He was in control.
It was hot as hell.
Pleasure built as he licked me up and down. I groaned, my free hand digging into the cool cotton sheets. His tongue was soft and his movements were confident.
Finally, I understood all the fuss about oral sex.
It was amazing.
My sex clenched, tighter and tighter, then so tight I wanted to scream. His next lick sent me tumbling into an orgasm.
"Nick." I groaned his name as I came. It encouraged him, made his tongue faster, more desperate.
He kissed his way back up my body, not shy about pressing his lips to mine.
It was strange tasting myself. Intimate.
I ran my hands down his stomach. When I got to his belly button he recoiled. His fingers curled around my wrist.
"Wait." He pressed my hand flat against the bed.
The look in his eyes was clear. He didn't want me touching him.
It was a shame, but I could manage it.
He grabbed a condom from the bedside table and rolled it on. I leaned back, spreading my legs to give him access.
I took a deep breath, bracing myself. He was big.
Nick slid one hand under my ass, holding me in place. His cock strained against my sex. The latex tugged for a moment, then he slipped inside me.
Fuck yes. My body cried out with relief. I dug my nails into his strong back as he thrust into me. He started slow, then went faster, harder, deeper. I rocked my hips to match his movements.
There were no words, but his body communicated so much.
Maybe I'd drunk too much of that whiskey, but I felt more than his cock inside me. There were no pretenses. This was Nick, the real Nick.
And it was the real me. I'd given him a fake name, but I wasn't holding anything back.
I was giving myself to him. For the night.
Every thrust sent me closer to another orgasm. This tall, dark, handsome stranger's body was pressed against mine.
The anonymity of it had me breathless. He was never going to see me again. There was no reason to be shy.
I clawed at his back, panting and groaning. He had to know how good I felt, how much I wanted him.
Every time I scraped my nails against his back or screamed his name, Nick moved faster or harder. His body was shaking. His eyes were heavy. He groaned and dug his teeth into the skin on my shoulder.
I bucked my hips to meet him. My heart was racing, my breath was completely out of my control. He felt good inside me. His skin felt good against mine. His lips felt good against mine.
And the night was ours.
When I came, I held back nothing. I screamed and panted and rocked my hips as quickly as I could.
Nick dug his nails into my ass, holding my body against his so he could go deeper.
He wasn't far behind. He nipped at my shoulder as he came.
Our bodies untangled. I relaxed into the bed as he took care of the condom. He shifted back, next to me. His expression was soft, like we were old lovers instead of strangers.
"Have you eaten?" he asked.
"No."
"Then allow me." He pressed his lips to mine, pushed off the bed, and stepped into his slacks.
The rest of the night was a blur, thanks very much to the powers of rum and Diet Coke.
We ate at some fantastic hole-in-the-wall Chinese place. The food was spicy, authentic.
I let everything off my chest, told Nick things I'd never told anyone. About the accident. About how lonely I was at school. About the things I wanted for my future, the way it only included me and my sister—no husband, no children, no pets. No concerns but my career. No one I could lose forever.
Back in the hotel room, we had sex. I fell asleep in his arms.
When I woke, he was gone. There was a change of clothes, all in my size, on the table. Next to it was a present—a white box with a sheer red bow. The card was simple.
Dear Marie,
Happy birthday. Think of me when you wear this.
Sincerely,
Nick
I pulled at the bow until it unfurled then opened the box. Inside was a set of lacy black lingerie. It was exactly like him—classy, elegant, refined.
I changed into my new threads. Knowing the lingerie was under my simple jeans and t-shirt made me feel racy, like I had a secret from the world.
I did. We did. We'd had this night together, and even though we'd never see each other again, it was ours.
Chapter Three
Today
My cell phone's ring rouses me from my daydreams. Sarah.
"Hey," I answer.
"Meet me at 8:30 for dancing? Pretty please."
My friend's brand of dance-until-you-find-someone-to-take-home fun is exactly what I need. "That sounds perfect."
"Robin is still fucking that guy from The Gap. She went over there twenty minutes ago."
"Maybe they're having a nice conversation."
"You're not that naive, sweet thang." She laughs. "Club is all ages tonight. Leave your fake ID at home."
"Done." My mood lifts. I latch onto my desire to lose myself in music. Not as good as losing myself in Nick's groans, but it's all I've got. "See you then."
"Ciao, bella."
I hang up and toss my phone on the bed in the guest room. The silence of the apartment amplifies my thoughts.
I dig through my bottom drawer to find the lingerie set he gave me. The sight of it is enough to make my heart race. My sex clenches, my body remembering the finesse of his touch.
I do away with my clothes and pull on the lacy black bra and panty set.
It's almost like he's here. Like he's on the other side of the mirror, staring back at me with his eyes wide and his lips parted. Like he's about to press me onto the bed, peel my thong to my knees, and bury himself deep inside me.
But he's not here.
He's not fucking me.
He's not going to fuck me.
There are half a million eligible men in New York City.
Tonight, I'm going to find one, and I'm going to forget all about Phoenix Marlowe.
I meet Sarah at a club on the Lower East Side. Her hot pink dress makes her easy to spot.
She bounces over and throws her arms around me.
I hug her back. It's been a while. It's nice to see her.
"You look hot as fuck. You're out for cock tonight, huh?" She throws her brown hair over her shoulder. "Oh shit. Your job thing was today, huh?"
"It was a nightmare." I need to think about something else. Now. "How's Pixie Dust?"
"Same old shit." She takes my arm and pulls me to the entrance. "What happened?"
"The guy who owns the company doesn't think I'm good enough for it."
"Fuck him then."
God, how I want to.
At nine on a Wednesday, there's no line. We show our IDs at the door—the backs of my hands are marked with swanky black Xs to signify that I am absolutely not to be served any alcohol—and walk inside.
The warehouse-turned-club has tall ceilings and soft red lighting. The dance floor is packed. The room is warm with body heat.
Sarah whispers in my ear, "I'll get you a rum and diet. Meet you on the floor."
She crosses to the bar. I follow a few paces behind, stopping in the middle of the vinyl. It only takes a moment for someone to approach me—a guy in his mid-twenties with strawberry blond hair and a navy shirt. It's a good combination.
"I'm Jason." He offers his hand.
I slide it around my waist. "Let's dance."
Okay, Jason. Let's do this. He's no Phoenix Marlowe but he's cute. He seems nice. I sling my arm around his neck and get close.
My body refuses to respond to his. Instead, it whines tell Nick you're over the internship. That you'd rather get under him.
Dammit, I thought my body and I were finally on good terms. I try, hard, to find a connection with Jason, but it's not happening. I try to lean back, to let him lead, but he can't handle it. He looks
at me with uncertainty.
"You want to come to my place?" he asks.
Okay. Maybe I can work with that. I go to nod, to say yes, but my head fills with the image of Nick naked on that bed, his perfect, hard body pressed against mine.
Jason will not do.
Nothing but Nick will do.
"Thanks but I... I have a boyfriend." Can't get over someone. Same difference. I take a step backwards. "My friend, Sarah. You're her type." She has a thing for blonds but he's close enough. I scan the room for her but her pink dress is nowhere to be found. "I'll point her to you later."
Jason nods enthusiastically. Great. He's not even pretending like I'm more than a lay. Not that I can talk. I'm more than willing to use him to forget about Nick.
Only nothing will make me forget about Nick. It's been four months and he still drifts into my head every night.
I excuse myself and dance alone. It's not quite as fun, but there's nothing limiting my movement. One thing about almost losing your ability to walk—you learn to appreciate everything your hips can do.
I make figure eights, rolling my shoulders, shifting my weight between my legs.
My attention focuses on the pounding music and the motions of my body.
It's like a record skips.
There's this tall man thirty feet away. Dark hair, sleek black suit, perfect posture.
Nick.
His eyes find mine. They're just as demanding as they were in his office, as they were that night in San Francisco. He walks to me with a patient gait. His hand brushes against my shoulder. He leans in close, so his mouth is inches from my ear. "Let's talk."