by Anthology
***
Not going to scream. Maggie bit into another strawberry, hoping the sweet treat would distract her from the intense pleasure growing between her thighs. Still only his tongue. He hadn’t added his fingers or penetrated her at all and maybe that’s what made the act so erotic. What kind of man had the patience to lick and lick and, gosh, lick?
“Sam,” she cooed, not screaming like she’d been afraid she would. “Sam, Sam, Sam.”
He didn’t look up, stop, or acknowledge her calls, and she didn’t mind being ignored. Little, tiny orgasms spasmed through her vagina and up through her belly, warming her where the champagne and berries had cooled her. The tiny orgasms made her pussy clench, and when that sensation turned painfully intense, she knew the time for strawberries had passed. She needed his cock before she got too desperate. She grabbed his shoulders and tugged him up. He followed her silent instructions and when he immediately reached for a condom, she shook in relief.
Sam slipped on the condom without any fuss, and safely covered, he filled her. His height gave amazing leverage to his cock. It hit places she wasn’t sure should be hit, but the new, intense sensations were addicting. She’d take the discomfort in the morning, especially if he’d move slightly to the left and do—
“Oh Sam. Sam. Oh, damn it. Fuck. Harder.”
He took her mindless commands at face value, and Maggie thought she’d black out when he did pump harder and faster, using his cock with more power than finesse. Her muscles clenched and shook, trying to draw him deeper even as they tried to hold him tight in self-preservation. Maggie swore, the cursing all she could make pass her lips as her entire body quivered.
Impossibly, he moved quicker and harder, and she knew his end approached. She wrapped her legs around his hips and egged him on, wanting him to join her in the orgasmic stupor. He growled and launched so deep within, her back arched of its own accord.
Sam fell on top of her with no grace or concern for her comfort. Not that Maggie minded. He felt good on top of her and with her champagne within reach, she had absolutely nowhere else she wanted to be. She took a deep drink from her glass and chose another berry while Sam continued to catch his breath. Feeling inordinately pleased, she patted his head lightly and then started eating again, sure she’d need the added nutrients for the next round.
She kept eating until her stomach all but sighed in berry contentment and wondered if Sam had gone fully catatonic, because after ten minutes, he still hadn’t moved from his place snuggled between her breasts. She never passed on cuddling, but she’d been hoping for more va-voom. He couldn’t be tapped out. Maggie frowned at the thought of his snake being completely drained of funness already. She poured herself another glass of champagne and grinned when she found ice still in the bucket. She took out a piece and ran it up Sam’s spine.
He jerked and threw himself away from the sudden cold. She laughed at the overreaction but realized he’d probably fallen asleep to be that surprised.
“Are you awake now, big boy?” she asked, fighting a smirk in case he mistook it as mean.
“Just resting my eyes,” he defended and stretched. “Damn, that was good.”
“It was good,” she agreed, offering him a sip of her champagne.
He took the glass and took a long, deep drink. “Ah. Thank you.”
“So now what?” she asked, crossing her ankles while he tossed his condom in the trash. “Do you need another shower to perk things up again? I hope you don’t think we’re done, Sam, because I’ve got plans for the rest of the night.”
He took her glass again and drank deeply before lying flat on his back beside her, offering her the empty glass in return.
“Sam?” she asked, when he didn’t move and didn’t open his eyes.
“How about we spend our recovery time down at the Little White Chapel? I’ve got the strongest urge to marry you and test out our chances for happily ever after.”
***
Sam waited for it. He didn’t open his eyes, didn’t move, merely waited, and five seconds later, she rewarded him with a pillow slamming on his face.
“You butt! We were doing so well this time! No calls from the office, no calls from the babysitter, and they even had strawberries in season this year. You couldn’t go along with the rest of the night?”
He sighed and pushed up on his elbow to look at his beautiful, albeit miffed, wife. For their sixth anniversary, like the last five, they were recreating their first night together. That night they really hadn’t hit the chapel, but they had decided to see each other even after the sun rose on Sunday morning. He’d fallen in love with her spirit in only days, and within six months, they had been married. Six months after that they’d jumped into parenthood and never looked back. These nights, done once every year, were a time to remember, a time to enjoy each other and a time to relive the moments that had brought them together in the first place.
“We even had Angelo meet us to get things started in the club. The only thing missing was all the messing around with Madame Eve, and even she sent us a congratulatory email,” Maggie complained. “Wait—anal is next on the docket. I can’t believe you would break character now.”
He sat up and grabbed the blankets, wrapping them both in them again as the sweat dried on their skin. “I agree. I wish I’d been able to stay in the moment, but I haven’t really eaten since before lunch. I had a meeting go late, and dropping Max and Ellie off with my mom made me even more behind, so I didn’t have time to eat. If you want me to finish the night, I need something more than a little champagne, berries and cream. Though, I do have more ideas for that cream.”
His admission had the desired effect. Even though Maggie might want the night to go a certain way, her practical side wouldn’t let him starve. She picked up the room phone, but he didn’t miss her scowl.
“Hi, this is Maggie Peterson in room fifteen-ten. Could you have a grilled chicken salad with a side of French fries and orange juice sent up please? And could you rush it? Thanks.”
His favorite meal, except for the juice. “Why the OJ?”
She rolled her eyes. “Instant sugar boost. I don’t want you eating heavily and falling asleep on me. I’m all for making sure you eat, but I’m not ready to call it a night.”
He chuckled and crawled closer to her. His stomach growled in misery, but anticipation of the good meal on the way helped him bounce back from being drained so completely by their love play. He snuggled on top of her, his cock doing nothing, but his pleasure soared. Even after six years of replaying their first night, he still felt the same initial excitement of good things to come. During the rest of the year they didn’t always make enough time for fun behind bedroom doors, but he couldn’t think of anyone else who could compare with his Maggie.
“Oh no, big boy,” she said, putting a hand over his mouth as he descended. “I don’t want you passing out from low blood sugar or something. We’ll wait until after you have something more to eat and then we’ll jump back to where we were. We’ve only got tonight, and there are three more distinct sex acts I absolutely want accomplished before checkout.”
He licked her palm and laughed when she instantly pulled away with a screech. “Oh come on, that’s not what you’ve been saying when I’ve licked you other times tonight.”
She gave him a warning look and wiped her hand over his chest. “Behave.”
“Okay, I’ll be good.” He rolled over and pulled the blanket all the way to his chest, hoping dinner came quickly so he could come shortly after. “Oh, wait a second. You said three more distinct acts.”
She poured more champagne into her glass, and he listened to her take a sip before she answered. “Yes, three more.”
“But if we go by the night we met, we went on to have your organized anal, another shower and then we both crashed until Sunday afternoon.”
He tried to turn on his side to watch her when she straddled his hips. His cock, exhausted and malnourished, still had the decency to salute, a
nd her little grin said she knew it.
“And don’t you remember Sunday evening?” she asked. “Sex against the wall next to the door.”
“Sweetheart, are you trying to kill me? I’m not as young as I used to be,” he protested, though memories of that particular fuck—hard, fast and desperate—did what no chicken salad could for his energy levels.
She bent down, her gorgeous breasts rubbing against his chest. For a second, he thought she’d deepen things and indulge in a new addition to the night. Something sweeter, less intense. Instead, she kissed him hard, her teeth biting at his lips and tongue with playful violence. She pulled away as a knock sounded from across the room. She grabbed a blanket and headed for the door.
“I know it’ll be a challenge, String Bean. Another reason I ordered you orange juice.”
Sam stretched as he listened to her interact with the waiter. Promises of the hot, naughty things to come filled his mind, and he grinned. Sweet and mellow could wait for another time.
~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~
When Stephanie Beck’s mother told her to quit whining about less than perfect stories and write her own neither of them could have guessed what would happen. Ten years later that advice has become a fulltime passion and occupation. With a wonderful husband and three beautiful children, the fulltime status makes for very long days, but she breaks up the romance and steamy scenes with knitting, walking, sewing and reading.
Please contact Stephanie at [email protected] or find out more about her additional works at www.stephaniebeck.net
Caught Offside
A 1Night Stand Story
By
Liz Crowe
Also by Liz Crowe
Turkish Delights
Blue Cruise
Tulip Princess
The Diplomat’s Daughter
Cheeky Blonde
Healing Hearts
Flower Passage
~DEDICATION~
For Dominick
Prologue
Jackson Castillo sighed and threw a stack of sales charts on his desk. Turning so his view aimed out over the pink and orange Las Vegas dawn skyline, he sipped his espresso. He enjoyed the few quiet hours he actually had—before the many duties as manager of one of the most exclusive resorts in the world could pin him down.
Worry furrowed his brow. Not with concern about sales figures. In these days of bankrupt and multi-owner group takeovers for long-famous casino resorts, the Castillo chain operated in the black and had no sign of doing otherwise. His concern lay with his cousin, Ramon, who languished in one of the larger suites a few floors below the penthouse office. Although he’d agreed that the final stages of physical rehab could occur there, under his watchful eye, Jackson’s plans for him had been thwarted at every turn by intransigence. He wanted more than anything to be able to take some of the wounded hurt out of his adopted cousin’s eyes, if the stubborn man would simply allow it. He sighed. As if conjured by his thoughts, Madame Evangeline’s name appeared in a text message.
Bonjour, my dear.
Good morning, Madame.
Any luck with our little project?
No. He turned us down yet again yesterday. Although his doctor tells me he’s nearly ninety percent restored to normal, he still limps, claims the pain keeps him from being interested in our offer.
Well, he is your relative. But my unsolicited advice is to keep trying. He needs this. Poor boy.
He is no boy, Madame. Jackson ran a hand down his face. He’s a grown man, used to the spotlight and now that it’s off, he has no idea how to act. But it is not keeping him from gambling too much, in my pit boss’s expert opinion.
Have some sympathy, my dear. Let’s try once more, before it’s too late. He’s leaving us Monday, is he not?
Jackson leaned back in his chair, pondering the dilemma. A simple date, a lovely woman to take his cousin’s mind off his current situation, that’s all Madame proposed. Ironic really, given the kid’s reputation with females in his heyday as an internationally famous soccer star. But Jackson knew his cousin’s heart. He gave too much of it, while all those women wanted was a piece of his fine ass and the spotlight that followed him.
Flipping open his laptop, he mulled over Eve’s insistence that one of her encounters would solve all his wounded friend’s problems. Her enchantments often found a home at the Castillo hotel and resort, where she arranged exclusive and sometimes positively magical dates between people who contracted for her services. Only known in highly select circles, the 1Night Stand service went a long way toward Jackson’s healthy bottom line. He resisted the urge to force the man he’d known nearly his whole life to take her up on it. It maddened him, the way Ramon resisted their help.
A message popped into his inbox from Gillian, a good friend who managed banquet services at the MGM. Jackson knew she’d finished her night shift at the resort’s massive wedding chapel. The nature of the town demanded twenty-four hour services and the “Vegas Wedding” options were no exception. As a manager of one of the largest banquet operations on the Strip, she wouldn’t normally have to take a shift personally, but he knew why she did. When sleep is haunted by horrible nightmares of loss, one might as well work instead of staring at the ceiling.
She had a question about tickets for the pro soccer showcase coming up next month. Could he get a ticket to the sold-out event for her son? The nine-year-old boy played the game year round and had become a complete fanatic. Jackson smiled at the thought of the boy’s bright red hair and freckled face as he watched his heroes in action. All of them of course, except his favorite…the one whose replica jersey his mother could hardly keep clean, he wore it so much. Number seventeen from the US National Team.
“Holy shit!” Jackson yelled into the empty room and nearly fell backward off his chair.
His assistant opened the large door between them, concern in her eyes. He stalked around his desk, pumping his fist like a maniac, typing a text message into his phone with the other hand.
Madame—I have it! I officially have it. Christ! Why I didn’t see this before…. I need your approval to be the instigator this time. I think I can pull it off!
He didn’t have to explain any further. Eve would instantly know his mind and heart, and would approve. She’d put the wheels of fate in motion and he would place the players. The rest was up to them. But if he knew Ramon and his good friend like he thought he did, it would be, as they say, a no brainer.
A quick call to the sports massage specialist at the MGM and the wheels were officially in motion. He had his assistant buzz his cousin’s suite, to inform him of the therapy venue change for the day. Then, one last detail, as he had to keep the woman in place for another hour. Another call, and her assistant had arranged a banquet staffing screw up that she would have to handle before heading home.
Jackson leaned back, a satisfied smile on his face. How in the name of heaven hadn’t he thought of this before? He hoped it wasn’t too late. One last text to Eve and the scene would be set.
Bon chance, mon ami. This is a perfect arrangement. I am so happy I can be of assistance. Let us hope your players cooperate. I will be watching.
“One more espresso,” Jackson called into the hall. He glanced at his watch. Six AM. One more hour to savor his plan before watching it unfold. He grinned out into the Vegas skyline once again, hands in his suit pockets, skin prickling in anticipation of the day ahead.
Chapter One
Ramon Castillo limped into the lobby of the MGM Grand Casino hotel, mind closed and dark with frustration. His leg ached from knee to ankle, although it had been a short walk down the Strip from his cousin’s resort where he’d been mending—and hiding—for the last three months. His jaw already clenched in irritation at his apparent inability to walk a few blocks without sitting down.
He eased himself onto the bench at the huge lion fountain, stretching the bum leg out beside him. He glanced up, brain fuzzy with pain. Managing to accomplish the usual blanket ignore
of the human sea that ebbed and flowed around him, his eyes lit on a striking woman as she ripped the desk clerk a new asshole.
Dressed in a black pencil skirt and killer high heels, her auburn hair fell in waves halfway down the back of her crisp, cream blouse. She held a tablet computer in one arm and gestured wildly around with her other while the employee on the receiving end looked chastened. Ramon’s eyes traveled along the pleasant landscape of her curves, his hands gripping the bench’s edge with suppressed lust. He could almost feel the comfortable swell of her hip and ass under his palm. He tore his gaze away, shifting on the hard surface as his cock swelled under the loose training pants. He winced, conjuring Inge, the torturous bitch who pummeled him to keep his muscles from losing their tone.
When a hand gripped his bicep, he nearly fell backward into the fountain. A small voice yelped in his ear.
“Wow, is that really you? Mom! Mom! Hey, Mom! Oh, my gosh, Mooooooom!”
The small, redheaded boy continued jumping up and down and screeching, his little hand clutching Ramon’s sleeve. His gut clenched at the sight of the boy’s shirt—a dark blue replica of his national soccer team jersey—and he’d be willing to bet the number seventeen adorned the back. He sighed, forcing away the nightmare memory of himself, lying on the pitch during the final game of the World Cup championship, his shin a white-hot center of utter agony. A compound fracture from a cleats-high, red-card foul had ended his career in a matter of seconds.
