by Poppy Dunne
I filled it all out on charts and everything. No surprises here, ladies and hot billionaire gentlemen.
Besides, men like Jack Carraway don’t come on to women in hotel bars because they’re looking to settle down. He probably sees me as a fling, one night of raucously hot sex twined in silken hotel sheets, our bodies glistening with sweat as we ride each other to the brink of ecstasy—
“You don’t have family on Long Island, do you?” I ask Carraway. Just out of curiosity, of course.
“No, but if that’s a deal breaker, I can relocate Aunt Gertrude. She’s getting sick of Boca Raton, anyway.”
Ha. Funny. Deal breaker. Like we’re making some kind of deal here. The alcohol is the reason I’m getting hot and bothered, why I need to cross my knees because of the line of warmth shooting down my body straight for ‘the sweet spot,’ if you will.
“You always displace elderly relatives to score a woman’s number?” I sip my martini, watching him over the rim of my glass. He sips his own scotch, watching me as well. It’s a booze off.
“Do people exchange numbers anymore? Aunt Gertrude would call that quaint.”
“I’ll bet you’re the despair of the whole family.”
“Not really. Only the ones I’ve displaced.”
“You know what I mean. Thirty-something man hitting on lone women at fundraisers. Even if you’re rich, that’s hardly the way to anything lasting.” Why am I scolding this man when part of me wants to start stripping him in view of the silent auction? Maybe it’s because I want that—maybe that’s why I’m trying to put him off. Wouldn’t you know it? I appear to be failing.
“Most women are happy to be hit on by me, fundraising or otherwise.” His eyes seem to glow. It’s like Daniel Craig on charming overdrive.
“You’re not denying you hit on anything in a cocktail dress.”
“And you’re not denying that you’re happy about it.”
His voice seems to deepen with every word, every syllable. It’s the kind of voice that advertises luxury cars, or some kind of alpha male cologne. Naked Sex™, perfect for the jet-flying, bear-punching man who likes his women like he likes his martinis: shaken up and full of vodka.
I…need to stop drinking. With that sage thought, I slide my half-finished glass away. Jack leans in closer, but doesn’t touch me. I know that lean in: he wants me to know he’s interested, but he doesn’t want to touch me without some kind of signal. Some kind of sign I’m interested, too. This would be the perfect opportunity to get up and walk back to check on Edith and her date and their monkey.
Instead, I spin in my seat to face him, and slide my foot down the side of his leg. Nothing too overt, just a little touch and go. But that’s the signal, the one he’s been waiting for and I can’t believe I’ve given it. He responds right away, his right hand moving down to trail along my exposed knee. His touch is electric, a trail of heat that shoots right back up to my aforementioned sweet spot. My spot, which, by the way, is starting to announce that it, has needs. Needs which need to be met tonight, by this man or the vibrator at home. And one of these would be much more fun than the other.
“You mentioned numbers before. Since we live in such a modern age, why don’t I give you mine?” He gives that devilish smile, his finger still tracing circles over my knee. “782. The view’s a killer from upstairs.”
He’s probably got a full luxury suite all to himself, and probably hates to be disturbed. My id is going crazy, screaming about sex, sex now, please. Meanwhile, my superego is hitting every panic button it can possibly find, because this is not how we do. It’s my own little Freudian odd couple doing their bitchy roommate back and forth. This isn’t me. I do not have one-night stands. I do not sleep with anyone on the first date, much less a man I have just met, and especially not a man I have only just met after leaving a woman alone with a monkey at the dinner table. I should check on Edith. I really should.
I really don’t want to.
Besides, I haven’t been honest with myself about this, but…I get a little lonely sometimes. When I get back to my apartment some nights, I lie awake and wish I had someone next to me. Someone with great abs and flashing blue eyes, preferably, but a woman takes what she can get.
Right now, I could get a lot. Potentially. Maybe. Definitely.
“You’ve been quiet for a full minute,” Jack whispers. There’s a small crease of concern between his eyes. Oh, shit. I checked into fantasyland. I do that sometimes, and come back armed with good ideas and an imaginary pair of fairy wings. Depending on how drunk and nervous I am, of course.
Slowly, I get to my feet. Jack stands as well, taking his hand off my knee. Does he think I’m about to walk out? Should I? I think I should.
I think ‘should’ can stay downstairs and hang out with Sir Reginald Buttersworth for a while. Maybe clear out his ten thousand dollar pooping plate. Yes, that is a real sentence I just thought.
“The view’s nice, huh?” I give what I hope is a coy smile, not a sloppy drunk one. By the way his face lights up, I’m guessing it’s the former.
“Perfect vista of the river at night.”
“Are we close to the river?”
“Does it matter?”
I press myself up against him a little, our mouths mere inches away. Slowly, his hand snakes around my body to touch my waist, then perhaps move down to my ass. I sidestep away, giving him a little taste of hard to get.
From the way his jaw squares, I can tell I’m having an effect on Mr. Carraway.
Carried away with Carraway would be a fun song to sing drunkenly right now, but in the interest of maintaining sexual attraction, I’m going to skip it.
“Give me five minutes. I need to see a woman about a monkey.” As I leave, I hear him make a questioning noise. Well, it’s no big deal after all. I’m just going upstairs to admire the view. Nothing else is going to happen.
Nothing at all.
4
Jack
I’ve never kissed a woman with such full, sensual lips before. And this is before we’re even in my goddamn hotel room. While I fumble with the room key, I press myself against her while she’s leaning on the door. Christ, her tits are perfect. As soon as I saw her across the room, that wicked glint in her eyes, I knew she’d be wild. But she moans as I trail one hand over her full breasts, moans and thrusts her tongue into my mouth. God, this woman is volcanic. She’s just…she…
I never got her name, did I?
“What’s your name?” I whisper in her ear as my key card finally slides over the handle properly, and the green light turns on.
“Dahl-yaaaaa,” she says, eyes widening as the door swings open and she goes down, landing on the foyer’s rug. Shit. This is what happens when you press a lady up against a door. Everything that shuts must open sooner or later.
Engineering, man. It’s how things work.
“Sorry.” I pick her up, like a damn gentleman. Even help neaten her clothes, dust her off…trail my hands along that spectacular ass. Dahlia, with a grin, throws her arms around my neck as I kick the door shut.
“I like a man who comes to the rescue. That’s rule twenty-seven: only go out with gentlemen.”
She seems to have a lot of rules. Normally that turns me off, but tonight it’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever heard. Tell me your rules, baby. Then let me break them, all of them. Unless there’s a rule about never engaging in pony play, because I am with you on that, one thousand percent: just say no.
“Is there a rule about naked gentlemen?” I whisper in her ear as I unzip the back of her gown. She sighs a little as I trace my hands up her back—God, her skin is velvet soft—and start to play with the clasp of her bra. She arches her neck, leaning in to whisper in my own ear.
“They should, if at all possible, be highly attractive.”
“I can make my own sales pitch, but you’ll be the judge,” I say, finally unhooking the damn bra. It’s black and lacy, with a satin white bow in the center. Sexy but cute: the d
efinition of Dahlia, I’d say. When she’s standing in front of me, naked except for her panties and heels, I get so hard I might fucking explode. That’d be a hell of a mess to clean up.
She lets down her black hair, which tumbles around her face, dusting her shoulders. Her breasts are full and perfectly round, filling my hands as I fondle her, kiss up her bare neck. She makes little gasping noises that have me about a second away from ripping off my own goddamn bespoke clothes, bending her over the desk, and living out the most primal fantasies a man can have in a ritzy hotel room. That involves room service at some point, and complimentary soap.
“I never act like this,” she moans, nipping at my ear. Growling, I pick her up and carry her into the darkened bedroom. The only light now is the neon lights of the city coming in through the windows. She’s bathed in it, her nearly naked form outlined perfectly. She kicks off her shoes while sitting up, tugging at my belt. I slide out of my jacket fast, tossing it on the floor.
“Never? You’re a fast learner.” I get my damn tie off, and toss it away as well. Dahlia’s nimble fingers have undone my belt, and she pulls it away. Then, she sits up on the bed and starts unbuttoning my shirt. I stop her there, taking her wrists and pulling her close against me. She tastes like vodka and cherries, and she moans low enough to make me need to be inside her, right now.
“I don’t sleep with men I just met.” She bites my lip, sending my animal instincts rising. Makes me want to pin her to the bed, listen to her moan with pleasure as I sink into her. Let her feel me, let her pant as I start riding her.
“I’m glad to break that tradition.” I peel off my shirt, and her eyes go wide. Yeah, the dead lifts paid off. My personal trainer would be pleased right now…and maybe recording this, because he’s a perv. As Dahlia trails kisses down my chest, and flicks her tongue across my nipple—Christ, I can’t get any harder than I already am—I slide one hand down her body, to feel the damp silk of her panties. Fuck, she’s already wet for me. I finger her against the silk, feeling her hips subtly thrust into me. I push the cloth aside and trail my finger along the wet seam of her pussy, and she moves against me, a low moan escaping her lips. That’s only going to turn me on more.
I think she likes that. I know I do.
I slide one finger into her, feeling her clench down. Dahlia leans her forehead on my shoulder, wrapping her arms around my neck as I find a slow, steady rhythm. I don’t want to go too fast. Her teeth graze my shoulder as my finger glides in and out, in and out. Fuck, she’s nipping at me. This woman is an animal, and I’m about to head past the point of no return. I need to fuck her, now.
With one swift move, I lay her back down on the bed and slide her panties down. Now she’s naked, entirely ready for me. She lifts herself up on her elbows, gazing at me with those dark, liquid eyes. I used to have a thing for blondes, but right now all I can think is how sexy brunettes are. I might never go back at this rate.
“I feel a little more exposed than you do.” She traces her gaze down my body, landing on my pants, which are still zipped.
“Being patient is a sexy quality in a woman.” I lean down over her, catching her lips in a kiss. Her tongue taps against the inside of my mouth.
“Being accommodating is a wonderful quality in a man.” She quirks an eyebrow, and smiles. Fuck, did someone say anything positive about patience? I’m about ready to rip the goddamn pants off. But no. Cool, collected motherfucker: that’s how we do this.
“I’m going to make you beg for me.” I cup her full breast, and tease at her nipple with my tongue, until it’s hard and peaked. Dahlia writhes under me, gasping as I bite down, suck at her breast. While I shift my attention from one to the other, I slide my hand down and finger her clit again. I move in slow, languid circles, relishing every time she moans, the louder she starts calling my name. She grips the bedspread, digging her fingernails into it.
“What do you want?” I whisper as I slide one finger inside her and pump. She thrusts against my hand, desperate for more.
“I want you to fuck me. Please.” There she is, wet and begging for me. Just the way I want it. Her moans get more urgent, and I feel her body tense under my hands and mouth. She’s on the verge of her climax. I slide out of her, stand up, and unbutton my pants. She bites her lip, looking nervous for the first time.
“You, er, have protection?”
“From my days as a boy scout.” Always be prepared, especially when you have a gorgeous, naked woman in your five star hotel room. If that were a badge, the world would be overflowing with Eagle Scouts. I slide open the bedside drawer and take out a condom. It’s a requirement for whenever I stay in a hotel; get the concierge to pop a few in. I’m not banging someone new every night, despite how that sounds, but I do get more action than the average man. It’s good to stay on top of things.
Or have someone stay on top of you. Preferably naked. We’ll get to that.
“Let me.” Dahlia sits up as I shed the rest of my clothes, my erection very pleased to meet her. Ripping the foil, she looks up at me, that dark, teasing light in her eyes. Before she takes out the condom, she licks me, taking my tip into her hot little mouth. She rolls her tongue around the head, and it takes every bit of self-control I have not to grab her hair and start fucking her mouth. It’s like velvet. The fact I don’t come right then is a goddamn miracle. Then, she deftly unrolls the condom onto my shaft, sheathing me. About damn time, because I can’t take much more of this. I need to fuck this woman, be buried inside her when she comes screaming my name.
I’ve got a plan, and I like to stick to my plans.
Dahlia gasps as I push her back onto the bed, biting her lip as her eyes widen with pleasure. She spreads her legs, her hand pumping my dick. I grab her hands and pin them over her head. She smiles.
For good measure, I press my thumb against her clit. Her mouth opens wide, and she starts to tremble under my hand. When I take the pressure away just at the tipping point, she practically hisses.
“I’m so close.”
“I know you are. But I plan to make this last,” I tell her, positioning myself on top of her. Slowly, with the intent to make her beg, I slide my dick up and down, on the verge of sinking into her. She’s so wet my cock glides easily. I tease her, almost, almost sliding home. Dahlia kisses me, her mouth hard against mine. She’s letting me know I’m making her angry, and she loves it.
Then, as a surprise, I thrust inside her, filling her completely. She gasps in shock, digging her nails into my bare back. Fuck, I’ve never fit so well inside a woman before. Dahlia groans as I sink in all the way. Her pussy clenches as I slide out slowly, as she tries to hold me inside. I thrust, and thrust again, harder and deeper, letting myself go as far as I can. Fuck, I can already feel that deep, primal stirring, the need to let myself go and come inside her. Not yet. Soon, buddy. Pace yourself.
Dahlia wraps her legs around me, tightening her pussy as much as she can. Jesus, I’ve never felt anything like it. Her pussy is slick, my dick gliding in and out as I thrust faster, and grind deeper inside of her. She rakes her fingers down my back, my skin so sensitive to her touch that it feels fucking orgasmic. I kiss her hard, my tongue exploring her. She closes her eyes, her forehead creasing as I pull away and fuck her, ride her. Her tits bounce as I pump as fast as I can, and she meets me thrust for thrust, moving her hips to match my rhythm. My breath comes in short gasps. I’m on the verge of climax myself.
I don’t want it to end, but I need to come. I need to watch Dahlia come, screaming my name. Nothing else will satisfy.
“Cry out for me,” I say through my teeth, losing myself in the sensation. Her hips rock, and she slides one hand down her body, touching herself where we join together.
“Jack,” she whispers, repeating my name over and over again. “Fuck. Don’t stop. I’m going to come.”
I reach down and replace her hand with mine, lightly touching her throbbing clit in time to my thrusts. That does the trick, because she gasps and arches her bac
k, keening low in her throat as I move faster. Then, her pussy clamps down tight on me; I know she’s about to explode.
Dahlia comes, her whole body shaking as the orgasm washes over her. It’s like watching poetry in goddamn motion. She has one hand holding her steady on the headboard above her, and her other hand is tweaking my nipple, driving me crazy. The pressure builds in my cock and behind my eyes, and my hips jerk as I come inside of her. I moan, pressing my face against the bedspread as I ride myself out, finally coming to a stop on top of her. We lie like that together, our bodies damp and glistening with sweat. She kisses my neck, sighing, her breath a kiss against my skin. I look at her, see how her eyelids flutter closed. She’s spent, worn out.
Fuck, I think I could go again just looking at her. I kiss her again, then roll over to lie besides her, staring up at the ceiling. She puts a hand over her eyes.
“What’s the sum total of broken rules for the night?” I ask. She chuckles, putting a hand to her mouth to cover the sound. Don’t know why. Nothing’s sexier than a woman’s laughter.
“About five. Though, to be fair, we added a new one.” She looks over at me, blowing a tuft of black hair out of her eyes. “Rule fifty seven: have the best orgasm of your life.”
As I lean over to kiss her, to run my hand over her incredible breasts again, I can’t get her rules out of my head. I also know I won’t be able to forget her flashing eyes, her smart mouth, her laugh, the way her hand felt on my cock, the way I felt inside her.
Damn. This woman is a little too sensational to see only once.
5
Dahlia
When you break every rule in the book, you feel like sort of a hypocrite telling someone else to stick to the rules. Especially when that someone is Amy Jacobs, and she’s a little on the nervous side to begin with. What am I supposed to say to her? ‘Follow my advice to get the man of your dreams, but if you don’t follow my advice you could end up with the best sex of your life. Dream until your dreams make you come.’
