After Hours

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  His words were so soft. So seductive.

  “My fingers move up now.” His voice was a near whisper. “They reach your waistband and then slip inside.”

  In my head, his thick, sure figures caressed the sensitive skin just below my currently non-existent panty line.

  “They keep going,” he added. “Touching and teasing. Just one finger, slipping to roll over your clit.”

  I couldn’t hold in a gasp as my hand found the spot he suggested. And on the other end of the phone, Marc groaned. My mind moved involuntarily from him touching me to him touching himself.

  “Oh, God,” I gasped.

  My hand moved faster, and I couldn’t stop it.

  If someone had told me just a half hour earlier than the thought of a man stroking his own erection would be the thing to drive me over the edge, I would’ve laughed. But this was a whole other story, and there was nothing funny about. It was just straight up hotness.

  So.

  Damned.

  Hot.

  “Marc,” I said, startled to find the first sweet spirals of an orgasm already licking across my abdomen. “I can’t hold on.”

  “Don’t,” he replied. “Please don’t.”

  So I gave in to my need, letting his voice and my hand take me to the precipice, then toss me over full force. My hips lifted, and I shuddered. It was quick and intense, and it took me several long moments after to recover. I could hear Marc, too, breathing heavily on the other end.

  It was him who spoke first. “You there?”

  “Nowhere else to go,” I said back teasingly. “And I’m pretty sure my legs wouldn’t work anyway.”

  He chuckled. “I do have that effect on women.”

  “Hmm. Are there a lot of women in your life?”

  I expected a hesitation. I didn’t get one.

  “Nope,” he said. “None.”

  “None?”

  “Well. I did meet one girl just the other day, and I’m kind of hoping—” A noisy beep cut him off, and he swore.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “I think your phone is about to die.”

  “You didn’t plug it in?”

  “You plugged mine in?”

  “We have the same charger.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  The beep sounded again, blaring into my pillow.

  “Sorry, Aysia, I really think it’s going to—”

  And that was it. The phone died. With a frustrated sigh, I set the device back down, then put my head on the pillow beside it.

  What had he been hoping? I really wanted to know. Like, really, really. I tucked my sheet up around my chin, thinking about it. Though the night before I hadn’t cared enough to ask, I was glad he had no other women in his life. Not that I thought for a second I was a piece of side action. Just that a man who had moves like Marc couldn’t be hard up.

  Then I smiled. My own moves weren’t exactly shabby, either. As evidenced by the fact that he’d stolen my phone just to talk to me again. I hugged myself a little giddily. The bubbling excitement made me wonder if I’d be able to fall asleep at all, but after a few minutes, drowsiness crept in. I drifted, Marc’s sideways smile filling my mind pleasantly.

  I rolled over once, sure that sleep was just a breath or two away. But before I managed to grab a hold of it, an insistent buzz forced me to wakefulness again.

  The door.

  I frowned and pushed to a sitting position. The buzz came again. A glance at Marc’s phone told me it was now nearly two in the morning.

  Marc.

  Had he made his way back to my place after the phone died? It would’ve been a pretty quick trip. I made myself get up, and I stepped down the stairs and moved to the long window in my living room. It faced the front of the building, but my view was obstructed by the tall hemlocks that lined the walk. I squinted and angled my gaze downward, trying to get a look at the concrete patio. What I saw instead was the shiny sign on the post emblazoned with Eco-Go’s logo. And reflected in the sign was a face I knew.

  Carl.

  “Shit,” I muttered, jumping back.

  The buzzer sounded again.

  Please just go away, I willed silently.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d shown up at my place unexpectedly. But it was the first time it’d happened in the middle of the night. Did he really think I’d answer?

  If his persistence is any indication…

  Asshole.

  I took a breath, then checked the door. It was soundly locked. Bolted. I wiggled the handle, just to make sure, then cast another glance toward my window and hurried back up to my bedroom, praying that he hadn’t seen any movement inside.

  I reminded myself that Carl didn’t know the key code and that I wasn’t scared of him. Or of his miniscule manhood. And as I climbed into bed again, the buzzing finally ceased.

  But I couldn’t shake my unease.

  I pulled up my sheets, this time forcefully. I knew it was going to be tougher now to get back to sleep. I’d be worrying about Carl and what he wanted.

  My fingers crept to Marc’s phone. I considered calling Liv. Or the police. But I knew doing the former would cause more worry than I wanted to deal with. The latter would make me seem like a victim. Which I definitely was not. I didn’t want to deal with the fallout if that got back to anyone at work, either. I could just imagine the drama. And of course—technically—buzzing me at two in the morning wasn’t illegal. It was just annoying and freak-tastic. Typical Carl.

  I exhaled and pulled my fingers away from the phone and admitted that if I was being totally honest anyway, the voice I really wanted to hear wasn’t my best friend’s or that of a too-patient cop. It was the one that belonged to a man I’d just met.

  Chapter 6

  Marcelo

  I scrubbed a hand over my freshly-shaved face and stared irritably at the list of names on the side of Aysia’s building.

  The morning was bright and sunny. I, on the other hand, was not.

  It wasn’t that there were all that many names listed. The compact condominium only had six floors, and each floor had only four units. It was just that they were last names, and I still hadn’t asked what hers was. The only one I recognized was Fisk, and I was sure as hell that the missus attached to it wouldn’t be interested in hearing any more of my breathing.

  I tugged Aysia’s phone from my pocket and glared at it. The moment our conversation had cut off last night, I’d tried to plug in the damned thing like she suggested. All I’d succeeded in doing was breaking off the end of my charger. It left me feeling…I don’t know what.

  “Un-fucking-finished,” I muttered.

  Not because I hadn’t finished. I sure as hell had. In a way that would’ve been embarrassingly quick in person. But our moment had been cut short.

  What more I wanted, I don’t know. A cuddle? A few sweet nothings and her hand threaded through mine? Yeah, okay. Possibly. I admitted I’d been tempted to leave my apartment in favor of hers, middle of the night be damned. I’d made myself stay. Reminded myself the beauty of phone sex was rolling over and falling asleep in the comfort of my own home without having to talk about it.

  Didn’t stop you from wanting to do it, though, did it, you big suck?

  “Shut up,” I said aloud to my asshole of a conscience, then turned my attention back to my current problem.

  I stepped down the front step and onto the patch of grass, and I craned my neck up to look at the second floor. Was it unreasonable to throw rocks at a living room window? A minute later, though, I realized I wouldn’t have to. Up above, a curtain of brown curls tipped over one of the balconies. The sun framed her face and even though it was impossible, I could swear that I could see the dazzling blue of her eyes from where I stood.

  My bad mood eased cons
iderably at the sight of her. “Hey, honey. Sensed my undeniable presence, huh?”

  Her mane of hair shook back and forth. “No, you ego maniac. Mrs. Fisk just knocked on my door and told me there was some lunatic on the front step.”

  “Ah. Get a lot of us maniacs down here?”

  For a second, her face clouded, then she shook her head again and it cleared. “I try to keep it to a minimum.”

  “You wanna let me in?”

  “I guess it’s better than letting you stand out there being all maniacal.”

  She disappeared back into her condo, and a moment later, the door buzzed. I jogged back up the stairs and yanked it open, an uncontrollable grin already on my face. By the time I actually reached her door, my cock had joined my face in having a mind of its own. It was busy making plans that my brain hadn’t even caught up with yet. And it sure as hell didn’t calm down at all when she opened the door and greeted me in nothing but a tiny pair of running shorts, a sports bra, and a minuscule white crop top.

  I eyed her up and down. “I don’t know whether to be disappointed that you’re not in your pajamas or thrilled that you’re in that outfit instead.”

  Her already-flushed face went a little redder. “Just got back from a jog.”

  “You wear that when you run?” I did another onceover, starting with her currently bare feet and ending at her mess of curls.

  “Minus the insane hair—which is the result of a broken hair tie—but otherwise…yes.”

  “Where?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Wherever I want. Is that a problem?”

  “Nope. I just want to know where so I can come.”

  “You run, too?”

  “I do. But in this case…I just wanna watch you.” I held out her phone.

  “Ha ha.” She took the cell, then shot me a look as she saw the blank screen. “Still dead? Really?”

  “Don’t ask. It’s a boring story that ends in swear words and a hangnail.”

  Her mouth tipped up. “Fine. I won’t. Not because I mind swear words but because I hate hangnails.”

  I watched as she took a swig of the water, envious of the bottle. Then I watched some more as she swallowed, her tongue darting out to suck off any wayward drops.

  Christ.

  Every move she made managed to be sexy.

  I fought an urge to toss aside the water bottle—and my dignity—so I could throw her over the counter right that second.

  She took another sip, and when she pulled the bottle down this time, a drop of liquid hung on her upper lip. I waited for her tongue to come out to claim it, and was sorely disappointed when it didn’t.

  You are more than a set of overactive balls, I told myself firmly, and I cleared my throat. “You still up for shopping?”

  The water droplet trickled down her lip to her chin, distracting me so badly I almost missed her reply.

  “Bed sheets?” she asked.

  “Uh. Yeah.”

  “Sure.”

  Now the drop slid down her chin to her throat, settling for a second in the small, kissable spot just above her first rib.

  Hell. Maybe I am nothing but a set of overactive balls.

  I continued to stare for a long moment before lifting my eyes to meet her mildly amused gaze.

  “Good,” I managed to say.

  Three seconds went by before I sought the water droplet’s path again.

  “Gotta charge my phone for a bit first,” she added.

  The drop was just above her cleavage, hovering. “Okay.”

  “Probably eat.”

  “All right.”

  “Stretch a bit.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And take a shower.”

  “Okay.”

  “Maybe have some sex. If the right guy shows up.”

  The drip disappeared under her low-cut, form-fitting shirt. Why the hell was that single bit of moisture so damned alluring?

  Wait.

  I looked up. “What?”

  She was already on the move, one foot on the little stairs that led up to her bedroom in the loft. She tossed me a smile over her shoulder, then reached down and yanked off the tiny shirt. For a second, she held it on the tip of her finger. Then she dropped it.

  Damn.

  Why wouldn’t my own feet move? She laughed like she knew how stuck I was, then reached for her bra. In an instant, she was topless.

  My eyes dragged hungrily over her bare back. I clearly hadn’t spent enough time just looking at her two nights earlier. She had light muscles under her soft curves and smooth, beautiful skin. Tan lines emphasized how much time she spent in the outdoors, but the contrast wasn’t so strong that it was startling. I lifted a hand—maybe just to prove I could still control some small part of my body—and ran my fingers over my chin. I was half-surprised to find that it wasn’t covered with drool.

  Aysia’s hands moved to her shorts. She lowered them. One inch. Then another. She cast another look my way, but it barely registered. I had a perfect view of the dimples in the lowest part of her back, and I could just see the top of her heart shaped ass. But she’d stopped moving, her striptease paused.

  “Something you want, Marc?” she asked archly.

  “Take them off,” I said, my voice full of need.

  “Say please.”

  “Please,” I growled.

  “You don’t sound like you mean it.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever meant anything more.”

  She let out another laugh, wriggled once, then let the shorts fall. For a blissful second, my cock and my brain were in complete agreement. Her ass was everything that makes an ass perfect. Then she was gone. Running up the stairs and slipping from my line of sight.

  “Shit.”

  I finally convinced my feet that they needed to do some work, too. I strode across the room and hit the steps in my usual way, taking two at a time. Even so, when I reached the top, I could already hear the shower running in her en suite. I pushed my way through the bedroom and into the bathroom just in time to see her slide the stall door shut. Immediately, I pressed my hand to the glass and opened it again.

  She gave my fully clothed body a critical glare. “You are not getting in here like that.”

  I shot a pointed look around the shower stall. “I don’t know how to tell you this, honey, but I don’t think you can stop me.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, pushing her cleavage to epic proportions, and I fought a laugh. The gesture did nothing to make her glare any more convincing.

  I took a small step closer and ran my thumb across one of her wet, on-display breasts. “It’s cute that you think getting mad is gonna work.”

  “I swear, Marc—”

  I dropped my mouth to hers cutting her off forcefully. The water rained down on me, and I didn’t care. I moved forward again, encircling her naked body with my clothed one, and I deepened the kiss, parting her lips with my tongue. She tasted fantastic, salty with a hint of leftover sweat and fresh with the water pouring down our faces.

  Still exploring her mouth, I lifted a foot and stepped into the stall, sliding the door shut behind me as I did. She wasn’t pretending to fight me anymore. Her hands were on me. Running across my back, digging into my hair, then pulling away just long enough to drag my T-shirt up and toss the sopping thing aside before tilting her head back up and cementing her lips back to mine. She hooked her knee over my hip and pushed into my thick erection.

  Growling against her mouth, I reached down to grab her ass and lift her up. I pressed her against the shower wall and thrust against her in a quick circle. One way. Then the other.

  “Pants,” she gasped, pushing a hand between us to snatch at the button of my jeans.

  As she fought the tiny space between us, her finger hit my cock, again and again,
making me groan. God, how I wanted her. Now.

  “Too slow,” I muttered, then pushed her aside to free myself.

  Quickly, I flicked open my button and zipper. She helped me along by shoving down my pants to my hips. I groaned again. I was so close to where I wanted to be. So ready to take her, hard and quick.

  “Condom,” I said, loath to let her go, but knowing I had to, just for a moment.

  “Hurry.”

  I released her and stumbled from the tub, pulling of my shoes and my waterlogged pants as I did. I slid open the drawer, found the box, and tore it open. By the time I got back to Aysia and the shower, I was sheathed and ready. And she was no less eager. Before I even reached the edge of the bath, she had her hands on me once more, pulling me closer.

  I tried for a futile second to slow things down. I put my palm on her hip, thinking I might restrain myself for a moment longer. I couldn’t. When my fingers closed on her soft skin, she tipped her head back with a gasp. The sight of her with the water pouring down on her face—her expression wanton and her hair plastered to her shoulders—was all I could take.

  Without any pretense of holding back, I grabbed her by the ass and lifted her from the ground again. I pushed her to the wall, sliding my cock into her as I did. Just entering her almost undid me. The way she fit me so perfectly. How she was tight and slick at the same time. The fact that she cried out my name as I rocked inside her, again, and again. It was all too much.

  “So fucking good, Aysia,” I said against her mouth.

  “Yes!”

  I don’t know if it was an agreement or just an exclamation, but as soon as the word slipped from her lips, her grip on me tightened. Her fingers dug hard into shoulder blades and her knees hugged my hips and her ass clenched under my hands. All around me she tensed up.

  “Christ,” I swore. “I can’t—now, Aysia. Fuck. Please.”

  She called out another affirmation, then quivered under me.

  “Now,” I said again, and her reply was a wild noise that drove me over the edge—that drove us over.

  Together, we came—her pulsing around me, me throbbing inside of her. I held her there against the wall until our breathing evened out, then released her to the ground slowly and gave her a half a dozen slow, warm kisses before I pulled away.