In the dimly lit bar, I lean across the counter to catch the bartender’s eye. “Whiskey for me,” I say, “And…?” I glance over my shoulder.
Is it my imagination, or do his eyes lighten with something close to interest? “The same,” he says, and settles onto a stool next to me. “So, Cassidy, was it?”
I nod, watching him as the bartender passes us both well whiskeys.
“Lark.” He smiles. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but, well, considering the circumstances…”
“Oh, no.” I slide his drink toward him, then raise my own. “It was very nice to meet you indeed.” We tap glasses. “To your perfect timing, Lark.”
He laughs. “Perfect timing would’ve been if I’d gotten there quickly enough to knock that asshole out before he got anywhere near you,” he admits, and rubs at his cheekbone.
I peer at his bruise. “We should get some ice—”
“No, no. It’ll be fine.” He offers a wry smile. “Trust me, I’ve had worse.”
I settle back onto my seat, watching him curiously from the corner of my eye. “Where did you learn to fight like that?” I ask after a moment. Because I saw him move. That was no basic self-defense class. He’s been in fights before. Real ones.
“Actually…” He smiles, a genuine one this time. “I grew up with five brothers. So, my training started there. And then, you know, perfected it in college. Between playing on the rugby team and going on one too many nights out to even seedier bars than this one…”
“Oi,” the bartender barks, before shaking his head and moving away to the far side of the bar.
We both stifle our laughter, trading amused glances. “Better watch your tongue,” I murmur.
Lark’s gaze shifts to my mouth and then back up again, so quick I wonder if I imagined it. But then… “Oh, I know. It’s always getting me into trouble.” His gaze drops again, and this time I know I’m not imagining things.
My cheeks flush, but luckily it’s dark in this bar. I take a sip of my whiskey, and watch Lark from the corner of my eye as he does the same.
“So where did you learn to change a tire?” Lark asks. “Or, for that matter, to swing a wrench like that.” He tilts his head, sizing me up. “Not sure I’ve ever seen anyone use that technique before.”
I grin. “What can I say? My dad wanted me to be prepared for any challenges the world could throw at a girl.”
“Well.” He raises his glass once more. “To fathers who prepare us properly, then.”
My grin falters. But I lift my glass anyway, tap it to his. What I don’t expect, though, is for him to notice my sudden shift in demeanor, the way I don’t quite meet his eye this time.
“What’s the matter?” he asks, his voice dropping low.
“Just… my dad.” I shrug, blinking back a sudden and unexpected surge of tears. “He passed away a couple years ago.”
Lark lifts a hand to rest on my shoulder. Where his palm touches me, warmth spreads, tingling, all through my arm, up my shoulder and across my body. After a moment of hesitation, I reach up to thread my fingers through his, and squeeze just once, lightly.
He doesn’t say he’s sorry. He doesn’t offer empty platitudes. That’s what makes me ask.
“What about you?” I keep my eyes on the bar, but I can see him in the reflection of the bottles of liquor lined up there. The way his head drops a little, and his eyes darken.
“My youngest brother,” he says, after a long moment of quiet. “He was in a car accident last year. Drunk driver. They say he was killed on impact, never felt anything, but…”
“Shit, Lark.” I tighten my grip on his hand.
He shifts beside me, then picks up his whiskey again, takes a longer sip this time. “Losing someone that young… Really makes you appreciate the time you still have. Makes you want to live life right.” He glances at me again, and this time, I don’t look away. I let my eyes linger, the same way his are.
I lose track of how long we just sit, sizing one another up, before he bends a little closer. There’s barely a foot between us now. He’s close enough I catch his scent, woodsy and smoke-tinted from the whiskey, with a hint of something else underneath, something that reminds me of salt and the ocean.
“Cassidy,” he says, and my name on his lips sends a thrum of electricity through me, all the way to the tips of my fingers.
His hand slides along my body, from my shoulder down to the small of my back, where his fingers spread out, strong and so roughly calloused I can feel them even through my thin clubbing dress.
“Lark?” I manage, and my voice only quivers ever so slightly at the end. I manage to hold his gaze, though, keep my chin raised, and I don’t even let him see the way my breath catches or my stomach tightens at his touch.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, still in that low, thrumming voice. The one that’s impossible to resist.
I tilt my head back, my face toward his, and when he dips down to feather his lips against mine, it feels like static shock, touching a doorknob after shuffling your feet across a carpet.
Then he sinks against me, his free hand drifting up to cup my cheek, pulling me off my stool and toward him. I stumble against him—the whiskey’s hitting harder than I expected after those other drinks earlier at the club. He chuckles, his mouth still pressed to mine, and then his lips part, taking mine with. His tongue traces the edges of my lips, and I arch my back, both my arms sliding up to wrap around his neck.
I’m not sure how we settle our tab. I have a vague memory of Lark tapping on the bar, sliding his wallet out of his back pocket. Then the next thing I know, we’re stumbling outside, his arms around my waist, holding my body against his.
The cold night air wakes me up a little, shoots fresh pulses of energy through my veins.
We part, and in the distant streetlights, Lark’s eyes look greener than ever, pools I could drown in. I realize I’m grinning like an idiot, but I don’t stop, because he’s looking at me with the same expression.
“Where the hell did you come from, Cassidy?” he murmurs, and I wonder briefly if this man is a mind-reader, because I’d just been thinking the same thing. Then he kisses me again, and I forget all about speaking.
His hands slide lower, from my waist down over the curve of my ass. I slide one leg around the back of his thigh and arch my body up against his, while my hands slide down those strong, thick shoulders and over his chest.
God, I can feel every inch of his muscle through the shirt he’s wearing, as starkly as if he were already half-naked.
He tilts his head, kisses his way along my jawline and then catches the lower edge of my earlobe, worrying it between his teeth, just for a second, before his tongue traces the curve after. The sensation makes my breath catch, my body sing with want.
“You are goddamn intoxicating, you know that?” he murmurs against my ear, his breath hot enough to make my head spin all over again. “More potent than the whiskey.”
I laugh, but it’s faint, breathy. It’s hard to catch a full breath with this man’s strong arms around me, protective and possessive at once. “Look who’s talking,” I murmur, and he pulls back just far enough to meet my gaze again, his blazing hot.
“You don’t want to get mixed up with me, Cassidy,” he says, suddenly sounding far more sober than I feel. My heart skips a beat. But I can’t tear my gaze from those deep, soulful eyes. I couldn’t make my legs work to walk away from him if I wanted to—and I really, really don’t want to.
“Try me,” I reply, lifting my chin, meeting his challenge with one of my own.
His lip curves in a half smirk. Deadly and dangerous all at once. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he replies. Then his mouth comes down on mine, harder this time, insistent, and my lip spart beneath his, let him take what he wants.
When we part again, my chest heaves. His hands have reached my thighs now, then my ass. He grips me hard, and I gasp at the feeling. He crushes me against him, and I can feel the hard ju
t of his cock, straining against his jeans. The way he’s standing, towering over me, it digs into my belly, stretching the whole length from my waist to under my chest, and it makes me desperate to see him without any clothing on. To touch that cock with my bare hands.
“Fuck,” I breathe, and his eyes flash with amusement.
“Don’t tempt me.” His gaze drips over my body again, and I shiver, feeling every place that he looks at as if it were his hands roaming over me now, touching every inch of me. “I’d love to keep you all night, Cassidy. Make you scream my name…”
I search his gaze, challenging. “What are we waiting for then?” I ask him. Simple, straightforward. It’s blunter than I’ve ever been with a guy before. But something tells me Lark will appreciate it.
To judge by the way that infuriating half-smirk of his widens, I’m right.
I don’t even notice him flag it down, but before long, a taxi is pulling up beside us.
“Last chance,” he says, eyebrow arched. “I can take you home. Or, I bring you back to mine, and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow.” He says the latter in a whisper, leaning in to catch my earlobe between his teeth again, biting down until the faint spark of pain makes me gasp.
“Yours,” I breathe.
We slide into the back of taxi—or rather, Lark slides in, and then he pulls me inside and shuts the door behind us both. I’m tempted to straddle him, but he makes me put on my belt instead, and in a guilty flash I remember his brother, the accident.
I’m about to say something, but Lark cuts me off by kissing me again. At the same time, his hand inches up the smooth plane of my thigh, toward the edge of my dress.
Our lips part, and he smirks at me, one eye on the driver. “How quiet can you be?” he murmurs softly.
I bite my lower lip in response.
Then his fingers slide higher. Up, up, up the smooth expanse of my thighs until he reaches the crease where my leg meets my hip bone. He traces it with his forefinger, his eyes on me all the while. I glance at the driver again, nervous, but the man’s attention is on the road, at least.
“Ah, ah.” Lark lifts an eyebrow. “Look at me.”
My gaze jumps back to his, and my breath catches again.
His finger slides beneath my panties.
He spreads his hand to cup my pussy in his palm, the rough, calloused heel of his hand like striking a match over my bare-shaven mound. My hips buck up off the seat and into his palm, eager to grind against him, but he draws back a little, smirking.
“So eager.” He leans in to kiss the edge of my jawline. “Let me guess. You’re already wet for me, too.” His breath is searing hot, his words so low I can barely hear him over the rumble of the cab, the faint tinny sound of the radio playing in the driver’s area.
I bite my lower lip, my eyes fluttering shut, as Lark’s fingers glide over my mound until he reaches my pussy lips. His thumb grazes my clit, enough to make me jump again. I hadn’t realized how turned on I was until now, but I can feel my clit, pulsing and heavy between my thighs, swollen with desire.
Then his fingers slide between my pussy lips, and I inhale sharply through my nose, trying as hard as I can not to make any sounds. Slowly, slow enough to feel like torture, albeit an impossibly enjoyable kind, Lark presses the tip of his forefinger inside me.
I try to shift closer to him, but with his free hand, he pins me against the seat, lifting one eyebrow as if to tease me. He knows what he’s doing, the bastard.
He leans in again. “I love watching you squirm.” His smile widens, and he adds a second finger inside me, my pussy stretching around his thick fingers, little shockwaves of pleasure firing through my system. “God, you’re so fucking wet,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
I lean against him, surrendering, letting him take the lead. I forget where we are, so much so that when he starts to stroke me, in and out, his fingers curling slowly inside me, I gasp aloud.
Lark kisses me to muffle the sound, and I can feel him grinning against my mouth. “Shh,” he breathes, and I have to bite my lower lip, hard, to keep quiet when he begins to move his fingers faster, thrusting in and out of me.
My heartbeat picks up. I can hear the noise of the road under us and the music the driver’s playing, but it’s all distant, out of focus. The only thing I can focus on right now; the only thing I can see clearly, is Lark. Those eyes of his fixed on me, like he’s hungry too, lapping up my reactions.
I twist against him, my hips rising off the seat to thrust against his hand in tiny, quick motions.
In response, he presses the heel of his hand down, until it connects with my clit. I gasp again, and clamp my lips together, hard, to prevent any other sound from emerging.
It gets harder and harder to stay quiet, though, as he strokes me toward a climax. His fingers glide in and out of my tight pussy easily now, I’m so fucking soaked. And his heel stays right where it is, pressed to my clit, so that with every stroke it sends fireworks through my veins, sets off sparks behind my eyelids.
Right as I near the peak, Lark must sense it, because he bends close again, his face inches from mine. “Come for me, Cassidy,” he whispers, and then his lips collide with mine, his tongue parting mine.
I cry out, faint enough that it’s muffled by his mouth, by this kiss. And the orgasm hits me full force, my whole body shaking from it. All the while, he continues to stroke me, pushing his fingers into me again and again.
Just when I think I can’t take it anymore, that I might hit a second orgasm right here and lose all control over my voice completely, Lark draws his fingers out of my pussy. Then, still watching me, his warm, solid body pressed against mine in the backseat of the darkened cab, he lifts his hand to his face, and slowly licks my juices from his fingers, one by one.
My heart continues to pound, my eyes wide as I watch him. “Fuck,” I finally breathe, not sure whether I mean the sight of him doing that, or the orgasm he just gave me, or all of it. Everything.
He grins and kisses my cheek, my jawline. “Just wait until we get home,” he murmurs. “I want to taste every inch of you.”
Those words are enough to leave me practically vibrating until the taxi parks outside his house. He pays and pulls me out beside him. It’s dark, so I don’t get a good look, but I get the feeling this is an expensive apartment. Doorman building, one of the top floors, if not the top. I don’t know—I don’t pay much attention in the elevator, because the moment the doors close behind us, Lark pins me against the wall, his tongue parting my lips, his hands hiking up my skirt.
I gasp and peer around him, worried. “What if—” I start to say, worried someone else might step inside the elevator, or call it to their floor, only to find us naked inside.
But then it slows to a halt, and the doors ping open, and I realize that would have been impossible. Because the doors open straight into Lark’s place.
“Whoa.” My eyes go wide as I take the place in. Definitely expensive as hell. It’s a modern style apartment, with floor to ceiling windows all along one side that overlook the city, and an open plan kitchen and living room. It’s tastefully decorated, all minimalist and stylish, except for the fireplace, which adds a bit of warmth to the room, complete with a throw rug in front of it.
But it screams bachelor pad, too.
Lark leads me from the elevator by the hand, and as the doors slide shut again behind us, he pins me against them, one finger curling underneath my chin in order to tilt my head back, until my gaze jumps back to his. “That cab ride was about a century too long.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” I reply, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Then his mouth crushes against mine, and he hikes up the hem of my dress in one smooth motion, drawing it up and over my head.
It falls somewhere to the side. I barely notice, because I’m tugging at the buttons on his shirt. My fingers fumble with them for a minute, before I give up and just yank, hard, sending buttons pinging around us.
My eyes must be doing the same as his, because fuck. I knew I felt muscles under his tightly buttoned clothes, but seeing him shirtless has taken my breath away. He’s cut like no man I’ve ever slept with before, solid as a rock, with those V-line muscles pointing straight down to where… Fuck. The bulge in his jeans is huge. I’m reaching for it, when Lark interrupts me.
He grips my ass hard and lifts me into his arms. Instinctively, I wrap my legs around his waist. I can feel that hard bulge of his cock digging into my belly as he carries me, my hands digging into the hard plains of his shoulders, over to the kitchen counter. He sets me on the edge and unsnaps my bra at the same time, practically throwing it aside.
He pauses for a second, like the sight of me naked it is driving him wild, too. “God, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, his breath tickling my collarbone. Then he dips lower, kisses and licks his way down between my breasts. My head falls back, my whole body arched toward him, like I’m just a puppet and he’s the master. He tilts his head to one side, licks along the underside of my breast, making my toes curl and my whole body tingle with the sensation. Higher and higher, his tongue trails, until he sucks my nipple into his mouth, his lips pursed around it. His tongue toys with my nipple, laps against it until I can feel it getting hard.
With his free hand, he cups my other breast, his thumb toying with my nipple, alternating between gently rolling it and pinching just hard enough to make me gasp.
He tilts his head back, and eyes me for a second, my breast wet from his hot mouth, his lips swollen from kissing it. “You were so good at being quiet in the cab,” he says, grinning. “Now I’ll have to see if I can make you scream.”
Then his hands dip down, tracing my curves, sending heat waves through me as they go, and his thumbs hook under the edges of my panties.
He raises me up just high enough to pull them off, and pushes them down, spreading my legs wide as he does.
Kiss Me Now Page 2
