AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Evie. Remember?”
He looks me in the eyes – really looks at me – and the fog evaporates like vaped weed in a college dorm. And boom, Dylan transforms back into the ballsy player who spotted me the moment I walked in the bar. The guy who gifted me a diamond horseshoe necklace. The man who made me go weak in the knees when he fastened that necklace around my neck and marked me his ‘Lucky Charm.’
He wraps one strong arm around my waist, and draws me flush against him. “Where are my manners? I didn’t thank you yet for tonight.”
My throat turns tight, scratchy, and I smile up at him. “Hey stranger. I didn’t do that much. But, it’s nice to see you again.” My body’s flush against his, the heat building fast between us in the sultry Chicago summer night air.
Dylan’s muscular, all hard planes and angles, the day-old scruff on his jaw making him even hotter if that’s possible. He’s the poster child for the boy next door who grew up to be the sexy as fuck man.
I want to strip off his shirt, rip off my dress, and get naked with him. I don’t have to make a decision, it’s already been made. Dylan McAlister’s the first man I’ve wanted to be with in years. He’s the client I’m going to sleep with.
“I checked out, didn’t I?” His cock stirs against me, growing harder by the second.
“Yes.”
Kiss me, Dylan. Take me somewhere private. Unzip this dress. Pull it off me.
“I’m back,” he says. His erection presses insistently against my pelvis.
“I can tell.” The V between my legs is throb throbbing, my skin’s on fire, my panties pooling between my thighs. He’s going to kiss me for real this time but is he ever going to ask to sleep with me? Oh, Jesus, why am I even wondering? The sizeable hard-on digging into my pelvis is a giant clue.
Kiss me, Dylan. Strip for me – first that shirt, please. Let me draw my fingers down your chest with one hand while I unzip your pants with the other.
My V card was punched a few years ago, claimed by one guy who I genuinely liked before I discovered his ‘roommate’ was actually his live-in girlfriend. But my real dirty secret is that I haven’t had sex since then. I haven’t been with anyone in two years. It used to embarrass me and I didn’t talk about it because I thought I was some kind of freak who attracted unavailable men.
But right now? Right now, I am thanking God I waited. I am thanking God I said no to the extra money, no to the perks, the decent apartment that I could have afforded if I had slept with the last twenty clients I went on dates with. Instead, I paid for mom’s psych treatment. I helped out Ruby with college. I lived in the same crappy apartment because part of me still wanted to believe that a happily ever after could happen for me too. I held out for a hero. I held out for Dylan McAlister. Finally, the waiting is over because the hero is here.
Kiss me, Dylan. I want to watch your hard cock release from those dress pants. I want to take it in my hand and stroke it from base to head.
He pulls me closer as if he heard my thoughts, his erection growing more impressive, more insistent by the second. “Evie.”
He might be tired, but honey, under those rumpled clothes, he’s tight and lean, all corded muscles. The scruff of his unshaven beard alternately tickles and scrapes against my neck as he leans in and whispers, “I might have lost tonight at poker tonight, but darling, you’re my winning hand.”
A small moan escapes my lips. “Good.”
Will Dylan take me back to his hotel suite? Will he kiss me before or after we enter? Will he run his hands through my hair? Unzip my dress slowly, just as slowly as I unwrapped his present? Will he press kisses down my neck, his lips grazing mine, the scruff of his beard scraping against my skin? Will he pull down the thin sleeve of my dress, push it further with impatient hands? Will he cup my breast, his thumb tracing circles on top of my lace bra as my nipple grows taut under his touch? Will he unhook my bra, lower his mouth to my breast, draw my taut nipple into his mouth, suck on it, scrape his teeth against it? Will I try not cry out as he unzips my dress with one hand, the other traveling down my stomach, landing on the edge of my panties where he plays with the edges of my lace thong?
‘Delicious, Evie,’ he’ll say, cupping the V between my legs, as I grow wetter and wetter, arching into his fingers with need. Want. By the time he slips his fingers inside the lace, tracing my skin with skilled fingers, insistent fingers, making his way to my center, my pelvis throbbing, the ache building inside me, pulse, pulsing, his fingers reaching for me, brushing against my clit, detouring to caress the inside of my thighs, will I bite my lip in an effort to not cry out? Will I …
But my fantasy pop-pop-explodes like a kid on a sugar high tearing through a birthday party, poking a pin in balloons, because Dylan does not kiss me. Instead, he pulls away, sighs, and gives his head a shake. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”
“What?”
“I almost forgot.” He lifts a fat envelope from his coat pocket and slips it into my purse. He sighs, reaches for me, but stops himself. He rumples my hair like I’m his kid sister and busses me on the cheek.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my stomach dropping hard.
“Sure,” he says, and walks a few feet away from me.
“Right.” I sway, a little unsteady on my aching feet. The need and urging and wetness of my desire is deflated by his return to professionalism. I’m completely thrown by the 180-degree spin and try not to stare at him in disbelief. “Is something wrong?”
Did I do something stupid? Did I ruin this thing we had going on between us? Because I’ll guarantee you I was not making up the chemistry. It was sizzling between us, alive, and ready to do the cha-cha.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he says. “Unfortunately, I’ve got to catch some Zzzs, catch a plane, and blow out of Chicago. Big game tomorrow night in Tulsa.”
“Got it,” I say, the pit in my stomach growing more vicious, like it’s birthed baby teeth in the last fifteen seconds and is chewing on my insides. But now’s not the time or place to push it with Dylan.
He’s the client.
