Beautiful Redemption (2 page)

After the man realized he wasn’t going to get a better response, he moved to the empty stool next to me. I sighed.

“What are you drinking?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes and then decided to look over at him. He was as beautiful as the Southern California weather, and he couldn’t have looked less like Jackson. Even sitting down, I could tell that he was tall—at least six foot three. His pear-colored eyes glowed against his beach-bronzed skin. Although he might be intimidating to the average male, I didn’t get the sense that he was dangerous—at least not to me—even if he was twice my size.

“Whatever I’m buying,” I said, not trying to hide my best flirtatious smile.

Letting my guard down for a beautiful stranger for an hour was justifiable, especially after a sixth glass. We would flirt, I would forget about any residual guilt, and I would go home. I’d possibly even get a free drink. That was a respectable plan.

He grinned back. “Anthony,” he said, holding up a finger.

“The usual?” Anthony asked from the end of the bar.

The man nodded. He was a regular. He must live or work close by.

I frowned when Anthony took my glass instead of refilling it.

He shrugged, no apology in his eyes. “Told you it was your last one.”

In half a dozen pulls, the stranger knocked back enough cheap beer to be at least close to my level of intoxication. I was glad. I wouldn’t have to pretend to be sober, and his drink of choice told me he wasn’t fussy or trying to impress me. Or maybe he was just broke.

“Did you say I couldn’t buy you a drink because Anthony capped you or because you really wouldn’t let me?” he asked.

“Because I can buy my own drinks,” I said, albeit a bit slurred.

“Do you live around here?” he asked.

I peeked over at him. “Your stunted conversational skills are disappointing me by the second.”

He laughed out loud, throwing his head back. “Christ, woman. Where are you from? Not here.”

“Chicago. Just blew in. Boxes are still stacked in my living room.”

“I can relate,” he said, nodding in understanding while holding up his drink with respect. “I’ve made two cross-country moves in the last three years.”

“To where?”

“Here. Then, DC. Then, back.”

“Are you a politician or a lobbyist?” I asked with a smirk.

“Neither,” he said, his expression twisting into disgust. He took a swig of his beer. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Not interested.”

“That’s a terrible name.”

I made a face.

He continued, “That explains the move. You’re running from a guy.”

I glared at him. He was beautiful, but he was also presumptuous—even if he was right. “And not looking for another one. Not a one-night stand, not a revenge screw, nothing. So, don’t waste your time or your money. I’m sure you can find a nice West Coast girl who would be more than happy to accept a drink from you.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he said, leaning in.

My God, even if I were sober, he would be intoxicating.

I looked down at the way his lips touched the rim of his beer bottle, and I felt a twinge between my thighs. I was lying, and he knew it.

“Did I piss you off?” he asked with the most charming smile I’d ever seen.

Clean shaven with just a couple of inches of light-brown hair, that man and his smile had conquered far more daunting challenges than me.

“Are you trying to piss me off?” I asked.

“Maybe. The way you hold your mouth when you’re angry is…pretty fucking amazing. I might be a dick to you all night just so I can stare at your lips.”

I swallowed.

My little game was over. He’d won, and he knew it.

“You want to get out of here?” he asked.

I signaled to Anthony, but the stranger shook his head and put a large bill on the counter. Free drink—at least that part of my plan had worked out. The man walked over to the door, gesturing for me to lead the way.

“A week’s worth of tips says he doesn’t go through with it,” Anthony said loud enough for the beautiful stranger to hear.

“To hell with it,” I said, walking quickly through the door.

I passed my new friend and walked out onto the sidewalk, the door sweeping slowly closed. He grabbed my hand, playful but firm, and pulled me against him.

“Anthony seems to think you’ll back out,” I said, looking up at him.

He was so much taller than me. Standing that close to him felt like sitting in the front row at the movie theater. I had to lift my chin and lean back a bit to look him in the eyes.

I leaned in, daring him to kiss me.

He hesitated while he scanned my face, and then his eyes softened. “Something tells me, this time, I won’t.”

He leaned down, and what began as an almost experimental soft kiss turned both lustful and romantic. His lips moved with mine as if he’d remembered them, even missed the way they’d felt. Unlike anything I’d experienced before, a strange electrical current crackled through me, melting my nerves away. We had done this so many times before—in a fantasy or maybe a dream. It was the best kind of déjà vu.

For less than a second after he pulled away, his eyes were still closed as if he were savoring the moment. When he looked down at me, he shook his head. “Definitely not backing out.”

We rounded the corner, walked quickly across the street, and then went up the stoop of my building. I fished inside of my purse for my keys, and then we walked inside, waiting in the elevator bay. His fingers grazed mine, and once they intertwined, he yanked me against him. The elevator opened, and we stumbled inside.

He gripped my hips and pulled me against him as my fingertips searched for the correct button. He touched his silken lips to my neck, and every nerve sparked and danced under my skin. The tiny kisses he peppered along my jawline, from ear to collarbone, were purposeful and experienced. His hands begged me to be closer to him with each touch as if he’d been waiting for me his entire life. Even though I had that same irrational feeling, I knew it was all part of the appeal, a part of the ruse, but the way he noticeably restrained himself from tugging too hard at my clothes made tiny shock waves careen through my body.

When we reached the fifth floor, he had my hair pulled to the side and one shoulder exposed while he skimmed his lips over my skin.

“You are so soft,” he whispered.

Ironically, his words made thousands of tiny bumps rise all over my skin.

My keys jingled while I fumbled with the lock. The man twisted the knob, and we nearly fell inside. He leaned away from me, pushing the door closed with his back, and pulled me against him by my hands. He smelled like beer and a hint of saffron and wood from his cologne, but his mouth still tasted of mint toothpaste. When our mouths met again, I willingly let his tongue slip inside as I laced my fingers behind his neck.

He slid my blazer off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Then, he loosened his tie and pulled it over his head. As he unbuttoned his shirt, I pulled my tube top up and over my head. My bare breasts were exposed for only a moment before my long black hair cascaded back down to cover them.

The stranger’s shirt was off, his torso a combination of impressive genes and several years of an intensive daily workout regimen that had sculpted the perfection in front of me. I kicked off my heels, and he did the same with his shoes. I ran my fingers over each of his protruding muscles and the ripples of his abdomen. One hand settled on the button of his pants while the other gripped the thick hardness under them.

Holy. Giant. Cock.

The sharp sound of his zipper made the warmth between my legs throb, practically begging to be caressed. I pressed my fingers into the backs of his arms while his kisses left my neck for my shoulders and then my chest. All the while, he slowly slipped off my jeans.

He stood and paused for a few seconds, taking a moment to appreciate that I was standing completely naked before him. He also seemed a bit surprised. “No panties?”

I shrugged. “Never.”

“Never?” he asked, his eyes begging me to say no.

I loved the way he was looking at me—part amazed, part amused, part overwhelmingly aroused. My girlfriends in Chicago had always lauded the benefits of the strings-free one-night stand. This guy seemed like the perfect one to try it with.

I arched an eyebrow, relishing how sexy this total stranger made me feel. “Don’t own a single pair.”

He lifted me up, and I hooked my ankles around his backside. The only fabric still left between us was his dark gray boxer briefs.

He kissed me as he carried me to the couch, and then he gently laid me onto the cushions. “Comfortable?” he asked, nearly breathing the words.

When I nodded, he kissed me once and then left quickly to fish a square package from his wallet. When he returned, he ripped it open with his teeth. I was glad he’d brought his own. Even if I had thought to purchase condoms, I wouldn’t have had the foresight or optimism to buy any in his size.

He quickly unrolled the thin latex over his length and then touched his tip to the delicate pink skin between my legs. He leaned down to whisper in my ear, but he only let out a faltering breath.

I reached around to his tight backside and pressed my fingers into his skin, guiding him, as he slid himself inside me. It was my turn to let out a sigh.

He groaned and then put his mouth on mine again.

After ten minutes of maneuvering on the couch, sweaty and red-faced, the stranger looked at me with a frustrated and apologetic smile. “Where’s your bedroom?”

I pointed to the hallway. “Second door on the right.”

He lifted me, holding my thighs, and I tightened them around his middle. He padded down the hall in his bare feet, passing boxes and plastic bags along with stacks of plates and linens. I wasn’t sure how he kept from tripping in the dim light of an unfamiliar condo with his mouth on mine.

As he walked while still inside me, I couldn’t help but cry out the only name I could, “Jesus Christ!”

He smiled against my mouth and pushed open the door before lowering me to my mattress.

He didn’t take his eyes from mine as he positioned himself over me. His knees were a little wider apart than they had been while we were on the couch, allowing him to go deeper and to move his hips so that he touched me in a spot that made my knees quiver with each thrust. His mouth was on mine again as if the wait had been killing him. If I hadn’t just met him half an hour before, I would have mistaken the way he touched me, kissed me, moved against me for love.

He touched his cheek to mine and held his breath as he concentrated, building up to an end. At the same time, he was trying to prolong the senseless, foolish, and irresponsible but amazing ride we were both on. He pushed against the mattress with one hand and held my knee against his shoulder with the other.

I white-knuckled the comforter as he thrust himself inside me, over and over. Jackson hadn’t been unfortunate in size, but without a doubt, this stranger filled every inch of me. Every time he buried himself, it would send a rush of fantastic pain throughout my entire body, and every time he pulled back, I’d nearly panic, hoping it wasn’t over.

With my arms and legs wrapped around him, I cried out again for the dozenth time since he had climbed the stairs. His tongue was so forceful and commanding in my mouth that I knew he’d done this many, many times before. That made it easier. He didn’t care enough to pass judgment on me later, so I wouldn’t have to either. Once I’d seen what kind of body was under that button-down oxford, I couldn’t really blame myself, even if I were sober.

He rocked into me again, his sweat mixing with mine, making our skin feel like we were melting together. My eyes nearly rolled back into my head with the devastating mixture of ache and pleasure surging through my body with every movement.

His mouth returned to mine, and I was easily lost in thoughts of how eager yet smooth and amazing his lips were. Every flick of his tongue was calculated, practiced, and seemed like it was all in pursuit of my pleasure. Jackson hadn’t been a particularly good kisser, and even though I’d only just met this man above me, I would miss those longing kisses once he ducked out of my condo in the early hours of the morning—if he even waited that long.

While he wonderfully and mercilessly fucked me, he gripped my thigh with one hand, spreading my legs further apart, and then he slid his other hand between my legs, tenderly rubbing his thumb in tiny circles over my swollen, sensitive pink skin.

A few seconds later, I was crying out, raising my hips to meet his and then squeezing his waist with my trembling knees. He leaned down and covered my mouth with his while I moaned. I could feel his lips turn up into a smile.

After a few slow movements and tender kisses, his restraint was gone. His muscles tensed as he thrust himself inside me, each time more powerful than the one before. With my climax impressively achieved, he concentrated only on himself as he thrust harder and ruthlessly against me.

His groan was muffled inside my mouth, and then he pressed his cheek against mine while he rode the wave of his orgasm. Gradually, he lay still above me. He took a moment to catch his breath, and then he turned to kiss my cheek, his lips lingering for a while.

Our encounter had gone from a spontaneous adventure to painfully awkward in less than a minute.

The silence and stillness in the room made the alcohol disappear, and the reality of what we’d done weighed down on me. I’d gone from feeling sexy and desired to an embarrassingly eager, cheap score.

The stranger leaned down to kiss my lips, but I lowered my chin, pulling back, which felt ridiculous since he was still engaged.

“I,” I began, “have to be at work early.”

He kissed me anyway, ignoring my shamed expression. His tongue danced with mine, caressing it, memorizing it. He deeply breathed in through his nose, not at all in a hurry, and then he pulled back, smiling.

Damn it, I would miss his mouth, and I suddenly felt really pathetic for that. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever find someone who could kiss me that way.