That Sexy Stranger

by Nadia Lee

  Beau stares at me. Patrice is frowning as though she’s having a hard time believing what I just said. What’s so difficult about accepting the idea that Luke has fans?

  Oh wait. What if he writes porn? I can see how that would be awkward for the parental units. But still, they should be proud. Good porn is as rare as unicorn poop.

  I feel Luke’s gaze on me, but I don’t want to turn my focus away from his annoying parents. “Sure, maybe dull literary prize committees just can’t recognize the brilliance of Luke’s writing,” I continue, “but there’s more to writing than winning some prize nobody outside the ivory tower cares about anyway. Personally, I prefer to read something that gives me pleasure and joy. And his work does. After all, people don’t read to be bored out of their minds. Been there, done that. Both in high school and college.” I end with a smile brilliant enough to rival Jan’s engagement ring.

  Beau’s complexion is so red, I wonder if he’s really a were-lobster. Oooh, oooh, maybe Darth Maul. He’s certainly vile enough. Breaking eye contact, Patrice mutters something incomprehensible.

  I turn to Luke. “You know, hon, I’m a little tired, and the air here is super stuffy. Why don’t we exit stage left?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  I fidget in my seat as Luke drives his Porsche toward our subdivision. He hasn’t said a word since I dragged him out of Alexandra’s party. I study his profile. If it weren’t for the fact that we were dealing with his parents, I’d figure he was just too overcome with gratitude to speak, but families are complicated.

  Is he upset? It’s hard to tell because his expression is, like, Rushmore impassive. Actually, stone would probably tell me more.

  Maybe he’s worried because we snuck out early. I clear my throat and say, “You know…it’s probably okay. I was there long enough to celebrate Jan and Matt’s engagement, and I’m going to see them soon enough anyway.” Not to mention, I’m certain he doesn’t know Jan and Matt that well. Well…somewhat certain. He sort of did go to Harvard, even if he didn’t get the diploma at the end, so he could’ve befriended Matt there. On the other hand, friends don’t let friends get publicly abused by unsupportive parents.

  At the same time, friends don’t talk to friends’ parents the way you did either. I cringe inwardly.

  If somebody talked to my parents the way I spoke to his, I’d be upset. In my defense, my parents would never belittle my profession publicly—or privately—but family can be tricky. My brothers and I give each other shit all the time, but if anybody else picks on us, we’re one hundred percent united against the outsider. So it is possible Luke’s bothered by my interaction with his mom and dad.

  The only good thing about the drive is that Alexandra lives only twenty minutes from my place, and traffic’s light. Luke’s also speeding. Maybe I should say something, but then again, maybe not. Nobody likes a backseat driver…or even if they’re seated shotgun. Especially if they’re seated shotgun. I know because Stan threatened to install an ejector in his car when I pointed out all the things he was doing wrong (but only because he really was doing them wrong). Besides, men don’t buy Porsches to go under fifty-five miles per hour.

  Damn it. I fidget. This is awkward. I’ve never, ever felt this unsure about anybody or any situation.

  “You can just drop me off at my place,” I say when Luke turns into the subdivision.

  But instead of heading toward my townhouse, he parks his car in front of a single home in an unfamiliar cul-de-sac in another part of the neighborhood. He kills the engine, gets out, and opens the passenger door for me.

  The moment I step out, his hand wraps behind my neck, warm and large and holding me steady. The other hand is at my hip, pulling me closer until I’m pressed against him. He’s like an inferno, and he kisses me.

  Oh my God, does he kiss me.

  His lips are scorching, and I moan softly as he slants his head for a tighter, more possessive connection. My knees actually go weak, the first time that’s ever happened.

  I suck in air, breathe in his scent. He smells so addictive—my own eau de cocaine. The stubble on his jaw scrapes my skin deliciously, and I want to feel that rough texture on my thighs. Then my hands are in his hair—soft, silky, warm and begging to be mussed—and it’s all I can do to hang on as my blood heats and roars through my veins in a hot rush.

  Luke runs his hands along my arched back. A soft groan tears from his throat, and I press tighter into him, feeling his erection against my belly.

  He pulls back, just a little, so our lips are only a hairsbreadth away from each other. Our breaths fan each other, and I swear I can taste him even through the tiny distance between us, like a spark jumping the gap.

  His blue eyes are dark and electric as he gazes into me. He’s giving me a chance to pull away because this is it. If I don’t stop him now, we’re going all the way.

  And the conviction with which I want him is beyond anything I’ve ever felt in my life.

  “What are you waiting for?” I whisper, running my tongue along the edge of my teeth.

  The smile he gives me is so brilliant it hurts. He picks me up like I weigh no more than a scarf and carries me up to his house. My heart knocks against my chest harder and faster with each step he takes.

  Thump thump thump thump thumpthump.

  He unlocks and opens the door with no trouble at all, even with me in his arms. He strides inside, barely slowing down to kick the door shut behind him, and then he’s back to kissing me as he carries me upstairs.

  I vaguely notice that I’m in a bedroom as he lets me down. Our lips still fused, he unbuttons my jacket and pushes it down. As soon as he’s done, I get rid of his jacket, then shove the shirt out of the way. We pull apart to get rid of our tops, then, before he can reclaim my mouth, I place a palm on his chest.

  His entire torso is beautifully muscled all over, not an ounce of fat anywhere. I run a finger along his chest, then across small nipples, then slowly down the ribs and ridged abs. His body reacts to my touch, muscles twitching along the trail I create.

  “I love your body,” I murmur. “It’s not only gorgeous, but so damn fit.” I look into his dark eyes. “Take off the rest of your clothes for me.”

  His eyes on me, he toes off his shoes, then gets rid of the rest of his outfit in a few rough tugs and shoves. He’s even more beautiful fully nude, every part of him large and perfectly proportioned. I can’t help but admire the clean, sculpted lines of his thick thighs and calves.

  Then there’s his cock. The shaft is long and so thick I’m not certain I can wrap my hand around it and have my thumb touch the fingers. Dark veins throb on the side, and a drop of clear liquid beads over the slit at the tip.

  I slide a finger across it and put it in my mouth. It tastes slightly salty. And all Luke.

  He inhales sharply, and lust beats a path all the way down to my clit. Clenching the aching flesh between my legs, I dust kisses along his jaw, then the thin, delicate skin on his neck where his pulse throbs unevenly. I run my fingers along his dick.

  “I want to take you in my mouth and lick you all over.” And I mean every syllable. I want to make him feel good and watch him lose his mind.

  “Jesus,” he groans before wrapping a hand around my hair. “Later,” he murmurs. “After.” He kisses me in a frenzy, his tongue licking across my mouth then slipping inside.

  Our tongues tangle. The sharp edge of his teeth grazes my tender lips, and pure want swells in my belly. He palms my ass, squeezing it. More wetness gathers between my thighs, and I feel the edge of the bed at the back of my legs.

  My body tilts, landing on the soft mattress. Luke pulls my shoes off and dumps them behind him, then unbuckles my jeans and drags them off. Once they’re gone, he runs his hands along the sides of my calves.

  “Stunning,” he whispers, nibbling here and there as though to mark me. Moving closer and closer to the slick spot where heat’s gathering and building with every ragged breath I take. “And your lingerie is dr
iving me insane.”

  Michelle’s been trying to fully convert me to the Religion of Risqué Underwear, but I’ve been sort of skeptical—until now. The searing look he’s giving me is totally worth the splurge.

  “Satin and lace. Mmm.”

  He bites the delicate material at my hip and tugs it down. I lift my ass to help. Then my pushup bra is gone, and we’re both totally exposed and naked.

  Looking at me on his bed, he smacks his lips. My breath stutters, and excitement flares at the intensity of his perusal. He hooks my knee on his arm and moves up. The position leaves me open and vulnerable, but I trust he’s going to make this good. More than good. I can tell in the way he takes his time, reining in the fierce need blazing in his eyes.

  Instead of driving into me like I expected, he trails light kisses all over my forehead, cheeks, the tip of my nose and chin. The jawline is next, then he buries his head in my neck. His breath tickles a little, but it’s not a giggle that bubbles in my throat. There’s something surprisingly hot about having my legs spread open while he kisses me, because he can glide in at any time. Liquid heat spreads, and sweat mists on my skin as sweet anticipation builds.

  He palms my breast. Of all my female assets, my breasts are my most lacking. Michelle told me if I quit running, they’ll probably plump up, but running is as routine as brushing my teeth and I can’t imagine giving it up. Luke doesn’t seem to mind the lack of plumpage, though. His thumb glides across the hard little peak. Pleasure winds around me. But that’s nothing compared to the hot bliss of having his lips close around my other nipple. I hold his head, my back arching. His tongue, lips and teeth all work to drive me insane. The sharp nip as he releases my nipple with a soft, wet pop sends electric sparks all the way to my toes, making them curl.

  “So, so responsive,” he says as he takes the other nipple into his mouth.

  “Please. Hurry,” I say, my feet flat on the bed and rocking into him.

  He merely purrs, the vibration intensifying the hot sensation at my breast. His free hand slips between my legs and he runs a finger along my slick folds.

  I gasp, then spread my thighs wider. “See. I’m ready.”

  “Not yet.” He gives a wicked, but slightly strained grin.

  Ah, yes. He is close to the breaking point. I can work with this. “We waited a week.”

  “I waited longer.”

  I frown. I’m pretty sure his math is off, but hey, who’s tallying and arguing? The point is that we do the deed now. “All the more reason not to wait.”

  He works his way down, leaving a trail of kisses on my belly. “That’s why we should make it memorable.”

  “It’s already plenty memorable,” I say.

  “It can be far better,” he says, hooking my legs over his shoulders and spreading my lips below.

  Should I tell him not to bother? I never did with other guys, but then, they didn’t ask me for my trust, either. Trust should come with honesty, and men eating me out hasn’t really been my thing because it often feels…just okay. Like they’re doing it because they want me to suck them off later. But Luke doesn’t have that motivation, because I already told him I wanted to.

  A second or two of hesitation is all it takes for him to take action. The moment he pulls my clit into his mouth, he also pushes one of those long, lean forefingers into my pussy. I’m so wet, it slides in smoothly. His tongue is nimble on the swollen nub. It’s like somebody’s flipped a switch on my system, and my world is full of kaleidoscopic bliss.

  I clutch the sheet, my hips moving of their own volition. Animal noises I’ve never made before rumble deep in my chest, working their way up. The pressure is too much, and I come with a wild cry. But Luke isn’t finished. He keeps on pushing, adding another finger and thrusting into me until I climax again. He doesn’t stop until my pussy convulses around three fingers.

  Panting, I reach for him. He swipes the back of his hand across his glistening mouth, his eyes intent as he watches me struggle to breathe. A foil wrapper tears, and he puts on a condom. A fresh wave of need ripples through me. Yes, I came three times just now, but my pussy’s throbbing for his cock.

  He slides his dick slowly into me an inch at a time. There’s such intense concentration in his gaze as he looks at my face, then where our bodies meet. I’ve seen how big he is, and he feels even bigger inside. But since he prepped me so well, it doesn’t hurt at all as my pussy stretches to accommodate his size. I tilt my pelvis and push upward, urging him on. When he’s hilted, I groan and he props himself on his elbows.

  “You feel so tight, raven girl.”

  “And you feel perfect,” I whisper, panting, before pulling him down for a kiss.

  Everything about him is addictive and exciting—the low sound he makes in his throat, the male smell of him, the feel of his sweat-slick skin against mine, the way he tastes on my tongue, and the incredible way he stretches and fills me.

  He drives into me, the gliding friction of his dick electric against my pussy. I hang on to him, meeting him thrust for thrust as we chase our orgasms together. Sweat beads on his skin, and he breathes hard as though we’re sprinting.

  He pinches my nipple and gently tugs as he slams into me.

  Pleasure crashes in from all directions, and I scream his name as I climax.

  He lets out a feral groan against my neck as he gives in to his release. And I hold him tightly as our breathing settles, basking in a kind of euphoria I’ve never experienced before.

  Chapter Twenty

  “God, you’re insatiable,” I say in a pant. My voice is raspy from screaming.

  Luke grins, propping his head on a palm, elbow resting on the mattress. “What can I say? You’re too delicious.” He strokes my cheek with the backs of his fingers.

  I flush as the warm, tingly sensation intensifies. He’s not being particularly eloquent. Nor is he being dirty. But the way he speaks—like he’s pointing out the most obvious truth and I should just accept it—makes the most ordinary words out of his mouth a huge turn-on.

  “And I like having you come on my face. And around my fingers. Then around my dick. Again and again and again.”

  I groan. I did come rather shamelessly. Multiple times. I can’t even count now, because I’m tired and my brain’s as mushy—and about as nimble—as a sack of mashed potatoes. “I knew you were a steak, but I legit didn’t realize I’ve been dining on nothing but dollar burgers.”

  “Dollar burgers?”

  “Uh-huh.” I stretch. My muscles are sore, but it’s a good sore, like after a hard training day.

  He laughs. “Told you. Chemistry.” He winks. “And patience. And skills.”

  “Let’s not forget stubbornness.”

  No amount of begging on my part could sway him to hurry when I he was determined to take his time. Not that I’m terribly upset about that now.

  I look around the bedroom. It has a few paintings and guidebooks on Virginia and D.C., but nothing else—not even a family photo. Then I remember this is an Airbnb. Even if it weren’t, why would he have pictures of people who openly belittle what he does?

  Because they’re family.

  Oh, yeah…

  I clear my throat. “By the way, you aren’t, you know…terribly unhappy about the way things went between…um…your parents and me?”

  He blinks, then shrugs, although he can’t quite hide a grin that said we’re sharing a secret. “No, although you surprised all of us.”

  “I did?”

  “The whole thing about reading my books.”

  Oh, that. I clear my throat. “I didn’t. Not really.” I hope he isn’t crushed I’m not going to gush about him being my favorite author. I can lie only so much.

  “Oh?”

  “I don’t even know your pen name.” If he wrote under his own name, it’d have shown up in my searches.

  His eyebrows pull together, creating three vertical lines. “I thought you hacked it or something.”

  I chortle. “I wish. I
can’t just hack whatever fact I want.”

  “Doesn’t this make you—what was it?—intellectually naughty?”

  “The word I used was ‘intellectually dishonest.’ And no, it doesn’t. How else am I supposed to fight intellectual dishonesty?”

  “With honesty?”

  “No!” I sit up. “How do you think Harry Potter defeated Voldemort?”

  “With Ron and Hermione.”

  My jaw drops. Did we even read the same series? “No! With magic!” I make a swishing motion like I’m wielding a wand. “See, your dad’s intellectual dishonesty is dark intellectual dishonesty, and my intellectual dishonesty is the good kind, which is needed to defeat the bad. Every story has this—good superpower versus bad superpower. Good dragons versus White Walker dragon.” I frown. “Why am I telling you this? You should know. You’re a writer.”

  “I don’t write fantasy,” he says.

  I sniff. “Still. That’s no excuse. In the book you saw me read on the plane—”

  His eyes gleam.

  “—there’s no magic. Just guns and nukes. When bad guys use them, they become bad weapons. When the hero uses them, they become instruments of good.”

  “You’ve actually put some thought into this.”

  “I just have a strong worldview. If you want, I’ll lend you my copy of Free Radicals so you can see what I mean.”

  Luke looks at me. “There’s no need.”

  “I don’t mind. I’m done with the book,” I say. “But if my intellectual dishonesty really bothers you, tell me your pseudonym, and I’ll buy your latest and read it.” When he hesitates, I flutter my eyelashes. “Pretty please?”

  He considers, then says, “R.C. Miller.”

  “Yeah, that’s the author of Free Ra—” Suddenly I stop. “Wait. What?”