A night to remember

JULIETTE

Like a man on a mission, my feet don’t stop moving.

Not when I make it passed the pack gates, not even when I stumble across the city lights. I keep moving with one goal in mind.

And once the bar comes into view, I know I made a great decision tonight.

Getting shit-faced.

I had my heart broken by the one person I trusted the most in the entire world.

The betrayal stung--still stings to be honest--at least I’m brave enough to admit that.

The goddess plays the cruelest jokes sometimes.

I’ve tried not to let myself stew in it.

But sometimes, the grief just hits.

I shrug off the bitterness as I step into the crowded pub. A slow grimace forms as I take in the ambience. And the men.

Lots of them.

It’s packed. Brimming with people with various agendas for the night.

Mine is singular though, as I make a beeline for the single empty seat on the bar.

​My gaze travels down the line of men hunched over the long table, chugging this or that while stewing over their thoughts in private, right to the lone figure sitting in a secluded booth all by himself.

The low lighting seems to evade him. But with a build like his, I’d bet anyone could single him out in a sea of black.

He has both elbows propped on the edge of his table, strands of his bright, bright blonde hair falling over his temples, and shielding his features.

Clad in a simple dress shirt and slacks, it seems like the most basic outfit. But something about the way he looks in it makes him the best dressed man in the room.

I swallow down a wave of something I can’t quite place as I take a seat at the edge of the bar. Even at the distance, I feel his head lift slowly, but the heat of his gaze doesn’t graze my cheek.

Somehow, I feel I would just know if he deigned to look at me.

The bartender appears before me, “What can I get for you?”

I’m distracted, watching as a waitress walks up to the man, leaning down a lot lower than appropriate to set a single tumbler of dark liquid in front if him.

He picks up his glass, and I find myself transfixed at the slow movement of his Adam’s apple as he down his drink in one go.

Something stirs inside me, way too far south to feel appropriate.

I clear my throat, pointing at the incoming waitress. “I’ll have whatever he had.”

The silence that ensues feels chocking for a moment, and after a beat of careful eyeing, the bartender pulls out a second glass, filling it a quarters way with what I hope is two more glasses away from my damnation tonight.

He sets it in front of me, and I go for a swig.

And nearly loose a fucking lung.

It’s strong, too strong… and a single sip roasts the flesh of mouth like I swallowed up a lit dynamite. I choke down the tiny swallow, blinking away the tears in my eyes.

Peeking from my peripheral has my heart stopping in my chest, because the mysterious man is gone.

I stare down at the poisonous liquid in front of me. It might taste like hell, but I can already feel the fuzziness of it’s effect. With a deep exhale, I take another swig.

And after two more glasses, I’m a mess.

I wobble through the long lines in the pub, looking for the nearest bathroom to relive myself. Everything’s hazy, and I’m not even sure how I make it up the first, much less second flight of stairs.

I stumble into what’s supposed to be a bathroom gracelessly, but my steps falter a second too late after my mind registers exactly what it’s seeing.

A bed , low lighting, and a scowling male figure.

And I may be drunk, but there’s no way I wouldn’t recognize the man from the lone booth earlier.

And I’ve just barged into his space without permission.

My words fall over each other, “Oh! I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I thought this was a bathroom.”

Goddess.

I mentally smack my fucking forehead.

“I’ll um, I’ll be leaving now.” I say, turning around to make my exit. But I must have miscalculated where I stood, because I walk smack dab right into the banister behind me.

I wobble backwards, gripping my nose where the smarting pain is supposed to sting.

But…​I’m so drunk off my ass that the collision doesn’t even hurt. A giggle travels up my throat, rather lewd and carefree. Only after the sound permeates the air do I remember that I’m not alone.

My feet are unsteady as I spin around, meeting the mysterious man’s gaze once again. Nothing about his demeanour seems different, he’s just as cold as he was when I’d barged into his space.

Knowing that I’m drunker than a skunk, I could be imagining things. But I let myself believe the slow sweep of his eyes down my body. Even trusting the spark of dark interest pooling within his distant gaze.

I toss my thumb over my shoulder, pointing at the door, “I’ll be leaving now.”

“So you said.” Those three words glide through the air between us like sweet whisky. And that’s proof I need to make my way back home. Because nothing about whiskey is sweet.

A sloppy pivot has my back to him, but my entire body freezes at the low spoken, “Wait.”

I don’t hear him rise from his lounge chair, but I hear each lazy footstep as the heat behind my back intensifies.

It’s almost right by my ear when he voices the question, “Who let you come here tonight?”

Drunken indignation sparks my protest, “I don’t need anyone’s permission for any-”

But that fury is lost as I spin around once again to face him.

How is it possible that the goddess could carve a man so perfectly? A stutter breaks free at the unexpected closeness.

He’s right there.

My hesitation has his head cocking slightly, like I’m a puzzle he’s bored enough to attempt.

The forgotten speech sparks back to life, and I lift my head to meet his high stare.“I don’t need anyone’s permission to do anything.”

“Why did you come here?” He questions me like he hadn’t heard a word I said.

I wobble on my feet slightly, “I was looking for the bathroom.”

He takes a step toward me, so close I almost take one back. “Why did you come here?”

“Because tomorrow is my wedding.”

It’s like word vomit, and I realize too late what I’d said.

A dark glint deepens the grey of his slanted eyes. “The plan was to enjoy a bachelorette party of one?”

It’s almost like an insult, but goosebumps surge at the realization that he’d been paying enough attention to me tonight to have known that. And the feeling is like deception, because the word vomit flows freely.

“The plan was to get wasted and give away what my future husband and his late father would want from me the most.” I say.

“And what might that be?”

​“My innocence.”

​He cocks a brow, “Your innocence?”

​“Sex.”

“Sex.” He deadpans.

“I’m a virgin.” I say, “And I don’t want to be one anymore. Not for him. Not for anyone.”

And then seemingly having lost interest, he turns away.

It feels like the most effortless dismissal ever, and my pride can’t take it.

“Are you interested?” I blurt out the question before I can think it through.

He pauses, but doesn’t turn around. “Interested in what?”

“Sleeping with me.” The alcohol keeps the warmth from reddening my face.

A low, dark breath of amusement comes from him. Over his shoulder, he says, “I thought you were leaving.”

My retort comes fast, “Till you said to wait.”

He turns to face me once again, a pull between his dark brows, “You’re drunk.”

“And you’re still listening.”

One stride and his chest brushes mine, his arm snaking around me and springing a surprised gasp from my throat.

“If you came here looking for a gentleman to turn you away,” His eyes burn bright with intensity, “Know that you won’t get that from me.”

​A breath slips from my parted lips. A feeling of exhilaration runs through me the moment his mouth comes in contract with the skin of my throat. His words are rusty, when he grates out, “There’ll be no one to hear you cry out tonight. No one but me.”

His lack of hesitation, the disregard for any finesse or build up, leaves me utterly speechless.

His teeth sink into my neck, and a gargled cry falls from my mouth, because at the exact same time, his large paw cups me right over my jeans.

It’s so bold and erotic, somehow exactly what I’d expected when I’d taken those steps and solidified my choice earlier.

In the exact same position, he moves us toward the bed. I’m light on my feet, maybe because the weight of my body is mostly being levitated by the grip between my legs.

The rough scrape sends shivers down my spine as he drags his fingers away, letting my body drop till my ass bounces off the soft foam.

Two stuttered heartbeats pass, before I see the slow, menacing pull of his mouth upwards.

Mild satisfaction runs through me at his approval, and I’m unable to figure out why. But the dilemma is tossed out the window as soon as he tugs up the material of my shirt. I lift my arms up, letting him pull it freely from my body.

And then I’m sitting below him with the swells of my breasts itching to spill from the cups of my bra. Every caress of his eyes has them tightening within the fabric, begging for some sort of limelight.

I inhale a slow breath to ground myself. He’s barely touched me, and I’m already uncertain on whether or not I’ll be making it out of this in one whole piece.

Towering over me, six foot four and brimming with an edible kind of charisma, I realize that never have I ever felt so small in my entire life.

The situations that led right up to this moment almost seem trivial when compared to the reality of the fact that right now, it feels like I’m submitting my very being to the whims of the man standing before me.

It’s like I’ve willingly signed off a contract more binding than my wedding tomorrow--Just for the duration of one night.

His hand reaches out, his thumb sweeping along my bottom lip. Pulling it down, away from my teeth, letting it plop back in place. It’s delicate, the way his hand then caresses my jaw, reaching behind my neck as his voice softens, “Lay back.”

I obey the soft command without preamble, eyes meeting the roof as my back hits the bed. A dip forms beside my ribs, where his palm sinks into the mattress as he hovers over me. The other traces up my denim clad thighs, slow over my hips, as he pops the top button out of place.

Butterflies take flight, disrupting my insides as his caress continues up my bare stomach, his rough hand makes it feel a lot better than it should. And then his grip closes over one bra cup, squeezing firmly.

Not even a second later, he folds down the cup and takes one swollen bud into his mouth. Our bodies merge as my spine curves upward, pleasure coalescing inside me like molten lava. The hot pressure is all I can process, every other notion slammed shut behind a wall of lust.

He sucks greedily, but it’s over too soon, before I can loose myself in it. And I blink my eyes open in confusion, just as he pulls away. The disappointment slowly fades though, giving way to anticipation as he pinches my jeans and the band of my thong together, pulling the fabrics down and off my legs in one fluid motion.

Cold air hits my bare flesh, and that’s when the daunting reservation rears it’s ugly head. The lighting is low, but bright enough to enhance every dip and imperfection. I should know better than to let my insecurities get the best of me. ​Especially here with a man I don’t know and will most likely never see again.

There’s no argument he’s a well experienced male, no less with women eager and just as well bred to give him the type of pleasure he wants.

I pale in comparison.

“You’re nervous.”

I school my features instantly, like it might have been what gave me away. All he does is give his head a slow shake, eyes trailing down my exposed flesh, “We’ll go slow.”

Call me naive, or way too trusting. But those three words, and the way he says them, are enough to slacken my shoulders.

So he’s not out to destroy my insides-- that’s a plus. Of their own volition, my eyes drop right below his belt, over his crotch.

Not out to, doesn’t mean he won’t, if the semi tenting his pants is anything to go by.

One blink and broad shoulders fill the span of my vision as his body settles over mine. His palm slides under my back, and with just one twist of his wrist, the clasp is undone.

Really well experienced.

He pulls the slinky material from my body, loosing it in the darkness as he flings it over his shoulder. As soon as the cool air touches my bare flesh, he warms them with his large hands. I whimper at the friction, and then his body comes down on mine once again. But this time, his knees push my thighs apart, till every hard, enormous inch of him is nestled in the space between them.

A heady rush fills my veins.

He’s still dressed to the nines, but I’m a naked, wanton mess beneath him. ​And I fall harder into the deep end of desire when his mouth crashes down on mine.

Every hot pull feels like a warning, a threat, a preparation of what’s to come. ​Because if he fucks anything like he kisses me, then I might just need a little support making it out this bed, much less down the aisle.

His tongue delves into my mouth with a harsh groan, and my hands grab onto his shoulders, digging into the hardened flesh for something to hold on to.

It’s just a kiss, dammit.

A gasp breaks free, just as the fabric of his dress shirt drags across my nipples. ​They harden into solid points, begging for more, more, more. And I’m far from disappointed when he slips his hands between us, his thumbs and forefingers tugging on each tip.

A pulse forms in my clit, it’s throb so fast and maddening.

My thighs wrap around his waist as he rocks himself against my core, my mouth falling open on a breathless cry.

There’s no way the front of his slacks aren’t soaked, and just then he groans out, “So wet for me.”

One rough hand makes it way south, and I feel my entire body tighten in anticipation. But nothing could have prepared me for the feel of his thumb sliding over my swollen bud. I let out a gasp, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip to keep a lid on the effect he’s having on my body.

His forehead meets mine, just as he pulls my trapped lower lip free with a thumb on my chin. His fingers expertly part my folds, a single one probing my entrance. My eyes flutter shut.

“Look at me.”

No woman on earth would be able to defy that command. And he holds my gaze, his face so close his nose touches mine as he sinks one thick digit inside me. I’m drenched, and it’s like a rock into water, my walls clenching around him just like my thighs.

“Oh,” I breathe. It’s invasive and intense, but so, so good.

“I’m going to add another, and you’ll take it like a good girl, won’t you?”

The words aren’t even fully processed as I nod frantically.

“Use your words.” The command is spoken with a buttery drawl.

“I’ll take it like a good girl.”

And there’s pressure, pressing against me and pushing past little resistance. ​My stomach tightens at the first bite of discomfort, but with every slow thrust and twist of his fingers, fire ignites in my core with a force I don’t think would ever be extinguished.

“Please,” I cry, oblivious to what it is I even need. But one curl of his fingers upward, and I’m certain he’s known all along.

The orgasm washes through me with a force that makes my entire body shudder around him.

My mind is nothing but fog, blissfully suspended on cloud 9. I feel the loss of his body heat as he pulls away, and the clink and thwap of his belt being undone has that cooled heat resurging once again.

It’s true.

With a man like him, we’ve probably only just begun. I don’t know how much my body can take, but I’ve never been more eager to find out anything in my life.

He strips bare, till he’s standing at the side of the bed like a monster of muscle and dangerous energy. I can’t think of anything better than being on the receiving end of it all.

Each hand clamps around both my knees, pulling them apart once again as he comes down over me. I didn’t see it, but the weight of his erection pressing against my stomach fills my veins with desire.

And worry.

Because that thing, is going to fit inside me?

His hand comes down over my head, sinking into my hair, “If you need me to stop, you say so.”

His hand reaches down to grasp himself.

The first press of his head against me has my fingers curling into the bed sheet. ​He drags the large tip back and forth over my clit, till I’m certain I could come again from just that alone. And when he levels himself at my entrance, holding my gaze, damn near daring me to look away, I’m not prepared for the stretch.

The burn at the size of him.

My hands find his shoulders, discomfort marring my expression. He’s attentive with the way he moves, watching my face for what feels better, and what tenses me more. And it takes effort--the tightness in his jaw, and the harsh slant of his brows tells me just how much he’s intentionally holding back.

With his forehead against mine, our breaths entwine. With every slide and dark exhale absorbed into my skin, the ache turns into a desperate pulse. Till I’m pushing at him because it’s all too much.

I come again, into a million little fractures with a desperate cry.

His grunts fill the air, as he buries his face into my neck. The sensitivity of it all leaves me feeling like I’ve been rubbed raw with sandpaper.

Goodness, me.