Box of 1Night Stands: 21 Sizzling Nights

by Anthology

  The fear tumbled free, smashed by the excitement lancing through her. She wanted him to touch her. The lust gleaming in his eyes said he wanted to touch her.

  He paused, almost considering. His gaze skated around the room. She didn’t know what he saw when he looked at her studio with its wild variety of statues and sculptures in various states of completion.

  “What are you looking for?” She couldn’t quite mask the breathless anticipation in her voice or the impatience surging through her. Her sex clenched, dampness moistening her thighs. This close to such utter perfection and she was ready to explode from want.

  “A bed,” he murmured. “Or something that isn’t filled with sharp tools that would damage your perfect skin.”

  Oh.

  He thought she was perfect. Tears flooded her eyes and she lowered her arms slowly and held out a hand. “Come with me.”

  Threading her fingers with his, she pivoted slowly on one foot and half-skipped, half-danced through the shadows cast by the overhead lights. She guided him through her workspace to the room hidden by an oriental divider. She spent so much time in her studio, she’d installed a bed where she could pass out when the muse let her go. Anticipation curled through her, chasing away the sudden surge of old doubts.

  The oversized double mattress was hardly big enough for Brody. The tangle of sheets was all jersey cotton and she’d forgotten to make it again. She turned toward him and he crowded into her until the back of her knees touched the edge. Pulling her hands up to his chest, he flattened her palms against the flexing muscles, guiding her hands with easy strokes, letting her fingers trace the lines of his chest. His heart beat a steady cadence and his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

  He seemed to be as affected by their touching as she was. She swallowed convulsively, aching with so many different emotions, and she didn’t know how to give voice to them all.

  “Shannon?” The gentle, sweeping word teased and comforted her. The absolute gentleness carried no hint of judgment and released a wave of tenderness in her breast.

  Warmth teased her skin as the length of his body pressed close to hers, not quite touching. She basked in the heat, the slow understanding, the naked desire that he made no show of hiding, or the patience that shook off the last, lingering doubt.

  She wasn’t that girl anymore. She had the control, it didn’t matter how much he wanted her. He wasn’t doing a damn thing unless she told him to do it. He’d given his pleasure into her hands and from the wide, thick size of his cock, his want was apparent. But he only stroked his body with her hands, doing exactly what she’d told him to do.

  “Why not your cock?” She asked the question, blushing at the boldness obvious in her words.

  “Because I’m worried that I’ll come all over you if I let you stroke me.”

  She loved his rippling muscles beneath her fingers. She could study their shape for hours, but the easy confession of his own precarious state had her pulling her hands from his. She took his face in her hands. Despite his shaved appearance, she felt the hint of stubble on his cheeks.

  Rising to her tiptoes, she guided his face down to hers and whispered, “Kiss me.” Their lips brushed together, once, twice, three times and then his mouth slanted over hers, his tongue gliding in and demanding entrance. She parted her lips under his, clinging to him while their tongues tangled.

  She slid her hands up to smooth over his close-cropped hair. The cut tickled and tingled against her palms. She surrendered to the need to touch him and stepped into him, electricity bloomed through her as her nipples brushed his chest and his stiff erection thrummed against her belly.

  He tasted so wildly, intensely masculine that she barely noticed the undercurrents of coffee, or the light dinner they shared. All she tasted was Brody, and she moaned his name into his mouth.

  The delicious moment filled her with a confidence she’d never experienced and when she broke the kiss, they both panted heavily. His eyelids were lowered, drowsy with passion, and his firm lips curved into the sexiest smile.

  “Make love to me,” she beckoned. “Touch me.”

  Brody held onto his control by the thinnest of strings. Watching her take back her own power through control was the most arousing thing he’d ever experienced. Imagining his cock sliding into the vise of her sex had him on the cusp of blowing. He wasn’t kidding when he said he wasn’t sure he could hold out against the stroke of her fingers, not after nearly losing it to the single brush of her fingertip along his head.

  But this wasn’t about him. He’d given the entire night to her and his pleasure stoked hotter because of the woman blooming in his arms. She tasted of coffee, sweet cinnamon, and a spice so feminine that it provoked every male instinct he had to claim her.

  The rapid beat of her pulse, the quiver in her words, even the hesitation in her smoldering eyes told him that as titillated as she was, the power he gave her was as frightening as it was intoxicating. So she was giving it back, through her orders.

  Brody slid his hands down to cup her sweet little ass and then he lifted her, driving himself crazy by stroking her body up the length of his. He deposited her on the bed, following her down and catching himself on one arm. He teased the line of her jaw and then swept down to one breast, sucking the hard little nipple into his mouth.

  Her skin was a wild contrast of petal softness and pebbled hardness. Her fingers clutched his head, but he refused to hurry. He transferred his attention to her other breast, teasing the hard little nipple with light grazes of his teeth until she began to roll underneath him. His body throbbed, begging him to bury himself in the sweet, little sex. He traced his lips down her belly, pressing a kiss to the ridge of curls before delving deeper.

  She was wet with need and the musk of it filled his mind with erotic images of hot, wet, mind-blowing sex. Wildness filled him along with the urge to flip her over and pound out the desperate need for release crawling through him. He wanted to pick her up and settle her on his cock and encourage her to ride him into oblivion.

  He wanted to slam her against a wall.

  He wanted to take her on the floor.

  Every position flashed through his mind as his fingers parted her damp lips, and the heady scent of her arousal filled his lungs. She rose up to her elbows, her mouth parted as she stared at him. Their eyes met and he leaned forward to draw his tongue up the length of her slit.

  Her head fell back and she cried out, the response so raw, naked and primal, he refused to tease her any further. She wanted him to make love to her. Pushing a hand under each thigh, he pressed her wider so he could delve his tongue between the folds.

  Her muscles clamped, flexing and pushing back at him, but he held her firm and took her sweet little clit into his mouth. She moved under his mouth, her ass grinding against the bed. Three firm flicks of his tongue and she exploded. He drew away, slipping his finger along the labia until he could stroke her clit gently, petting her through the orgasm. He drank in the image of her, her curls tumbling free as her head rubbed against the sheets.

  As she finally stilled and looked up at him, her amber eyes warm with release and passion, he slid his finger away and put it to his lips. She tasted so fucking sweet. Her mouth opened and he saw the tension beginning to coil in her. She reached out, but he evaded, backing up quickly to dart into the other room. He’d never moved so fast in his life when he grabbed his jeans and jerked a condom from the pocket.

  He was back in record time, unrolling the latex over his aching cock. She was up on her elbows, her face softening at his return. He wasted no time in covering her orgasm-loose body with his. He dove down to capture the smile on her lips in a kiss. She responded, her tongue gliding out to meet his. The abandon with which she gripped him was his undoing. Shannon had no idea what control she really had over him, and he realized it only in the moment that his patience snapped.

  He devoured her mouth, shifting his hands down to lift her hips, positioning her. He broke the kiss and gras
ped his cock to guide it to her slick entrance and pressed forward slowly. Desire flooded her expression and she dug her fingers into his shoulders. But she didn’t close her eyes as he pushed his way into the silken, hot glove of her sex, the muscles clenching him so fiercely he thought he would explode.

  She was so damn tight.

  Inch by inch, he worked into her sex. Because no matter what her experiences were before, she was tighter than any virgin he’d ever had the pleasure of tasting, and they all paled in comparison to the wild, wanton rising to meet him. She nodded her head as though giving him the assent he needed. Bracing her hips, he pulled back and thrust in, deeper and deeper. Her legs rose to lock around him.

  He wanted to make it last, but his body had other ideas, especially when she thrashed up to meet him, pelvis to pelvis and stroke for stroke.. His balls drew tight and when she let out a moan that carried his name, he jerked convulsively against the hard fisting of her sex around him.

  The orgasm shredded him and he collapsed slowly, careful to not crush her and then rolled, pulling her boneless, trembling body on top of him. They tangled in the sheets and the musky scent of their passion. She lifted her head drowsily and looked down at him, an almost heathen-like smile.

  “How long before I can order you to do that again?”

  Brody laughed.

  Epilogue

  Six Months Later

  Somewhere in the Middle East

  “Lieutenant, mail call.” The private dropped a small bundle on his belly and ducked back out of the dimly lit room without waiting for a response. The dry heat of the day permeated the sandstone building and if he didn’t have night patrols to run, he wouldn’t even be in his bunk. Picking up the little bundle, he stared at the return address.

  Shannon.

  He grinned. The sexy little artist had turned out to be a hellion in bed. He’d spent most of his leave going back and forth between Mike’s Place and her studio. They talked. They had sex. They talked some more. And he posed for her.

  When his leave was up, the hardest part had been saying goodbye. Harder still was her driving him to the airport and standing there with that wobbling smile. She didn’t cry, but he’d seen the glimmer of tears in her eyes. It was the first time anyone had been there to see him off and it unraveled a fierce emotion in his chest.

  He forgave the guys in that moment. Forgave them for setting him up, a confession he’d wrung out of Damon after admitting he was crazy about Shannon, but didn’t want to tell her that he’d been a stand in. Apparently, they’d signed him up for Madame Eve’s 1Night Stand, but didn’t think he’d go for it. Matt, it seemed, volunteered for the ruse and he’d fallen for it.

  Thank God, I did.

  Touching the envelope to his nose, he could imagine it perfumed with Shannon’s elusive spice. She wrote him religiously, mostly about her work and how excited she was. She filled every letter with so many details. He could see her working away in her studio. She was going back to Italy in three months and he had leave coming.

  He was going to meet her in Florence.

  Tearing the envelope open carefully, he caught the photo that fell out. The writing on the back was in Shannon’s curly, artistic scrawl and it just said, “My Marine.”

  Flipping it over, he grinned.

  The statue stood brazenly in the center of her studio. The man’s rugged features were definitely Brody’s. But it wasn’t just the raw naked man, but the mirror formed from dark marble that reflected a saluting Marine, field gear and all, facing the nude that undid him.

  Damn right, I’m her Marine.

  Semper fi.

  ~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~

  National bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime. From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes her time to family and friends she considers family. She believes if you like your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll enjoy her worlds as much as she does.

  You can visit Heather at:

  http://www.heatherlong.net

  Wet Dream

  A 1Night Stand Story

  By

  NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Author

  J.M. Madden

  Also by J.M. Madden

  Love on the Line

  Love on the Line II

  ~DEDICATION~

  To the Decadent Publishing Team.

  What a fantastic group of women you are. You make me proud to be a part of the company. Every single one of you are phenomenal!

  Thank you for everything!

  Chapter One

  Ginger tapped her nails on the frosty glass in front of her and straightened the white linen tablecloth. She tried to suppress a sigh as she glanced at the slim, gold Cartier on her wrist. Fifteen minutes late. How long should she wait for a no-show? Without appearing desperate?

  Underneath the table, she uncrossed her legs then re-crossed them in the opposite direction, tucking the short, black skirt under her thighs. She fought the urge to pick up her phone to check the email yet again. She remembered the thing verbatim, anyway. Madame had been very clear in her instructions: wait in the hotel bar and give him extra time for his cold feet.

  How much time did she have to give the mystery man, though? Fifteen minutes? An hour? Did he know where to go and who he was to meet? Hell, was that why he had “cold feet”?

  Ginger intimidated the stronger sex all the time, although she never intentionally tried. As an ex-federal officer, six feet tall and attractively built, men usually reacted to her in one of two ways. The law enforcement types inevitably became ballsy, regaling her with tales of bravery and heroism too outrageous to believe. All the other guys tended to be too intimidated to even talk to her—at least in anything other than a professional capacity. Eight years after she’d quit the Bureau, they still reacted the same way. Really, she shouldn’t be surprised. Men were such contrary creatures.

  She had decided to try to bypass all the meeting and greeting bullshit by engaging Madame Eve’s dating service, 1NightStand. That way, the men knew up front her history and what she wanted. She found nothing more humiliating than showing up for a date to find the man wasn’t even six feet tall. Eve’s emails had reassured her that she had the perfect match in mind.

  Ginger raised the drink to her lips, let the apple martini slide over her tongue, and set the empty glass to the edge of the table. The barman arrived at her side immediately and she ordered another, as well as an artichoke dip appetizer. She would give her mystery date thirty more minutes then leave.

  ***

  Cameron debated what to do about the customer. She downed drinks like they were going out of style. Alex, the bartender, had texted him a little while before to warn him that the upset woman might be drinking a little more than she should. But he was already aware of the situation. Hell, he’d been watching her for forty minutes. As soon as she’d walked into view of the closed-circuit cameras, she’d drawn his eye.

  From the way she glanced at her watch and the doorway, she’d been stood up.

  The schmuck needs shooting. Standing up a woman gorgeous enough to make a man’s toes curl. Idiotic. He stared, unable to drag his eyes away from the screen. Dark auburn hair curled to the middle of her slender back, outlined by the black dress she wore; long calves pressed together and tipped to the side, shiny heels resting on the footrest of the barstool. The camera position didn’t allow him to see her face, only the smooth, feminine jaw and plump, glossy lips when she occasionally peered toward the door. He zoomed in, praying for a better shot, or for her to turn around, but neither happened. He wondered
what she looked like full on. If her front matched her back, she would stop traffic.

  Cameron shifted in his chair, debating what to do. She had a right to get schnockered if she wanted to, but she didn’t seem the type to let go that way. Her demeanor had been too reserved. As of right now, she caused no problems, so he had no real need as chief of security to talk to her.

  Was she the one Madame told him to keep an eye out for? Her description had been blunt, but uninformative: You will know her when you see her. Take care of her for the night. Do not let her appearance deter you, chèr. She has scars, too.

  Cameron gritted his teeth. He did not like being manipulated, but had no choice in the matter. Madame Eve had gotten him the job at the Castillo New York, and he owed her a lot.

  Surveying the bank of security monitors, he searched for some reason to put off going downstairs. Everything was quiet. He desperately wanted to study the woman up close, but desire that strong only led to trouble.

  Fuck it. He shoved to his feet, startling the guard behind him. “I’ll be down at the bar.”

  Young Michael nodded his head. “Yes, sir.”

  Cameron tried to prepare himself as he strode down the ornate hallway. In spite of what he claimed, excitement sped up his heart and feet. Out of habit, his eyes scanned as he walked, checking for anything out of place that might indicate a problem. Brass shone in the low light and the carpet was spotless. The windows with a view of the luxurious lobby gleamed. Management prided themselves on the back of the house being as presentable as the front.

  The opulence had no effect on him. After three years in the Castillo’s employ, he had become used to the sumptuous surroundings and the wealthy patrons who frequented the chain of hotels. It all seemed old hat now. Boring.