked.

  “Doesn’t it matter to everyone?”

  “No. Some people care surprisingly little about their jobs.”

  “Well. Not me.”

  He smiled, and I was relieved to see that he looked impressed rather than concerned. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Anywhere but here.”

  He slid his knee between my thighs and rocked forward—the dancing a clear pretense. “A bar down the street? Your place?”

  My breath caught. “My place is good.”

  “All right.”

  He freed his leg, then took both my hands. His face gleamed with a wicked half-smile—a look that just rode the line between dizzyingly seductive and dangerously predatory.

  “Let’s make a scene,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Just enough so that no one thinks we’re leaving together.”

  He tugged on my hand, drawing me close, winked, then dropped my fingers in favor of clasping my chin. By the time I realized what he was about to do, it was too late to stop him. His mouth had landed on mine already. The kiss was warm and rough, and it drove my pulse higher. Blood rushed through my veins at a thunderous pace. I forgot about the people in the room. Nothing could possibly be more important than the feel of Marc’s tongue darting across my mouth, parting my lips. When he tore himself away, the loss almost blinded me. I blinked, trying to clear my vision. He stood in front of me, his face split in a wide, self-satisfied grin.

  “Now get mad,” he urged in a low voice.

  “What?” I said again.

  “Quick.”

  Uncertainly, I furrowed my brow.

  “Now,” he commanded. “Or I’ll kiss you again. And people are looking.”

  I didn’t have to check. I could feel their eyes on me. I put my hands on my hips and turned my frown into a glare. “I asked you to dance. I guess that means something different to you than it does to me.”

  He took a small step forward, his eyes on my lips. For a second, I thought he was going to grab me for a second round anyway. My knees shook. If he thought I was going to be able to push him away to continue the charade, he was dead wrong. I inhaled, but I couldn’t steady my breathing. But he just glared for a long second, then lifted his hand to flick back a chunk of his thick, brown hair.

  “Back alley,” he growled under his breath. “I’ll get us a cab.”

  “Hurry,” I whispered through my teeth.

  “Two minutes.”

  Then he spun on his heel and lurched away in pretended drunkenness, stumbling into a table as he made his way up to the bar.

  I didn’t stick around to see if there was any aftermath. I pushed through the curious, gossip-hungry crowd and made my way to the door. From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Liv. She stood near the bathrooms, her mouth hanging open.

  Don’t follow me, I willed.

  But I knew she’d need me stop her. I gave her an awkward wave, then an even more awkward thumbs up. Her mouth closed.

  Good enough.

  I flew past the coat check area, deciding I could sacrifice my favorite jacket. It would be a small loss in comparison to satisfying my increasing need. And my fast movements were only making the want worse. My thighs brushed together as I slammed the door open, and I just about moaned.

  Even the rush of cool night air couldn’t calm me down. Goosebumps filled my skin where the breeze hit. I forced myself to keep going without looking back to see if Liv had followed me anyway, or if Marc had caught up yet. I found the opening between the exterior of the bar and the next building, and I slipped between and made my way to the alley.

  There, I sank against the chilly brick wall and drew in a big gulp of air.

  Two minutes.

  It was going to seem like forever. I tried to distract myself by taking inventory of my surroundings. The bar was in an upper-class commercial area in Vancouver. It wasn’t devoid of crime completely, but more prone to digital theft than muggings. I felt safe enough ensconced in between the buildings. They were tall—though not high-rise material—and modern and clean. At least a few of them had been designed by Eco-Go, so it was almost like coming home. But when a warm hand landed on my arm, I still jumped.

  Marc’s laugh filled my ear. “Nice girls don’t hang out in dark alleys.”

  I met his gaze. “Nice boys don’t ask them to.”

  “Me, not nice? You’re the one who not-so-nicely resisted my advances on the dance floor. My feelings and my pride are wounded.” Then his sexy half-smile made an appearance. “Luckily, I can think of a few ways to take the emotional sting out.”

  “Me, too.”

  He pushed both palms to the wall behind me, blocking me from moving. “Show me.”

  I’d never been so pleasantly trapped in my life. I pressed myself forward, the length of my body brushing his, then lifted myself to my tiptoes to dust his cheek with a kiss.

  Then I sank down and shot him a deliberately coy look. “How’s that?”

  “That’s a start,” he said. “But I’m sure you can do better.”

  “You do remember that you asked me to send you away in there, right?”

  “Do you always do what you’re told?”

  “Rarely.”

  “So if I commanded you to put your arms around me, you’d say no?”

  “I’d point out that I can’t even move my arms because you’ve got them pinned to my side.”

  “That’s so very true.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to let me go?”

  “Nope.”

  I pouted. “Definitely not a nice boy.”

  His eyes flashed with amusement, and he inched closer, forcing me hard against the wall. “If you want nice, look elsewhere.”

  I might’ve countered with something clever. But his lips were on mine then. His hands came along for the ride, too, slipping over my face, caressing my jawline from chin to ear. It was sensual and intimate, and my mouth couldn’t help but drop open to welcome him.

  Marc took full advantage of the access. His tongue tripped between my lips to explore my mouth. He tasted sweet and delicious and tangy. And his fingers were magic. They moved from my face to my hair, tangling into my uncooperative curls and tugging at them with just the right amount of force.

  He pulled a little harder, dislodging his mouth and sending my head back to expose my throat. He wasted no time going after the sensitive skin there. With an urgency that made me tremble, his teeth found the spot where my pulse thrummed in my neck. My knee came up to his hip, and my dress lifted and lodged itself up near my waist. I got the full, wonderful length of his erection as it pushed to the lace of my panties in an incredibly frustrating way. He was big and hard, and I throbbed with a need to feel him from the inside.

  Where was the stupid taxi? I needed it so I could get what I craved.

  But as one of his hands—the one that didn’t hold my knee—slid down to my arms and lifted them over my head, I realized it didn’t matter how fast the cab got there—it wouldn’t be quick enough.

  Marc’s mouth was already moving south, first dipping low into my cleavage, then landing over top of my nipple, sucking it through my dress. I moaned at the attention. If my hands hadn’t been pinned back, I would’ve been scramb
ling to pull off the bodice, fighting to give him better access. But he took care of it himself anyway. Using his teeth, he tugged down the fabric. And as his mouth closed over my taut, pink skin, I’d never been so glad to be braless in my life. He nipped and sucked and licked, and I wanted even more.

  And he gave it.

  He released my hands and fell to his knees.

  Is he going to—oh, God.

  He was. He did. He hooked his thumbs through my underwear and dragged them down, bringing his mouth to my thighs as he did. His tongue made a path upwards, heating the inches between my knees and my hips. I wanted to writhe. But I was too afraid that he might stop, so I stood as still as I could, waiting for him to make his way farther up. It didn’t take long.

  His hands came up to spread my legs apart, and his thumbs stayed there, moving together in a circle over my clit as his tongue darted along beside them teasingly. I was so wet with need, so weak with want, that I couldn’t believe I managed to stay on my feet at all. I wanted it to go on forever. But I was throbbing with a desire for satiation as well. Pure, sweet torture.

  “Please,” I whimpered.

  “Like this?” He punctuated the question with a sudden, long lick.

  I quivered.

  “Or like this?” He dragged a finger across my warm and waiting sex, then plunged it into me, just once.

  I groaned. “Yes. Both.”

  “Greedy, greedy.” He dipped his finger in again, then gave another little tug with his mouth before pausing. “Aysia?”

  “Mmph,” I mumbled.

  “In case I forget to tell you later…you taste fucking delicious.”

  I gasped as he said it. And moaned as his tongue swiped over my clit then pushed directly into me, twirling and playing. It took only moments for me to get lost in the intimate attention. My hands landed on his head, they dug into his hair, holding tightly and urging him to keep going. My hips came forward and my head went back, bumping the wall. I ignored the little stab of pain. It was secondary. Buried under a wash of pleasure.

  A building, thickening heat spiraled up inside of me. My whole body shook with the fast-approaching release. I was going to come. Soon.

  Too soon? I wondered.

  But the worry flew away almost as fast as it arrived. His tongue played me perfectly, his strong fingers a perfect accompaniment. Every touch brought me closer. I gave in to the rhythm. I let the pulse take me.

  Hot. So damned hot.

  “Marc.” His name was throaty whisper, and saying it felt so good and right that I did it a second time. “Marc.”

  He increased the tempo, no longer teasing, no longer dragging me along, but pushing me. Faster and faster. Sweeter and harder and—

  “Oh!” The sharp cry ripped from my mouth as I leaped over the edge of pleasure then tumbled down the side in an uncontrollable freefall.

  I throbbed, riding the wave of the orgasm as Marc clamped his lips down and held me tightly. He cupped my bare ass with both his hands and squeezed that, too. Like he needed to fill himself with as much of me as he could. Like he needed to possess me. I’d never been held like that before. He didn’t release me until the last of it subsided. As I slumped back, spent, he slid up my body and kept me upright as he pulled my panties back in place.

  I opened my mouth to say something—I had no idea what—but the flash of headlights at the end of the alley cut me off.

  “C’mon, honey,” he said. “That’s our ride.”

  And even if I’d wanted to, I would’ve been helpless to do anything but let him drag me across the concrete to the waiting cab. Because as sated as I was, the sight of his self-satisfied grin and the feel of his hand in mine made me want even more.

  Chapter 3

  Marcelo

  The taste of her lingered, and I couldn’t complain. Running my tongue up and down the softest, sweetest parts of her had been exquisite. Better than the single malt scotch I liked to sip at night while I watch the news. The residual sweetness did nothing to help with my need to slam her down the in the backseat of the cab, push her dress up again, and fuck her senseless. Christ, how I wanted to.

  The second we get to her place.

  The assurance was almost enough of a buffer.

  The cab driver had already maneuvered away from the line of commercial buildings, and I could see row of expensive high-rises on the near horizon. They had to be our destination.

  Her knee crept over the line to brush against mine, and I stifled a groan. My eyes drifted up the long line of creamy thigh to the edge of her dress.

  Hell.

  I adjusted again, trying to put a tiny amount of space between us. If I didn’t, VanCity Cab Company was going to send me a hell of a bill. Maybe call the police. Or shit. Maybe they had a video feed set up, and we’d just find ourselves splashed all over the internet.

  For a second, the thought made my cock ache even harder. Her body under my body, recorded on a shitty camera feed, moaning and thumping and more than a little pornographic.

  Of course, video evidence of a lust-fueled evening was the last thing I needed. The exact kind of shit that got a PR manager fired. Worse even than having to fire an asshole like Carl on my first official day at work.

  Carl.

  Thinking of his face—probably smug as he snapped the video of Aysia—made me want to punch something.

  “Eep!”

  The little exclamation—the first thing she’d said since giving the cabbie her address—made me look down in surprise. The space between our knees had ceased to exist. My hand was on her thigh, squeezing tightly. Too tightly, probably.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “How many minutes until we’re there?” I asked, half-teasing, half-eager.

  “Seven or eight.”

  There was a little hitch in her breath as she said it, and I realized my fingers were moving, all on their own. Rubbing the spot I’d squeezed in a little circle, attempting to soothe away any pain I’d caused. Except the spot in question was dangerously close to the hem of her well-fitted dress. Which was short to start out with and made even shorter by the way she sat.

  Damn again.

  I tried to pull my hand away, but she had other ideas. She dropped her palm over top of my forearm and slid my fingers between her thighs and up. I didn’t need any more encouragement than that. I tipped my wrist so I could stroke the edge of her panties. Then I slid one finger underneath them and stroked again, and she made a small, strangled sound that drew the attention of the cabbie.

  “Okay back there?” he asked.

  “Fine,” Aysia said, her voice all hot and breathless.

  I leaned close and teased, “Just fine?”

  “Maybe better than fine.”

  “Maybe?” I stroked a little harder.

  “Yes.” It was somewhere between a hiss and a gasp.

  “Yes, maybe…or yes better?” I moved my finger just inside of her.

  She let out another sound—this one close to a moan—and the cabbie flicked another glance our way. I narrowed my eyes at his scrutiny. He had a ghost of a smile on his face, and I didn’t like it one bit.

  This show’s not for you, buddy.

  The thought was a possessive one rather than a modest one, and for a second it gave me pause. Being jealous over a woman I’d just met, whose last name I didn’t even know, made zero sense. In fact, it was un-fucking-reasonable. Still. There was no denying the green tinge in my heart. My hand—the one that wasn’t otherwise occupied—twitched into a fist.

  Jesus, Diaz. Have a bit of pride.

  It wasn’t as though he could really see what was going on. Aysia was in the seat right behind his, and my own body obscured the rest of his view. Even a look in the rearview mirror wouldn’t give him more than a glimpse of her gorgeous chest. Plus, I doubted it wa
s the first time he’d had an overly amorous couple in his backseat. But all the reassurance in the world didn’t quell my need to prove she was mine for the moment, and my next words swept away the illusion that I currently had complete control of myself.

  “I liked it when you said my name,” I said just loud enough that my voice carried to the front seat.

  Aysia’s eyes widened, and her sweet little tongue came out to tap her lower lip nervously as she glanced toward the cabbie.

  I slipped my finger out and stilled it—deliberate, possessive torment. “Say it again.”

  “Marc.” It was a murmured plea.

  “A little louder, honey.”

  “This isn’t very nice.”

  “I tried to warn you that I wouldn’t be.”

  She closed her eyes and breathed out. “Marc.”

  I brought my finger back up. “Again.”

  Her gaze flicked forward again. “Marc.”

  “Look at me when you say it,” I ordered.

  She turned her face my way. There was nothing submissive in her look. Need, yes. A willingness to comply, maybe. Out and out want, definitely.

  When she didn’t speak, I bent closer and whispered into her ear. “Look at me and say it, honey, and I’ll make you come again, right here, quick and hard.”

  She pulled back, her eyes catching mine and holding them. “Marc.”

  I stopped holding back. I plunged one finger into her waiting wetness, then two. I curled them up and squeezed along the upper wall, searching for the spot that would make her come undone. A gasp let me know I’d found it.

  “Oh, God,” she groaned. “Marc.”

  “Maybe not that loud,” I teased. “Don’t want out driver to have an apoplexy.”

  “Did you just say apoplexy?”

  “I did.”

  “Now?”

  “Yep. You wanna keep talking about it?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  As I pressed then eased then pressed again, I brought my palm down over her clit and added some external pressure. Her hands dropped to her sides, clasping the seat, and her head fell back. She hissed in a breath and pressed her lips together like it hurt, and I fought a chuckle. I honestly didn’t give a shit if she called out so loudly that we crashed. Touching her like this, watching her face, it would be worth the insurance premium.