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He leans in closer, his woodsy scent surrounding me. "I like to think of it as confident."
"Is that so?" Taking a sip of the drink, I let the smoky flavor linger on my tongue. "Not bad. Though I prefer my whiskey neat."
"Noted." His eyes sparkle with amusement. "I'm Stylz, by the way."
"Delilah." I extend my hand, but instead of shaking it, he brings it to his lips, pressing a featherlight kiss to my knuckles.
I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure. "So, Stylz, are you always this forward?"
"Only with women who intrigue me." His gaze roams over me slowly, taking in every curve. "Which you most definitely have."
"And what, exactly, has you so intrigued?" I ask, emboldened by the whiskey buzz.
"You're a puzzle I can't quite figure out. One minute, you're all polished sophistication." He leans closer, his lips nearly brushing my ear. "The next, I get the feeling you're aching to let that wild side loose."
A delicious shiver runs down my spine at his words. He's not wrong—there's a part of me that's been coiled tight for far too long, desperate for release. Before I can overthink it, I down the rest of my drink in one burning gulp.
"You're more perceptive than I gave you credit for." I set the empty glass down. "But the real question is, what are you going to do about it?”
Stylz's eyes narrow playfully. "Is that a challenge?"
"Take it however you'd like." With that, I turn on my heel and saunter toward the hallway leading to the restrooms, glancing back over my shoulder just long enough to catch his gaze following me.
The thrill of the chase courses through my veins as I push open the bathroom door. I've barely had time to check my reflection in the mirror when strong hands grip my waist, spinning me around. My lips part in surprise as Stylz backs me against the cold tile wall.
“One thing you should know about me,” he says in a low voice. “I don’t back down from a challenge.”
And then he kisses me… and I let him. More than that, I fist my hands in his flannel shirt and yank him even closer.
Stylz's lips are firm and demanding, and his tongue slides against mine. His hands roam over my body, bunching the fabric of my dress around my hips. I can feel his hard length pressed against my stomach, and I ache for him, for this stranger, for what he’s offering me.
A breathless moan escapes my lips when he hooks one of my legs around his waist, the friction sending shockwaves of pleasure through me. Rational thought has fled; there's only this all-consuming need, this hunger.
His mouth blazes a searing trail along my jawline, nipping at the sensitive flesh below my ear. "I want to make you come," he rasps.
Before I can process his words, his fingers are sliding beneath the lace of my thong. He growls in approval when he realizes how soaked I am for him. His hand cups my pussy, and I stifle a whimper against the crook of his neck as he presses a thumb to my clit.
His fingers tease my folds, sliding up and down before slipping inside me. I cry out as he thrusts two fingers deep, curling them to hit that perfect spot that has me seeing stars.
"Are you going to come all over my hand, princess?" he asks in a low growl.
"Yes," I breathe, and I’m not sure where the boldness is coming from. The whiskey, maybe? "Make me come.”
He picks up the pace, his fingers pumping in and out of me as his thumb circles my clit. A multitude of sensations bombards me—the cool tile at my back, the scent of musk, the exquisite tension coiling low in my belly. I cling to him, my nails digging into his shoulders as I pant and moan and beg for more.
Stylz's lips find mine again, swallowing my cries as he drives me higher and higher. His fingers never falter, never slow, until I'm shattering around him, my orgasm crashing over me like a tidal wave.
When I finally come down from my high, I'm panting and breathless, my body still trembling with aftershocks. Stylz slowly withdraws his fingers from me, bringing them to his lips and sucking them clean.
"You taste as good as you feel, princess," he says with a wicked grin.
The sight is so sinfully erotic that I can't tear my eyes away. Part of me wants nothing more than to grab him by that flannel shirt again and pick up where we left off. But the other part—the voice of reason that had been silenced by my baser urges—is screaming at me to put a stop to this madness.
Suddenly, the gravity of what I've done crashes over me like a bucket of ice water. I'm Delilah Delgado, successful lawyer and consummate professional.
And I just let a complete stranger finger me in a bathroom.
The shame and guilt are instantaneous, my face flushing hot with embarrassment. Without a word, I straighten my disheveled dress and slip past Stylz, hurrying out of the bathroom on wobbly legs.
