I’m a grown-ass woman; there’s nothing wrong with going out and fulfilling my needs. We’re both single and horny. We both want this . . . dear God, do we ever want it. Now that I’ve had a taste of Hayden, I won’t rest until I get the whole main course. I want to seize the moment—along with a few other more solid things.
A little whiny voice in my head questions: Even if it ruins our friendship? I firmly tell my superego to shut its nonexistent pie hole. One night of sex won’t ruin anything. People have fuck buddies and friends with benefits all the time. It’s clearly not impossible. Whatever the hell our relationship is now—whatever it will become—we can make it work.
Methinks the lady doth protest too much , whispers the voice. If you have to try this hard to convince yourself . . .
But the mental image of a very naked, very erect Hayden quiets it right down. My core clenches and I have to press my thighs together under the conference table. Guilt and anxiety can’t last a minute against my need to get laid. It’s been way too long, and by God, I’ve earned this. I can practically feel that huge cock filling me already.
I shift in my chair as discreetly as I can manage, already slick and aching between my thighs. This is going to be a long damn afternoon.
• • •
That evening at five minutes after six, I hurry into the hotel lobby’s bar to find Hayden already perched at a high-top table for two. He’s sipping from a tumbler of amber whiskey on the rocks; in front of the other chair sits what looks like a peach Bellini in a frosty glass. Another one of my favorite cocktails. It’s a cute gesture, but right now, I’m not sure if I want to take the time to drink it.
“Sorry I’m late,” I call out as I walk over, putting a little extra swish in my hips. Never let it be said that Emery Winters has forgotten how to get a man’s attention.
His eyes fall on me and ignite like coals. “Hey, you.” The low note of promise in his voice warms me from the inside out. And his smile is a slow, wonderful curl of lips that reminds me of all the things he texted me earlier. All the things he wanted to do with that sinful mouth . . .
I lean over the table to taste him in a feverish kiss. He reacts instantly, one hand falling to my hip and the other tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. He nips at my lower lip and I let out a soft moan, my arousal renewing itself with a throb.
We really shouldn’t be playing tonsil hockey in public like this. I already want to push him against the wall, like he did to me last night, or let him throw me onto the floor. If he keeps doing that thing with his tongue, we might end up getting the cops called on us. But, mmm , handcuffs . . . that might be fun too.
As I pull back for a breath, the dark hunger in Hayden’s eyes almost hauls me right back in like a gravitational force. But the mood deflates a little when I see Mr. Pratt over Hayden’s shoulder, paused at the bar entrance to stare at us. He looks totally bewildered.
Hayden glances back for a moment. “Oh . . . right. He must be confused as shit.”
“Why’s that?” I ask in an amused tone that’s more like What did you do?
“I may have told him that I’m completely, definitely not your boyfriend.”
The implications sink in and I laugh out loud. Now that I think about it, I did see them talking on the other side of the ballroom last night, didn’t I? Mr. Pratt must have been the one to prompt Hayden’s freak-out. And Hayden insisted that we were just friends—right before he rushed over to suck my face off. Nothing confusing about that.
Poor little Larry The Creeper probably has no clue what’s going on anymore. Well, it’s none of his fucking business.
Just to rub it in, I lean into Hayden for another long, deep kiss. I don’t need the label of “boyfriend” with him. All I need is his skilled mouth and his muscled body pressed against mine. When I finally pull my mouth from his, a glance up tells me that Larry is still there. Still watching us. I grimace.
Hayden glances toward Larry and his jaw twitches. “Great. I’m going to have to kill that man now.” A soft, wistful sigh follows, and I decide my very favorite thing about Hayden—well, other than his big dick and deep kisses—is his sense of humor. That and his protectiveness.
“With your bare hands?” I ask hopefully.
“Undoubtedly.”
“To protect my innocence?” I bat my eyelashes, playing along in a way I hope is sexy.
Tracing my jaw with his thumb and pulling me closer, Hayden is a fraction away from kissing me again. “Something tells me you’re not so innocent. You like to fuck dirty, don’t you?”
A surprised little gasp escapes me, and Hayden quiets the sound with his mouth, kissing me hard again. Then he breaks away and glances over my shoulder. “He’s gone. And probably thoroughly fucking confused. But hopefully he won’t bother you too much anymore.”
Despite his playboy lifestyle and occasional closed-off moments, I know Hayden cares for me. He’s been nothing but sweet and fun for our entire friendship. And yesterday, he was practically a knight in shining armor. He made polite small talk with my coworkers, even though I’m sure he was bored out of his mind. He warded off Larry The Creeper without making a scene. He went out of his way to make sure I got a decent vegetarian dinner—in a steakhouse, no less. He toughed out what must have been an epic case of blue balls just because I was tipsy.
Overall, he seems like the total package. An attentive, handsome guy who’s seen me at my most graceless and still thinks I’m the best thing since sliced bread. He can even guess my favorite drinks, for Christ’s sake. That’s good enough for me. More than enough. Isn’t it?
A little whiny voice in my head questions: Even if it ruins our friendship? I firmly tell my superego to shut its nonexistent pie hole. One night of sex won’t ruin anything. People have fuck buddies and friends with benefits all the time. It’s clearly not impossible. Whatever the hell our relationship is now—whatever it will become—we can make it work.
Methinks the lady doth protest too much , whispers the voice. If you have to try this hard to convince yourself . . .
But the mental image of a very naked, very erect Hayden quiets it right down. My core clenches and I have to press my thighs together under the conference table. Guilt and anxiety can’t last a minute against my need to get laid. It’s been way too long, and by God, I’ve earned this. I can practically feel that huge cock filling me already.
I shift in my chair as discreetly as I can manage, already slick and aching between my thighs. This is going to be a long damn afternoon.
• • •
That evening at five minutes after six, I hurry into the hotel lobby’s bar to find Hayden already perched at a high-top table for two. He’s sipping from a tumbler of amber whiskey on the rocks; in front of the other chair sits what looks like a peach Bellini in a frosty glass. Another one of my favorite cocktails. It’s a cute gesture, but right now, I’m not sure if I want to take the time to drink it.
“Sorry I’m late,” I call out as I walk over, putting a little extra swish in my hips. Never let it be said that Emery Winters has forgotten how to get a man’s attention.
His eyes fall on me and ignite like coals. “Hey, you.” The low note of promise in his voice warms me from the inside out. And his smile is a slow, wonderful curl of lips that reminds me of all the things he texted me earlier. All the things he wanted to do with that sinful mouth . . .
I lean over the table to taste him in a feverish kiss. He reacts instantly, one hand falling to my hip and the other tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. He nips at my lower lip and I let out a soft moan, my arousal renewing itself with a throb.
We really shouldn’t be playing tonsil hockey in public like this. I already want to push him against the wall, like he did to me last night, or let him throw me onto the floor. If he keeps doing that thing with his tongue, we might end up getting the cops called on us. But, mmm , handcuffs . . . that might be fun too.
As I pull back for a breath, the dark hunger in Hayden’s eyes almost hauls me right back in like a gravitational force. But the mood deflates a little when I see Mr. Pratt over Hayden’s shoulder, paused at the bar entrance to stare at us. He looks totally bewildered.
Hayden glances back for a moment. “Oh . . . right. He must be confused as shit.”
“Why’s that?” I ask in an amused tone that’s more like What did you do?
“I may have told him that I’m completely, definitely not your boyfriend.”
The implications sink in and I laugh out loud. Now that I think about it, I did see them talking on the other side of the ballroom last night, didn’t I? Mr. Pratt must have been the one to prompt Hayden’s freak-out. And Hayden insisted that we were just friends—right before he rushed over to suck my face off. Nothing confusing about that.
Poor little Larry The Creeper probably has no clue what’s going on anymore. Well, it’s none of his fucking business.
Just to rub it in, I lean into Hayden for another long, deep kiss. I don’t need the label of “boyfriend” with him. All I need is his skilled mouth and his muscled body pressed against mine. When I finally pull my mouth from his, a glance up tells me that Larry is still there. Still watching us. I grimace.
Hayden glances toward Larry and his jaw twitches. “Great. I’m going to have to kill that man now.” A soft, wistful sigh follows, and I decide my very favorite thing about Hayden—well, other than his big dick and deep kisses—is his sense of humor. That and his protectiveness.
“With your bare hands?” I ask hopefully.
“Undoubtedly.”
“To protect my innocence?” I bat my eyelashes, playing along in a way I hope is sexy.
Tracing my jaw with his thumb and pulling me closer, Hayden is a fraction away from kissing me again. “Something tells me you’re not so innocent. You like to fuck dirty, don’t you?”
A surprised little gasp escapes me, and Hayden quiets the sound with his mouth, kissing me hard again. Then he breaks away and glances over my shoulder. “He’s gone. And probably thoroughly fucking confused. But hopefully he won’t bother you too much anymore.”
Despite his playboy lifestyle and occasional closed-off moments, I know Hayden cares for me. He’s been nothing but sweet and fun for our entire friendship. And yesterday, he was practically a knight in shining armor. He made polite small talk with my coworkers, even though I’m sure he was bored out of his mind. He warded off Larry The Creeper without making a scene. He went out of his way to make sure I got a decent vegetarian dinner—in a steakhouse, no less. He toughed out what must have been an epic case of blue balls just because I was tipsy.
Overall, he seems like the total package. An attentive, handsome guy who’s seen me at my most graceless and still thinks I’m the best thing since sliced bread. He can even guess my favorite drinks, for Christ’s sake. That’s good enough for me. More than enough. Isn’t it?
