Stroke of Midnight

by ANDIE J. CHRISTOPHER

  She and Carla fought their way up to the bar. Of course, Carla knew the fastest way to get one of the many bartenders with whom she’d been intimately acquainted before her engagement. Already irritated by the crush of people, Alana considered pulling an Irish good-bye—going to the bathroom and not coming back. But the ladies’ room was across the dance floor. She would need at least three vodka sodas before she tried to maneuver her way through that swaying clump of bodies.

  The music was so loud that she didn’t hear Carla order four shots of Patron for each of them. When the bartender set out the shots, she looked over at her sister and said, “Are you out of your mind? Do you want me to die tonight?” She had to yell over the music, and could predict a hoarse voice tomorrow.

  “I want you to have fun. Tequila is fun. You’re fun when you drink tequila.” Carla handed her one of the glasses.

  Alana hesitated. Carla had picked her favorite silver tequila. The shot would be smooth and she wouldn’t be hung over the next day. If she had to be standing jammed up against the bar for the next hour, being a little drunk would make it suck less. “Tequila makes me slutty.”

  “And who said that’s a bad thing?”

  She winked at Carla and licked her hand, poured salt on the damp spot, downed two shots in quick succession, and sucked on one of the limes the bartender had served along with their shots. It was a good thing that she’d inherited their mother’s Irish constitution when it came to drinking. She bit her lip, eyed the remaining shots, and picked up the salt again.

  She was already going to have to crash on Carla’s couch tonight. She might as well make it worthwhile.

  The third shot didn’t go down as easily as the first two. The pleasant warmth gave way to a tickle in the back of her throat and she shook her head to rid herself of the sting.

  That’s when she saw him. She could feel his stare down the bar. His skin had a deep tan, and his dark hair and beard were a striking contrast to the piercing light eyes. He didn’t wear a shiny dress shirt or pants tighter than some of hers, so he probably wasn’t a douchebag local. Definitely a tourist.

  Under his appreciative gaze, her insides warmed and some of the weight on her shoulders dissipated. Her jaw unclenched, and she felt herself smile at him.

  Four shots of tequila and a look from that guy and she wanted to wiggle out of her panties. Maybe a little flirting would make her feel more like herself again. Maybe a little more would make her feel even better. Happy brain chemicals from sex were almost as good as yoga. And who had time for yoga? She certainly didn’t.

  She wasn’t sure if it was excitement, trepidation, or too much tequila that made goose bumps rise up on her arms when she thought about the guy across the bar.

  His lopsided smile and the naughtiness in his eyes told her that he wouldn’t tell anyone. Anonymous tourist, but not one of the affable bros who frequented the Clevelander. Definitely not one of her brother’s friends. And he seemed to only have eyes for her, not checking out the gaggle of college girls from Wisconsin screaming and doing red-headed slut shots. No, he’d been staring at her ass; he was looking at her like she was dinner. He drained the brown liquid in his glass, and walked toward her. He moved with a purpose, sidestepping two or three Midwestern-looking blondes.

  She spared a glance in her sister’s direction. Carla had floated a few feet away, and was talking to someone Alana didn’t know.

  When she looked back at him, the look in his eyes made the goose bumps spread. As he got closer, she imagined how amazing his beard would feel against her skin. She’d never looked at anyone and wanted to rub up against them before. And she’d never wondered whether or not she could control herself around a man. Not until tonight. Not until this guy.

  With him, her intuition told her that flirting and kissing would lead to more. And, for the first time in a long time, that didn’t freak her out. She didn’t care what anyone would think. And no one, other than her sister, would ever know if she went home with him. After all the times she’d covered for her sister sneaking out of the house when they were teenagers, Carla wouldn’t dare give her a concerned sister speech or even a hard look.

  The thought that she could do what she wanted with this man felt like freedom. A thrill wove its way through her. She felt electric with possibility. And they hadn’t even spoken yet.

  Apparently, her man—for the night—felt the same way. Suddenly, she was standing in front of a tree trunk, a tall tree trunk. He didn’t say anything right away; he just looked at her. He stared at her as if she was a tasty snack and he wanted to take a bite. She fidgeted under his assessment.

  Before either of them spoke, the music stopped, the clumps of dancing bodies stilled, the countdown began, and the crowd at the bar started chanting, “Ten!”

  “Hi.” She smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear.

  He leaned in so that his mouth was close to her ear. “Do you know how much trouble you’re about to get into?” The timbre of his voice made her drunker than tequila.

  “Nine!”

  She smirked at him as if his nearness didn’t steal a good deal of her confidence. “No more than I can handle.”

  “Eight!”

  She leaned back and met his silver eyes—eyes that danced with mischief and were almost too pretty to belong to a man. His gaze was assessing, and it made her nervous at the same time as it made her nerve endings sing.

  “Seven!”

  He laughed. It was a deep laugh—almost a growl—that she could feel in her chest. His laugh made her wet. She shifted from foot to foot to ease the ache that his whisky-rough chuckle put between her legs. Ridiculous chemistry.

  “Six!”

  Then he put his hands on her bare upper arms and pulled her closer to him. Blood rushed to where he touched her and her pulse sped up. Her mouth went so dry she wasn’t sure she could speak.

  “Five!”

  “Excuse me.” A harried busboy squeezed behind her.

  “Name?” he said.

  “Four!”

  She looked up at him from under her lashes. “Do you also want my rank and serial number?” A muscle in his jaw twitched at her playful tone.

  “Three!”

  “Just your name will do for now.”

  “I don’t think we should do names.” She had not expected that to slip out of her mouth. This was really naughty. The electricity she’d felt when he looked at her from across the room was nothing compared to what she felt when he actually touched her. It made her want to throw off the mantle of good daughter and clean-up crew. She wanted to be anything he wanted her to be. Just for the night.

  “Two!”

  “All right, darlin’, we’ll do it your way.”

  “One!”

  He leaned in, intent on her mouth. As soon as his lips touched hers, the club may as well have gone silent. All she could hear was the white noise of blood rushing from her brain and into her good bits.

  His lips were full and his beard was soft against her skin; she opened to his seeking tongue. He looked like a man who would plunder, but his lips were almost tentative and coaxing as they moved over hers, a contrast to his hands, which held her firmly in place against him.

  She gasped into his mouth when he picked her up as if she weighed nothing and moved them behind a post. She guessed he didn’t want to put on a show for the whole club. Not that anyone would notice yet another couple making out. But she was sure that nothing that was happening all around them was even close to this good.

  When she wrapped one leg around his torso, sparks flew up her spine and shorted out the circuits in her brain. She didn’t notice anything else around her when his tongue touched hers, and she squirmed, desperate to get closer to him.

  Dry humping a guy in a bar was not something she did—ever. Had she been firing on all cylinders, she would have laughed at the fact that she’d strip off her dress right there if he told her to. Anything so that he’d keep kissing her.<
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  He deepened the kiss every time she moved against him. Then, he crushed her to him and held her tight. Even though she felt like she was floating outside of her body, she had never felt so safe in her life. So out of her mind with want. His hands were all over her, his palms methodically molding all of her curves, shaping her ass. He tasted like aged whisky and mint. And he smelled like soap and liquor, not cologne. She had never enjoyed a kiss more. And it seemed like he was just as into the kiss as she was, which was a totally new experience. She wanted to bathe in the feeling of being desired.

  “Ahem.” Whoever was interrupting the best kiss she’d ever had was going to die. Painfully.

  “Sir. We’re monitoring this area by video. Unfortunately, sexual activity isn’t allowed on the premises.”

  He pulled his lips away, and the man who had been breathing life back into her with his kiss rested his forehead against hers for a beat before he set her on her feet. He turned, and she saw a bouncer who would’ve intimidated most people. But not the man who had been kissing her. Alana grabbed her guy’s arms and felt the power there.

  “We weren’t engaging in ‘sexual activity,’” he said. His voice came out low and dangerous. It sent thrill through her. “But we were just leaving.”

  Alana swayed and leaned against the post. The exchange with the bouncer gave her the opportunity to gather her wits, and they were telling her to be mortified. She knew that her face was bright red under her freckles. Was she really thinking of going home with a stranger?

  Holy hell, she was thinking about leaving the bar with him.

  When he turned his charming smile back on her, she thought he could make her come without too much more. Who has dimples that you can see through a few days’ beard?

  “What do you say we get outta here, darlin’?” She hadn’t noticed his drawl before. But, just like everything else about him, it made her skin heat. And she’d heard that Southern boys were polite. Nothing about the way this man kissed was polite.

  She managed to break his gaze and searched for Carla, who, the last time she’d seen her, was in deep conversation with a cute bartender…. Dave or Steve or something. She wasn’t sure what they could possibly be talking about. He looked like the kind of guy whose stories began and ended with, “So this one time, my frat brahs…” She shuddered and should remind Carla about the existence of her fiancé, but her sister was a lost cause in the flirtation department. Alana would just have to send a text with her whereabouts later.

  As she gazed back at him, she wondered if she was being reckless. She knew that going home with a stranger was crazy, but her gut said that he wouldn’t hurt her, and his kiss told her that mind-bending orgasms were guaranteed. She smiled and said, “Yeah,” before she could talk herself out of it.

  They made their way through the dwindling bar crowd. When they hit the sidewalk, there was mayhem with everyone trying to get a cab at once. But he held on to her as they wove through an ocean of people. His broad shoulders cut a path for them. He grabbed her like he never meant to let her go, which was ludicrous—this was clearly headed toward one-night stand territory. He probably just didn’t want a sure thing to fall down and break her ankle.

  She was actually going to have a one-night stand with a deadly hot mystery man. It was about as out of character as she got. She felt like she was maybe going a bit insane. It wasn’t the tequila. She didn’t even feel that anymore. There was just something about his man that made her want to shed her panties and her inhibitions.

  “I’m staying just up the street, at The Delano. We can walk.”

  “That’s a pretty sexy place.” She paused. “Was this your plan all along? To pick up a random girl and lure her back to your fancy hotel?”

  “You’re not random.” He stroked her palm with his finger and she had to bite her lip to keep from moaning. “Before I saw you, I’d planned to get drunk and pass out because my buddy blew me off. And now, my only plans tonight involve you screaming loud enough for the neighbors to complain.”

  Holy Jesus. She was fully signed on for that plan. His words were so intent and certain that she reached into his pocket and grabbed his key card. She looked at the room number before replacing it and pulling out her phone to send a text to Carla with her location. She was feeling particularly impulsive, but she wasn’t crazy.

  “You’re pretty sure of yourself,” she said.

  He leaned in to whisper, “Only thing I’m not sure of is how many times I can make you come.”

  This combination of a sweet-sounding Southern accent and a nasty mouth really did it for her. He made her feel brazen and shy, all at once. Looking at his gorgeous face, so close to hers, she had no doubts about going back to his hotel room. She needed one night of fun, of pleasure without worry. She deserved one night.

  He tipped up her chin and looked her in the eye. “Are you sure you want to do this? I can put you in the cab.”

  That would not be happening. Not with this sex bomb looking her right in the face. “No. I want to sleep with you.”

  He grabbed her hand and kissed the back.

  “I’m sure glad you’re going to spend the night with me, darlin’.” He smiled. “But I hope you weren’t planning on getting any sleep.”

  Alana got a little nervous when they entered the hotel lobby. She was actually going to fuck a man she’d picked up in a bar. This was not like her. At least not since that one time in law school, which ended in a hangover and no orgasm for her. The possibility of disappointment in sex with this guy niggled at her, but she pushed it away.

  She was a grown-ass lady, and grown-ass ladies went home with strangers if and when they wanted to.

  “You from around here, darlin’?”

  He rubbed the back of her hand with him thumb and she lost a step. “Yeah. But you’re not.”

  “What gave you your first clue?” He grinned, and she swore that his dimples would be the death of her. “What were you doing at such a rowdy bar?”

  “That’s not even rowdy for South Beach. You should see one of my parents’ parties.”

  “I should? Who says I’m going to be around long enough to see that?”

  A lump form in her throat at the reminder of how temporary this was. One night. No strings. She didn’t even know why they were talking at all.

  They stopped in front of the elevator bank, and he pushed the up button and turned to her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just—I’m not—I don’t usually.”

  “Fuck men you just met?”

  She shook her head and hoped that he wouldn’t call this to a stop now. When he didn’t say anything, she bit her bottom lip and shifted on her feet again. Before he’d kissed her, she hadn’t realized that she needed sex. And after, something inside her demanded relief. She only hoped it wouldn’t have to be from her vibrator.

  “Listen, darlin’, we don’t have to go upstairs if you don’t want to. I’m not saying that I won’t be disappointed or that I won’t jack off thinking about what color your nipples are and if you like them being sucked or nibbled.” He looked down at her chest and she fought the urge to cover up her chest when those tips hardened at his words. “But I’m not going to judge you for spending the night with me. I’m going to thank the good Lord, loudly and repeatedly, that you let me see you, taste you, and fuck you.”

  “That sucking part sounds good. That nibbling part doesn’t sound half bad, either.” She flushed from head to toe.

  The elevator doors opened.

  And she forgot her concerns when they got on, and he stood behind her, one hand holding her hair while he brushed the fingertips of the other across the bare skin at the back of her neck. His touch was mesmerizing; she couldn’t think about anything else.

  She leaned into him and swayed, not from drinking, but under the influence of whatever chemical lust bomb he was throwing out. She was not a fainter, but she could have swooned like she was in a Victorian novel when t
he hard length of his erection pressed against her lower back.

  After they exited the elevator directly into the penthouse, she didn’t have time to admire the clean white lines of the living room area because he pushed her against the entryway wall. He threaded his hands in her hair and devoured her mouth in a kiss.

  He tugged her hair to angle her head to deepen his access. She moaned into his mouth when he tongued the seam of her lips. Her head was swimming, and her limbs were weightless. Her hands gripped his biceps, as if holding on to him would keep her from floating away. He moved his lips from her mouth to the skin behind her ear. His beard tickled the skin on her neck, and his nose nuzzled into her hair.

  His hands smoothed from the sides of her breasts to her waist. She shuddered when she felt his fingers brushing her thighs as he lifted her skirt. He hooked her panties with his index fingers and, before she could move to help him remove them, ripped them off.

  She gasped, and her ears filled with the sound of his dark laughter. “I’d bet no one’s ever ripped your panties off, either. That gasp tells me that you’ve only had polite sex.” He rubbed his knuckles against her core. She moaned. His lips moved down the column of her throat and he moved his hand away to brush the tips of his thumbs back and forth across her décolletage as he cupped her breasts over her clothes. “Fuck that. You deserve to be consumed.”

  Alana arched her back and thrust her fingers in his hair. It was soft, unlike the rest of him. She trembled when he reached behind her to pull down the zipper on her dress. The fabric brushed over her heated skin and pooled at her feet.

  He leaned and looked at her. “You know what I thought about when you looked at me in that bar?”

  “What?” Her voice sounded huskier than usual, almost like a whisper.

  “I thought about how refined you looked and how I wanted to muss you all up.” He touched her bottom lip, pulled it between his thumb and middle finger. “I thought about how I wanted to make your mouth pouty and red from taking my dick between your lips.”