SEDUCED BY THE STRANGER (Dirty Little Secrets, #1) (2 page)

Leaning closer, he whispers in my ear, “Your worst nightmare.” He chuckles—the sound is gravelly, hooking, and a decadent rumble in his chest. Far different than those men I associate with from Nantucket. Each is owned by a woman, birthed and bred to rear the next generation of power moguls. Each woman is expected to dress in pastels, smile graciously while wearing strings of pearls, and wielding a saber.

“Trust me,” I reply. “You’re not.”

For a beat our gazes lock. He leans closer. “I’d like to
kiss
you.”

Okay, he’s not a nightmare, but definitely the idea of him really touching me more so than what he's already doing, is all at once frightening and mind-bending. But instead of being truly scared, my clueless brain is saturated with lust so deeply tinged, it’s cloying. I know without question, whatever he has to offer, I want in on. Now.

“Just a kiss?” I ask.

“Just a kiss,” he promises and my heart batters within my chest.

I don’t close my eyes, bending toward him. He’s what I need. Maybe this is just a kiss, but it’s a reminder that I don’t want to spend another New England summer counting days, hours, minutes.

I want hard, dark, gritty.

A blur and a storm.

Dangerous.

I can’t become what my family wants. Predictable. Safe. A cog in the wheel.

One kiss and I’ll remember. I’ve got to remember this night. Our lips meet and his warm mouth envelops me in a way that fully relays he knows how to kiss—knows how to...how to do other things. He slides his hand to the back of my head, imprisoning me. In reality he’s freeing me by taking the reins—guiding me so that our mouths meld at the perfect angle as he traces my jaw with his fingertips. Without warning, he thrusts his tongue in between my lips, fisting his fingers in my hair, shifting my head back as my chin tips up.

I grab onto his muscular arms, bracing myself in free fall off a jagged cliff into an ocean of lust where his hot, velvet, and very wild mouth beckons me. He sucks my bottom lip between his teeth, biting down, and pushing me back until I’m flush against the cool wall.

Sweet Jesus, this man can kiss!

His body is hard, so hard and forceful I'm moaning against his mouth. I take a breath and the scent of his cologne enters me, taking root deeper than the darkest of dark secrets. Like one of those ancient pine forests but a titch smoky, and then there’s an undercurrent of leather. I inhale, swallowing a groan as I savor the aftereffects of another whiff of him. It’s a potent projectile that travels through me, landing between my legs.

He takes my face between his hands, kisses me again, and orders, “Open for me. All the way.”

“Please,” I moan, blinking up to his face.

He kisses my mouth harder this time, pushing my lips apart. His tongue goes deeper. He’s a little rough. Not too much, but the kind of kiss that relays, without argument, he’s in control as he plunges his tongue into my mouth. He’s consuming and at the same time filling me...with sparks of pleasure, tingling from my nipples to my toes, from my mouth to between my legs. Giving me a taste of what he could do, if he desired to do more.

And that’s what I hunger for: MORE!

I want his hands on my body, rougher than the edge of this kiss and equally demanding. I arch against him as he holds my face, tongue banging my mouth. Our hips connect and the rigid bar of his cock presses into my belly. I lift up onto my tiptoes, seeking to get closer, lifting my knee to give him better access.

He stops devouring my mouth, dragging his lips along my jaw as my breasts ache for his touch. I reach for him and he hoists my hands above my head. “You can’t imagine the things we could do,” he whispers. “The way you’d feel if you gave yourself to me.”

“If?” I ask, hooked by what he’s done so far.

“Yeah. If.” He releases my arms and spins me around, recapturing my hands. He presses my palms to the wall. One by one. Without stopping, he kicks my heels apart and pulls back on my hips. Just a tug while lifting my hem, and draping my dress across my lower back. “How old are you?” he asks, leaning over me as his thumbs peel apart my ass cheeks.

I’m fully exposed to him and I answer, prepared to let him do me in any way, shape, or form he desires.

I gaze over my shoulder and meet his eyes. “Old enough for what you have in store.”

“That’s not an answer,” he replies, his thumbs sweeping down my crevice.

“I didn’t use a fake ID to get in. Okay?” I bite my lip to stop from whimpering when he pushes my hips down, letting my hem fall and cover my bottom.

“You like to argue.” He scrapes his jaw against my cheek as though punishing me for not giving him a direct answer.

“You seem to like a woman who isn’t a total pushover.”

“We’re equally paired. You and I.” He nips my skin, and moves his lips to my neck, sucking a point that has my eyes rolling back in my head. I’m going to come so unbelievably loud and hard from this man kissing me in a dark hall. In an ear-popping club, I decide this is my moment of flying by the seat of my pants, past the land of pastel pleasantries. I push back, swaying my bottom against his cock, fitting his thick erection in between the valley of my ass. He pushes himself forward, his fingers curl around my hips as he grazes his cock against me. We’re two seconds away from going from dry humping to full-throttle sex in public, and I hear a low growl escape his lips.

“That was some kiss,” he grunts. “Guess we got carried away.”

I’m stunned as I pivot toward him. He bends forward, kisses my mouth one last time. A sweet kiss, a lingering plant of his lips against mine, and then he releases me. “Shall I walk you back to your friends?”

No more hands on me. No more lips. Only a few paltry words.

“My friends...” This isn’t how I envisioned our conversation—we shouldn’t be talking—we should be half-naked. Clearly this is an ending and I don’t understand.

He steps back, raking a set of long fingers through his hair, and gazes down at me with that same unrelenting stare that first grabbed me. “You didn’t come alone. Did you?”

Almost
...so it seems. I shake my head, my cheeks heat from embarrassment. Was I too crazy? Too easy? Not enough? “I’m fine. I’ll probably go to the restroom.” I gesture across the club toward the stairs.

“This was...incredible,” he says in a voice that’s low and deep, but even with the music rebounding off the walls, I feel each rough syllable resonating in my body. He doesn’t offer more and the ensuing awkward silence is louder than the techno song in play.

“You’re leaving then.” The words are out of my mouth before I can censor the comment as ‘not cool—don’t say.’

“I am. Just stopped in for a drink. Friend’s birthday. This place is too dangerous.” He lets his gaze slide down my body, then he looks back at my face. “Much too dangerous to make a mistake.”

A mistake?
My heart hammers in my chest, and I feel like he’s tossed ice water in my face. I return to the land of autopilot—devolving to how I am around my family. “It’s been fun, but I better get going too.” If I don’t leave, I’ll say something incredibly stupid. I look up and into his eyes—predator like and heavy-lidded—then turn on my heel and away from his arresting face, away from his unrelenting gaze. Away from the hottest mistake of my pastel-colored life.

* * *

I Found My Heaven...and My Hell

Bennett Stone

––––––––

W
HAT THE...? I do a double take.
Who is that girl?

Out on the dance floor, I spot her, and it’s as if I can’t look away. I eat her up, inch by incredible mind-blistering, dick hardening inch. What’s not to like? Not a damn thing—except that she’s not my usual dish—she’s a shade of innocence someone like me should never touch.

Blond hair, long legs, hips swaying. Her nipples dart the sheer shiny material, stretching over her incredible tits. She’s braless, free of being encumbered, and has got the type of tits I could suck and slide my dick between for hours. Some quality about that girl screams a secret verse that only my cock seems to hear. That fucker is harder than granite, getting harder the more I stare.

Shit. This captivation has got to stop.

Shifting my gaze, I feign interest in the conversation between Noah, Jax, and Ethan, my congressional associates from the Capitol—they’re engaged in another argument on foreign policy after the war, but for the hundredth time, I find myself gazing at a woman who dances as if she’s in a dream. Mine.

“Ben,” Jax says. “You in for a shot?”

I return my focus to our table. “To wish your sorry ass happy birthday, hell yeah!”

The server smiles and places a bottle of bourbon and shot glasses on the table. We all do a shot and then another, and I glance back at the dance floor just as the girl opens her incredible eyes and our gazes connect. My heartbeat races—it’s an adrenaline rush to my senses. I lift my drink and study her. Every last thing about the girl reaches inside me and demands that I get hold of her. Soon!

I’m sitting here with the Honorable Jackson Carter. Aka Speaker of the House.

Jax, the man in command at the
Clubhouse
or the other ‘House,’ a private club far removed from the Capitol.

Aka...the guy who’ll give me a rash of shit for getting a hard-on for a sliver of innocence we both know is nothing more than a prick tease to men like us who command and control the women we fuck. He along with the other guys at this table...we’re all hardcore Doms. Together with years under our collective belts, we maintain control in every aspect of our lives. Our public image and our dungeons never intersect. Ever. We’re brutal, stone-cold control freaks, so much that three years ago we put our rules in writing when we opened our own elite club, and that includes no meeting chicks in random places. Prescribed private online sub hookups or at the
House
. That’s it.

But tonight I’m not thinking with my head. Well, not the one above my shoulders. Watching this young woman, I quickly assess what I can do and how fast. There’s a private hallway off the dance floor that is used to access the club owner’s secret dungeon onsite. I know the owner; he’s the representative of the 14
^th
District, and wants to be the newest
House
member when we open our semi-annual acceptance of a few select applications. One member will be admitted. This is our surprise visit to check out his place of business, and he’s not allowed to be onsite. He left twenty minutes after we arrived. When we spoke earlier, he divulged that’s where he houses his dirty little secret. A locked room that he uses and invited us to watch him in action this coming weekend.

Not my thing, but now I’m wondering if I can get the keys. I know I can’t. It’s against our
House
rules, which means I’ve got to either stop this fantasy of what I’m devising, or keep this insane idea of tasting that girl under wraps. I imagine spreading her legs, binding her ankles, and having my complete way with her for one night. The things I’d like to do to her—fill my head. I haven’t felt this keyed up in fucking forever.

Nothing might come of this, I remind myself. The girl could be here with a boyfriend or husband, but why is she dancing like that... alone? Doesn’t look like the kind of girl that’s tied down, but fuck she needs to be.

My muscles constrict. Decision made. My hunger to make contact with her overrides my common sense. Crazy doesn’t begin to describe the level of intoxication running rampant in my veins from watching the blond bombshell. “I’m heading out,” I say, downing my drink.

“What the fuck, Ben?” Noah replies. “You just got here!”

“Jax has other plans tonight. Don’t you?” I query my friend, knowing full well he’s contracted two subs and he’s got a private jet on standby to take him back to D.C. Back to our club for the night.

“Let the pussy go,” Jax follows up. “He’s got to get his beauty sleep. Can’t have the prettiest of the senators with dark circles under his eyes.”

“Actually, I’m going to go find a girl and fuck her up against a wall if you three pricks don’t mind.”

They all laugh, believing I’m pulling their chains.

“Better than your self-imposed celibacy!” Jax snorts, eyeing me critically. He doesn’t say anything else—no one does. What can they say? I got royally fucked, and now, I’m taking a break—trying to figure out my future. I had a sub who nearly threw me under the bus and why I’m on a hiatus from offering up my services at our club.

“Are we good?” I ask, looking between them. I still take part in the running of our club and tonight is the first time in a long time that I feel the itch to do more than paperwork.

Ethan leans back and looks around, looks toward the dance floor, and suddenly I feel a twinge knife my chest. I don’t want his eyes or anyone’s eyes on that girl. He squints but doesn’t do more than lift a brow as he swings his attention back to me. “Yeah. This place is happening. No doubt, it’s classy. So, do we accept Congressman Lowe or not?”

Jax nods as does Noah. I stall as if I’m on the proverbial fence. “I’d like to scope out what’s happening at the bar. Listen in on what’s being said. Ask a few questions. Lowe’s got to agree no more action in his onsite dungeon. If he shuts that door, and there’s nothing being talked about, I’ve got no problems with him.”

“Good fucking idea,” Noah says. He was a D.A. before becoming a senator. Cynical as shit and what a ballbuster.

“Enjoy.” I stand and loosen my tie, then reach into my pocket and remove a pair of tickets. “Happy Birthday, cocksucker.”

Jax has a thing for jazz. Good jazz, and he smiles. “Fuck you, boy,” he says, his voice brimming with a Texas twang, and I laugh.

“Later,” I say in parting.

In D.C. we’re the face of Congress. Three others are missing tonight. No biggie. Together, we’re classified as the ‘poster boys.’ A photographer captured and posted a series of us online during a joint session that turned into a Whitehouse PR blitz that caught fire. From magazine covers to rallies, we’re featured around the nation in a campaign to reinvigorate or popularize politics. PR bullshit gone wild!

Tagged as the gang of seven—the other one. We don’t crawl up anyone’s ass. We’re too busy covering our own. We’re the ones you elect and with any luck, you never contact. Yeah, screw any idea that we want to hear from you if you think that writing a check gives you power. Shut up but pay up is my unwritten motto. Not everyone’s. There’s only one type of contact we appreciate and it’s silent; contributions with no strings. Make a deposit. Send a check. Hell, cash works.