Chapter Text
Reckless.
That has never been me.
Yet here I am, looking to make poor choices tonight, because for once in my life, why the fuck not?
I've made all the safe choices, the right decisions my entire life. That led me to an Ivy League education, absolutely no social life, and the creation of a company that needs funding. Desperately. Living the fucking dream.
I absolutely nailed my presentation with Ashton & Barlowe, but I just learned the firm still turned us down for this round of funding. Again. Fuck my life. I wasted the past seven years, my prime years - as everyone calls them, working instead of having fun. For what? Apparently for nothing, that's what..
That ends right fucking now.
I open the door to the Bar Room and step inside with the intention of making bad decisions tonight. Dangerously bad ones if things go well.
It's packed. Good. More opportunities for poor choices.
I make my way through the sea of navy blue suits, clouded with the scent of competing expensive colognes and scotch whiskey. I slide into the last empty seat at the bar.
"What can I get you?" The bartender greets me immediately. Not a bad option , I think to myself as I take in his tall, lean build, and black hair, styled in some cool, spikey way that reminds me of flames.
"A Manhattan," I say with as much confidence as I can muster. I've never had one, but this is what google suggested I order. I want to fit in here, to blend with this swanky downtown post-work crowd. "Up, and in a coup."
"What type of whiskey?" Shit . I wasn't prepared for this question.
"Try it with Aretian Reserve," a deep, soothing voice next to me interjects. I turn towards its source and - Oh. My. God . Hello, beautiful. Now that is the bad decision I want to make.
"Uh -" I blink, at a loss for words. It sounds expensive. As in, I can't afford it expensive. I can tell he senses my hesitation. Shit, I'm so out of place here.
"It's on me," he says, smiling, and fuck, I'd like him to be on me . Hell, if I play my cards right tonight, maybe he will be.
"Thanks." He orders one for each of us and I offer him my best flirtatious smile, rotating my body in my plush velvet barstool so that I'm angled towards him, before I slowly cross my legs, allowing my skirt to fall open, exposing the bare skin of my leg all the way to the middle of my thigh.
My skirt isn't short, but it has a hell of a slit that I use to my advantage, watching out of the corner of my eye as his eyes run down the length of my exposed leg. I bite my lip. This is going to be easier than I thought . Though, I never thought I'd be going home with anyone who looks like that .
Holy fuck, this man is hot. He's not wearing a ring, and looks to be about my age, so he's got that going for him. Someone pinch me because I am obviously dreaming. There is no fucking way this guy wants to go home with me .
"Cheers," he raises his glass to meet mine after the bartender places our matching Manhattans down on two coasters emblazoned with the Bar Room’s signature monogram.
"Are we celebrating something?" I ask, because until this moment I was in no mood for celebration. But hey, I'm not above toasting my newfound good fortune, ending up next to this unbelievably attractive man. Well, unless he turns out to be a serial killer, and knowing my luck, he probably is.
Whatever, I am here to make poor choices, dangerous choices. Starting with this one. This very attractive one.
"I guess you could say I'm celebrating good company." He says with a wink that shouldn't be sexy, but somehow it is. Fuck he's smooth . Of fucking course he is, he looks like that , and orders a whiskey I’ve never even heard of with the word Reserve in the name.
"Well, let's see just how good this company can get," I counter, tapping my glass gently against his before taking a sip, holding his heated gaze over the rim of my coup as my heart pounds.
Holy shit, did I really just say that? Who am I?
“I’ll drink to that, too,” he says with a smirk.
Is he flirting with me?
He puts down his drink and gives me his undivided attention as he asks, “So, what brings you here, alone, on a Wednesday?” He’s fishing for personal information and I plan to give him as little as possible.
“Wanted to grab a drink or two after a rough meeting,” Vague, but truthful. “Though I could ask you the same thing.” Time to turn this conversation back on him.
“You could,” he says.
“Could what?” I take the bait.
“Could ask,” he smiles. Is he flirting with me, or is he just an asshole? Honestly, do I even care?
The answer is no, I don’t care. As long as that body ends up on top of me, and whatever he’s packing under those pants ends up inside of me, then no, it doesn’t matter. Because if he looks this good with his clothes on , than fuck me.
No, literally fuck me.
Oh shit, he’s waiting for me to ask. God, I really need to get better at flirting.
“So, what brings you here, alone, on a Wednesday?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” he flashes me a smile that feels more like a smirk than anything. “I’m meeting someone for dinner here, but I wrapped up earlier than him so I came for a drink. Had to get the hell out of the office after a disagreement I had with my boss about a new investment.” My initial assessment was spot on; he is a finance bro.
Tailored suit. Ferragamo loafers, I noted those immediately. Classy, but not flashy. That absolutely tracks, considering he didn’t start the conversion with the cliche “so, what do you do for a living” line.
But shit, his response sinks in. He’s meeting someone for dinner. Which means, he has plans after this. Which means my plans - to allow him to take me home and do unspeakable things to me, just fell apart.
You know what, fuck that. I came here determined to be reckless and I’m going to shoot my shot because why the fuck not.
“That’s too bad,” I say with a coy smile.
“What’s too bad?” He asks, brow furrowed. God , he’s sexy.
“That you have dinner plans,” I say, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, though my heart is pounding at my brazen behavior.
“Oh?” He asks, a curious smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Did you have something else in mind for me?” Holy shit, door open.
“I had some ideas that might not fit into your dinner plans.” I say, leaning forward, allowing the neckline of my satin cami to fall open just enough to reveal a little cleavage. And I absolutely notice his eyes fall to my chest. Game. On.
Who am I and where the hell is Violet Sorrengail?
“Oh yeah, and what might those plans be?” He leans over as he asks, placing his hand gently on my exposed thigh, which causes an immediate ache to materialize between my legs. Fuck, I need this man.
Preferably, as soon as possible.
Maybe it’s the Manhattan on an empty stomach, or maybe it’s just lust addling my brain, but I decide to just fucking go for it. Why not? I’ll likely never see him again anyway.
“I’m really not in the mood to play games, so how’s this for radical honesty? I was just thinking that I’d really like to end the night at your place.” There. I fucking said it.
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just thinking the same thing,” he says as he flashes me a charming smile. “In fact, I think I’ve just been persuaded to cancel dinner.” And the sparkle in his eyes tells me I am in serious trouble, specifically, the kind of trouble I came here looking to find.
“Oh?” That comes out more breathless than I intended. “I’d be curious to know what else you were just thinking about.” And I drag my teeth over my lower lip as I look at him, I mean really look at him.
He’s tall, I note, and incredibly fit. Like, goes to the gym at 5am every morning fit. I take in the tattoo that runs the length of his arm, a series of mesmerizing swirls that disappear beneath the rolled up cuff of his crisp button-down shirt, the top two buttons of which, I note, are undone. His jacket was removed before I got here, draped on the back of his chair.
“Why tell you about it when I can show you?” He leans over and whispers, his breath hot on my neck.
Holy. Shit. Who the fuck is this guy and when do I get to leave with him? Desire floods my entire system, pooling between my legs as I resist the sudden urge to grind against the seat of the barstool.
“Let me just call my cousin really quickly, let him know something better came up.” He fucking winks as he stands, the corner of his mouth turned up in a mischievous smile. “Don’t worry, I see him every fucking day.”
He signals for the bartender, raising his hand with a casual flair and a silent nod before dropping his credit card, a fucking Amex Black Card, on the counter and stepping away, presumably to call his cousin.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, leaning in close and running his hand down the length of my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his fingers’ wake.
“Can I get you anything else?” The bartender asks. Yeah a cold shower maybe.
“I’m great, thanks,” I smile at him nervously. Suddenly painfully aware how obvious it is that I’m about to go home with this man I just met. Though, why the fuck do I care what the bartender thinks?
“He’s a regular here,” the bartender offers. “Good guy. Always tips well, though he’s rarely here alone.”
I’m not sure what to make of that. I assume he’s implying he is a serial dater, but whatever. Again, do I care? Nope. I am here for the express purpose of doing something absolutely reckless, or should I say someone . More specifically, that very tall, very handsome someone. Though it’s somewhat comforting to know this bartender knows him. Okay, maybe ‘know’ is a generous term here, but at least he can serve as a witness if I go missing and this sexy stranger with the mysterious tattoo turns out to be a serial killer.
I just agreed to go home with a man I do not know.
This is a terrible idea.
A dangerous idea.
Reckless. It is fucking reckless.
And it is exactly what I need.
Who am I?
“Ready?” he asks, throwing on his blazer and reaching for my leather jacket, holding it out for me as I slip my arms into the sleeves.
He looks like a GQ model and he’s a gentleman? Okay, something has to be wrong with this man because, really?
He reaches out, taking my hand in his as he leads us out the door into the chilly night air which does very little to cool my desire.
“Can you walk in those?” He asks, looking down at my feet.
No. But I am not going to tell him that.
“How far?” I ask, because no fucking way am I walking more than a block in these Louboutins.
You’re selling yourself just as much as you’re selling your product . My sister Mira’s words play out in my head. It’s why realtors and pharma sales reps drive BMW’s and shit, you need to look successful, Vi . She bought me the $800 shoes. I insisted she was just fronting me the money, but we both knew they were a gift.
They are easily the least comfortable pair of shoes I own.
They are also by far the sexiest.
“It’s not too far,” he replies, “just 4 or 5 blocks.” Oh shit.
My face must say it all, because the next words out of his mouth are, “Don’t worry, I’ll call Felix to take us, he can be here in less than five.”
This guy is on a first-name basis with a private driver ? It is highly probable that I am going to die tonight. Preferably of ecstacy, but actual death seems plausible too. I shoot Mira a text while he is calling Felix:
May not come home tonight if things go well ;)
Reminder that I’ve shared my location with you.
Love you!
True to his word, a black SUV pulls up not even three minutes later and a gentleman, I assume to be Felix, hops out and opens the door for us. I climb in, making myself comfortable in one of the captain’s seats, trying to act like this is a completely normal occurrence for me.
The ride feels so short, yet simultaneously like an eternity, Felix’s presence only heightens my awareness of how much I crave a physical connection with this handsome stranger, and maybe its the anonymity of it all, but I am so fucking turned on. I cross my legs in an effort to relieve the ache pulsing between them, the anticipation of what’s to come hanging in the air between us like a promise we both yearn to fulfill - at least I do, and the sooner, the better. I cannot help but wonder how much longer I can endure the suspense.
Just as I feel like I might reach out and touch him inappropriately, the car stops, pulling up to a swanky downtown apartment building. He quickly ushers me past the doorman, and into the elevator. I note he pushes the button for 6A.
The doors open directly into his living room. He owns half the fucking floor? Well, shit.
“Can I offer you a drink?” He asks as we exit the elevator.
“Sure,” I smile at him, a little liquid courage couldn’t hurt.
“What would you like?” He gestures for me to follow him into his living room where he pauses in front of a vintage steamer trunk that has been transformed into a chic, custom bar, its worn leather exterior adding character to the space. Inside, it contains an enviable collection of top-shelf bourbon and a few pieces of crystal glassware.
“Whatever you’re having is fine,” a lame answer, but it’s the only response that comes to me.
“On the rocks okay then?” He questions.
“Perfect,” I smile. The stronger the better.
I watch him pour the contents of a crystal decanter into two identical tumblers before picking them up and offering one to me. My fingers graze his as I take the glass of what I assume to be very nice whiskey, sending a jolt of anticipation through my body, electrifying the moment. He clinks our glasses together.
“To good company,” he says with a wink and a playful smirk.
“I’ll drink to that,” I reply, taking a hefty swig from the crystal glass. The amber liquid burns a path down my throat, despite its chilled temperature.
A thick haze of anticipation wraps around us and I can’t help but wonder if he feels it too, this desperate need to close the distance, to shatter this tension between us and embrace the inevitable. That’s why I came here, isn’t it? Ugh, then why does this moment feel both terrifying and unbearable?
His eyes suddenly lock on mine, darkening as his gaze heats, subconsciously drawing me towards him. One step. One step closer is all it takes. His arm instantly wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against him as his lips meet mine. It’s like a spark igniting into a kiss that sets everything ablaze, filling the space with a heat that leaves us both breathless and desperate for more.
His other hand cups the back of my head, fisting my hair as he holds me firmly against him before spinning me around and propping me on the back of his couch. Shit, that was hot. The hand wrapped around my waist begins to wander, tracing its way to the slit in my skirt, and following the opening up my thigh. I let out a little gasp when his fingers reach the sensitive peak between my legs.
“Are you sure you want this?” He asks.
“Yes,” I gasp, desperate for more.
“Good,” he says, “because I’ve been fantasizing about fucking you since the moment you walked into the bar.”
Need floods my system, erupting from every pore in my body as I kiss him back with everything I have. Hot, hungry, and demanding. Hands roaming, desperately clawing at his jacket as he helps me out of mine in a frenzied attempt to get undressed as quickly as possible while I remain perched on the back of his sofa.
His hand wastes no time reaching under my skirt again, instantly finding that sensitive spot between my legs, rubbing gently and using the lacy fabric of my underwear for friction as my back arches and I gasp from the contact.
Fuck, that feels good.
Too good.
I need more.
I rock my body against his fingers, desperate for more pressure as I moan.
“I can feel how much you want this,” he growls against my lips as he slips a finger inside. “So wet, so ready for me already.”
“Oh God,” I moan, as he slips another finger inside.
“So tight,” he groans, his fingers steadily pumping in and out of me, finding a rhythm as his thumb continues to apply pressure on my clit.
“Fuck,” I breath, it feels so fucking good and I struggle to catch my breath as my walls clench around him, pressure coiling and building within me. And just as I feel like I’m about to fall apart on his fingers. His magical fucking fingers. He stops.
“Not so fast,” He whispers against my neck before nipping at my ear, and fuck, that is so much hotter than it should be.
“Please.” I am not above begging, desperate for his touch, desperate for the promise of release.
“Shhh,” he puts his finger against my lips before trailing his tongue from my collarbone up my neck to my ear, sucking my lobe gently between his lips, “I’m going to take great care of you,” he whispers, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise along the back of my neck as a shiver of anticipation races down my spine.
He claims my mouth in a hungry kiss, applying pressure to the seam of my lips with his tongue, requesting access which I readily grant, eager for more of him. The kiss grows frantic, insistent, his hands running down the length of my back and cupping my ass as he lifts me from the back of his couch.
My legs instinctively wrap around him, and we’re a tangled mess of tongue and teeth and roaming hands as he carries us down a small hallway, and into his bedroom.
“Now,” he gasps as he deposits me on his impeccably-made bed, climbing on top of me as he gently pushes me onto my back. “I’m going to kiss you.”
I smile as his lips gently graze mine. “Here,” he says before his lips trail down my neck. “Here,” he says again, kissing me gently. They land on my collarbone and I can feel his smile against my skin as he says, “and here.” Then he lifts the hem of my camisole as he kisses my abdomen. “Here too.” He keeps moving lower until his fingers find the zipper on my skirt, tugging it down before he pulls my skirt right off my body.
Oh.
Shit.
“Here,” he says, and my body trembles as he places a soft kiss on my inner thigh. The whisper of his lips tickling my sensitive flesh as he moves higher, “And here.”
My whole body tenses in response. Shit . He must sense my discomfort because he pauses, stopping his ministrations to ask if I am okay.
“It’s just,” I can’t think of the words, how to say it. God, I feel so awkward . “I’ve never, nobody has ever –”
“Nobody has ever gone down on you before?” His tone is laced with astonishment, but coated in warmth. No judgment, but maybe a little pity. And I don’t know why, but suddenly, I feel comfortable enough to open up to him.
“No,” I whisper, propping myself up on my elbows to look at him as I feel my cheeks heat. “My exes never offered.” God , how embarrassing.
“I told you I’d take care of you,” his smile is somehow both mischievous and tender. “But if you aren’t comfortable, we don’t have to do this. Just let me know what you want.”
I came here tonight looking for a little adventure. Hell, I came looking for danger, and the hottest man I have possibly ever seen is between my legs, offering me that . Something I’ve heard about, and I’ve definitely been curious about, but never actually experienced. There is absolutely no turning back now.
“I want this,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel as my entire body flushes.
“Good,” he smiles, “because you deserve to be worshiped, and that is exactly what I am about to do to you.”
A wave of desire crashes over me, flooding my core as I throw my head back onto his bed. This can’t be real life, yet somehow, I don’t think I am dreaming.
Holy. Shit.
His fingers hook onto the fabric of my underwear, gently pulling them down my legs before tossing them aside, leaving me quivering and bare as he slowly spreads my legs for him, humming gently against the soft skin of my inner thigh as he kisses his way up each of my legs, finally settling in where they meet.
Oh.
My.
God.
I instinctively roll my hips towards him at the first moment of contact, the rush of pleasure almost too much. Almost . I need more. So much more. And he is about to give it to me.
Tension coils within me, growing tighter with each taunting kiss, every flick of his talented tongue that he has just weaponized against me, relentlessly teasing and taunting, flicking and kissing everything . Well, almost everything, he still hasn’t given me everything I need as he is careful to avoid the one swollen spot that is so desperate for contact.
Then finally, finally , he hones in on it, employing his tongue to draw tantalizing circles around it, careful not to give me enough to push me over the edge, but just enough to cause my entire body to spasm and clench and fucking tremble with tension.
“Oh God,” I scream, desperate for release as the pressure grows within me, every moment building toward the inevitable explosion of ecstasy that I desperately desire.
“Patience,” he hums between my legs as another surge of pleasure courses through my body.
“Please,” I’m begging now. I need release like I need air.
He lifts my legs, draping my knees over his shoulders as he lowers his mouth back to me, and it feels so good. So fucking good as he resumes licking, and sucking, and even grazing me gently with his teeth. Shit , that’s hot , but he still doesn’t give me what I need most, careful not to give me too much, careful not to give me the one thing I most desperately crave.
I think I might die here.
Tonight.
Right now.
And just as my life begins flashing before my eyes, he brings his tongue directly to my clit. One flick and I unravel. I come undone. Completely undone.
Fuck.
Never. I have never experienced an orgasm like this. It consumes me wholly and completely as swells of pleasure crest and crash over me, pulling me under into this endless expanse of ecstasy, and churning me back out only to drag me back into its depths again and again. I am lost in this abyss, drowning in this endless chasm of euphoria, and all I know is I am crying out, screaming something inaudible while my body writhes, fisting the sheets as I ride out each wave of the very bliss he promised me.
But it’s better. Even better than I imagined.
He continues working me through these neverending surges of pleasure that continue to pulse and ripple through me, and only once I’ve finally come down does he rise, smiling as he kisses a trail back up my body.
“See,” he teases. “I promised I’d take care of you.”
I am a puddle of bliss, melting into the mattress. How do I even respond to that? I have no words, so I simply smile back appreciatively at him, and the way he is looking at me, I swear, his eyes reach out and touch my soul.
He leans over, fusing his mouth to mine in a gentle, but charged kiss. The taste of myself on his tongue unlocks something within me.
I need his shirt off. Now.
My fingers begin working to undo his buttons as the kiss grows more frenzied, more urgent. Once I’m done, I reach for the hem of his undershirt, eager to reveal what hides behind the white cotton fabric of his fitted tee.
Slowly, I lift the material, the fabric sliding up to reveal a chiseled abdomen that seems to have sculpted itself to perfection. Each muscle is defined and pronounced, each ridge sharp and clearly contoured. His obliques curve gracefully, forming a powerful V that draws my eye downwards to the waistband of his pants
Suddenly, I am desperate for those to come off too, desperate to explore what lies beneath them.
This man’s body is unreal .
And he fucking knows it.
“Like what you see?” He smiles as I pull his shirt over his head revealing his broad, well-defined pecs as they rise prominently, showcasing the strength and athleticism that he possesses. And to answer his question, yes, I very much like what I see.
“So much so that I need to see more,” I reach for his belt and begin unbuckling.
Who the fuck am I?
Suddenly, his hands are everywhere .
Roaming.
Grasping.
Raking.
The kiss, the everything , grows wild and chaotic as a primal urge to suddenly strip naked and have my way with him consumes me. At some point, he pulls my camisole over my head and unclasps my bra with impressive ease, but I barely notice as I strip him bare with a lot less grace, but no less enthusiasm. Now he’s as naked as I am and holy fucking shit.
He is more than I imagined, than I fantasized.
The corner of his mouth lifts into a cocky smirk, revealing his apparently unshakeable confidence. It shouldn’t be, but it’s such a fucking turn-on.
“Still like what you see?” He asks.
Yeah, yeah I really fucking do.
“I assume you have a condom?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant but holy shit that is presumably about to be inside me.
“Give me a second,” he responds, leaning over and pulling open the drawer of his nightstand. Not surprisingly, he has a healthy stash of condoms. I feel an unexpected pang of jealousy for those who came before me, but it melts away as soon he turns back towards me, offering me his undivided attention.
“You are stunning,” he says, running his fingers through my hair. “You absolutely deserve to be worshiped, and that is exactly what I plan to keep on doing,” I fucking swoon. Of course I do, drowning in his soulful eyes as the rest of the world fades into the background.
He absolutely makes good on his promise as he gently pushes me back on his bed, positioning himself on top of me, dragging his fingers along my leg and pausing only as he adjusts himself at my entrance.
The rush of anticipation I feel is electric. Energy courses through my veins, firing every nerve ending in my body.
His hand dips between my legs and I feel him smile against my mouth as he inserts a finger inside of me.
“Still so ready for me,” he says, lifting his fingers to his lips and sucking my own wetness off of them before his fingers resume their work, gently stroking in and out of me a few times before he finally positions himself at my entrance, pushing into me with a gentle roll of his hips as he eases himself in, inch by tight inch.
Oh God. The stretch. The fit. The feel of him on top of me. The pressure. It’s divine, absolutely divine. And for the second time tonight, I see my life flash before my eyes as he takes me fully, slowly allowing himself to sink all the way in.
And then he begins to move.
Gently at first, rolling his hips into me with a slow, steady cadence that leaves me hungry for more.
Starving is more like it.
HIs breath is hot on my neck as he sucks and kisses a trail from my collarbone to my jaw before plastering his mouth onto mine with a tender yet bruising kiss, his tongue tickling my own.
“You feel so good around me,” he growls against my neck, causing a series of shivers to race across my body as I shudder with pure desire.
“More,” I gasp as he begins to increase his pace, taking me harder with each thrust. I need more of him. Always more.
“You’re fucking perfect,” he groans as he takes me harder, faster, setting an almost feral pace as I gasp, each thrust hitting deeper, causing a surge of pleasure to course through me from the contact. But it’s still not enough.
I rock my hips against him, in an effort to take him deeper, still desperate for more of him, for him to get more of me. And without even having to say anything, as if he can read my thoughts and we’re acting as one, his hand runs up my leg, grasping beneath my knee and lifting it towards my chest, pushing my leg farther back with every thrust as he takes me even deeper.
I cry out in pleasure. Fuck, that feels so fucking good.
I am so close, and I can sense he is too as his breathing grows ragged and shallow. His fingers grasp my breasts before returning to that sensitive spot between my legs. Shit, one touch and I’ll be done for, my core coiled so tightly, already desperate again for its impending release.
His fingers make slow, deliberate circles as my whole body seizes, anticipation coursing through me like a storm ready to unleash its fury.
And then, just as the pressure begins to border on pain, he gives me exactly what I need. It’s as though a bolt of lightning strikes me down as pleasure surges through me, wild and untamed, electrifying every inch of my skin. I have never fallen apart so completely, and yet tonight, I’ve done it twice.
He cries out and shudders as I ride out the climax of my own simultaneous release, then he collapses beside me, pulling me so that I face him as he claims my mouth in a soft, lingering kiss that stokes the embers of desire still glowing within me.
“That was –”
“Perfect,” he cuts me off, tucking me into the crook of his arm as I settle my head against his chest and drift off, wrapped in a soft glow of contentment.
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
What time is it? How long have I been asleep?
Holy shit.
I just fucked a stranger. It was the best fucking sex of my life, sure, but I am still in his apartment. I cannot believe I slept here.
I can’t explain it, but there was something oddly comfortable about him, something that made me feel safe amidst my ardent desire to do something reckless last night. Something dangerous . Well mission accomplished. I let my guard down. Apparently I felt safe enough with a total fucking stranger to fall asleep in his bed? I am smarter than this.
Fucking hell.
I look towards the window, the sky is turning a deep pre-dawn indigo, transitioning from the inky blackness of the midnight sky.
Okay, so I still have a chance of sneaking out of here , I think to myself as I stealthily gather my discarded clothes and slip them on.
I pick up my shoes, carrying them in my hand as I tip-toe out of his bedroom and back towards the living room before putting on my leather jacket and reuniting with my phone.
5:45 am.
Three missed calls and a series of texts from Mira. I’ll deal with that once I get out of here.
I grab my bag, do a quick scan of the room to make sure I didn’t forget anything, then hit the elevator call button, eager to escape before Mr. Sexy wakes up. I still cannot get over the fact that this elevator opens directly into his living room.
Who is this guy?
A console table sitting just to the left of the elevator catches my eye. His mail is neatly stacked there and it suddenly dawns on me we never exchanged names. He didn’t ask, and I didn’t offer. How is that even possible? I don’t fucking know, but yep, I just had sex with a man, albeit a very sexy man, without even bothering to learn his name.
I need to leave.
Suddenly curious as I wait for the elevator, I pick up what looks to be a bill off the top of the stack, hoping to learn the name of my mysterious man.
Liam Mairi.
The elevator dings, signaling its arrival, and I place the envelope neatly on top of the others stacked there before stepping inside and pressing the button for the lobby.
Well, Liam, whoever the hell you are, thanks for the best sex of my life, even though I’ll probably never see you again.
I spoke too soon.
Those eyes -those haunting blue eyes catch mine, holding my gaze, and I momentarily lose myself in their depths; they are the last thing I see as the elevator door closes, leaving him naked, and very alone, in the middle of his living room.