Tease And Cease Apply
Автор
Lee Taylor
Прочтений
651K
Глав
49
Chapter 1
DREW
Tonight was my night.
A night to be free.
A night to be single and mingle.
A night of firsts.
My first drinking spree.
Besides getting stupid drunk, I was willing to have my first one-night stand. Hot, wild sex was exactly what I needed with someone who knew how to hit the spot (for a change).
I’d suffered enough mediocre sex with my ex-fiancé, Aaron. Dare I say, I was open to something (or someone) I’d never done. If I could get drunk enough, that is.
All I wanted was a hard-muscled body to get over and under until my toes curled and my bones turned to liquid. My friends had assured me that the “Big O” wasn’t just a myth; it was a reality. I owed it to myself to tick it off my nonexistent bucket list.
Forget. Get drunk. Get laid.
It wasn’t an easy mission. I was stepping out of my comfort zone. That’s why alcohol was my best friend tonight. It would bring the much-needed liquid courage and turn me into the femme fatale mothers warned their sons about.
“Hit me up, sexy!” I hollered at the hot barman, rapping the glossy countertop, humming along to Selina’s It Ain’t Me. “Give me your strongest and most potent cocktail that will turn me into a sex vixen who walks out of here with the hottest guy.”
“You got it, gorgeous!” he winked and swung around to prepare the lethal concoction I’d ordered before presenting it to me like a sumptuous meal. “Knock yourself out. Enjoy.”
“Keep them coming!” I set the precedent for the night. “The stronger, the better.” I lifted the long cocktail glass in a toast, indulging in a greedy gulp. “Son of a bachelor!” I grimaced as the burning liquid slid down my throat and spread across my chest like a flame. My eyes watered, and my throat protested; nevertheless, I gulped the blue poison, draining the glass.
This was my third drink, and I was beginning to feel the buzz as I danced with the fourth, fifth, or was it sixth, nameless potential bed-warmer? So far, none of them had passed the test.
My best friend, Tavi, told me that if a man had moves on the dance floor, it meant he had moves in the bedroom. They were too handsy, too obvious, with two left feet.
Hard pass.
The club had a vibe, and everyone understood the assignment, dancing and singing wherever they were standing.
An upbeat EDM song streamed through the speakers, and the crowd sang it like it was the national anthem. Even the bartenders were singing and dancing along. Like the song currently playing said, I was having the time of my life.
I loved this place!
Forget.
Forget.
Forget.
Forget that my fiancé, the man I loved more than the very air that I breathed, broke off our engagement.
He blamed me.
I had tried so hard to be everything he wanted me to be. I stopped cutting my hair because he hated me with short hair. Changed my wardrobe to a more conservative look. Cut out the friends he didn’t like. Passed up the partnership opportunity at the law firm I worked for because he said I was taking on too much. Stopped working late and on weekends because he complained he never saw me as much. Cut out drinking wine at dinner because he said I was turning into an alcoholic. I even turned vegetarian because I thought it would please him.
It didn’t.
Nothing did.
It was all for nothing.
I wasted four years of my life for nothing.
“Let me buy you a drink?” A tall guy in a bespoke suit sidled up to me, gawking at me like I was his next meal.
“Sure,” I said, though stiffened when his hand snaked around my waist.
There was no harm in testing the waters if I wanted to get lucky tonight. “Why not?”
Tonight was all about me.
Tonight, I was the college girl who was always the life of the party. I was wild and wicked, Drew. Once again, I was the fun Drew that my friends loved and missed.
The trendy nightclub had a lively atmosphere, the music switching from hard-thumping electro, hip-hop, and pop, which was just what this wild girl needed. No sappy, mushy songs for me today. I had bribed the DJ to play all the songs on the playlist I had given him.
The barman’s instructions were just as easy: keep them coming. I wasn’t messing around when I said tonight was all about me.
I was in control.
Tonight’s plan wasn’t complicated.
Dance like no one is watching. Drink like it’s for free. Have hot sex with a stranger.
In that particular order.
Red, green, and blue laser lights bounced over the crowd as sweaty bodies danced to uptempo music on the dance floor. Waitresses dressed as skimpily as I was weaved through the crowd, skillfully balancing trays of drinks or shooters that glowed under the ultraviolet disco lights.
My sexy red mini-dress molded to my soft, firm curves like a second skin, the neckline plunging to my navel, revealing the swell of my full, round breasts. My hair, like my mood, was wild, loose, and uninhibited, the curls cascading down my smooth, bare back.
Not to toot my own horn, but I was one of the hottest girls in the place, and I knew it. Guys in the club were falling over each other to talk to me, and I was thriving on it, like a plant getting rain in a desert. I flirted, danced, and accepted drinks from all of them.
All but one.
He looked out of place sitting at the bar in his dark, slim-fitting designer suit. The fabric clung to his body, the sharp lines forming a stylish silhouette. His lithe body was built for pleasuring a woman, and a healthy olive tan suggested an outdoor hobby or hours spent in the gym.
His rich, tousled onyx hair was styled in a classic fauxhawk and gleamed under the dim lights. He peeled off his jacket and draped it over the stool, and rolled up his shirtsleeves to reveal tanned, muscular, tattooed forearms.
A rugged jawline shaded by a few days’ growth left me fantasizing about what it would feel like clamped between my thighs, while I ran my finger through the silky, neat, ink-black hair.
He radiated power that I’m sure everyone in this place could feel. He was an incredibly good-looking specimen who was a sight for my sore eyes.
Was he Spanish? Italian? I couldn’t tell. But the vixen in me was itching to unravel the mysterious, aloof stranger. He was the only guy who had grabbed my attention and made my lady bits tingle.
“Hit me again, sexy!” I slammed the empty glass on the counter, and even that didn’t get his coveted attention.
I wasn’t the only woman who had noticed the thirst trap with the brooding golden eyes. Some were daring enough to approach him, and his terse one-word answers and stiff posture had them scurrying away.
“We’re about to close for the bar,” the barman informed her. “Will that be all for tonight?”
“Maybe…” My words dragged, and I missed my balance as I tried to hop on the stool. Losing my footing, I staggered back and crashed into a rock-solid chest.
“Watch it, stellina…,” he drawled in his accented English, grabbing my hips to keep us both from toppling over.
“I’m so sorry!” I gasped, deeply mortified, my hands instinctively reaching out and clutching his taut thighs. “Gosh! Sorry!” I clenched my fists and tried to back away, but his fingers dug into my hips and held fast.
“Are you?” He held me close with one arm while the other slid up my side, following the curve of my hips and waist. “I’ve noticed you watching me all night. Isn’t this what you want?” Burying his face in my neck, he inhaled deeply. “You in my arms…me touching you just like this…,” he whispered in a soft, deep voice, his fingers caressing my waist, his sensual touch increasing my pulse. “Well played, cara.”
My eyes flared as I twirled around and glared at him. “You’re sadly mistaken, dipstick!”
He leaned back in his chair with an air of arrogance, crossing his arms against his broad chest.
“The only sad thing is the way you’re flaunting yourself like a ripe, juicy fruit on market day.” His liquid eyes were critically assessing me, his narrowed gaze intimidating. “Tuttavia, I’m willing to buy whatever you’re selling…” His suggestive gaze roved up and down my curves. “Even if I don’t usually take advantage of drunk, careless donne sciolta.”
Oh no, he didn’t! He did not just imply that I was a woman of loose morals?!
“How dare you! You smug—” He gripped my wrist before it connected with his arrogant face, but I improvised and used the other hand. The slap echoed over the pulsing music. “Bastard!”
My face flushed, and he covered the space between us, resting his hands on my thighs as he pushed my hips against the counter. “Hmmm…now I’m really turned on, my piccolo spuntino,” he growled from low in his chest. “I concede. You wanted my attention. You have it, gattina.” Yanking me against him, his lips crushed mine in a punishing kiss.
The man just called me his little snack, and here I was, latching onto him like a starved tick. I couldn’t help myself. His kiss made me feel like I was floating, like I was burning from the inside out. I had never been kissed like this. It was so possessive. So consuming. So hot.
How could I resist the way his skilled tongue was plundering my mouth? It’s like he was branding me, owning me, and claiming me as his.
Desire flew through me, hot and fast like the strange energy running between us. I gave in to the ardent impulse, knowing that wherever it led, I could count on an utterly earth-shattering experience.
His warm lips kissed their way down my neck and across my shoulder. A slow, sensual smile teased his full lips, making me shiver.
Ding. Ding. Ding. We have a winner, ladies and gentlemen.
“Your car or mine?” Swirling hooded eyes framed by thick black lashes any model would kill for stared down at me. Our breathing was heavy from the tonsil hockey, and my head was spinning.
“C-car?” A smack over the head was needed to clear my befuddled brain. He could be the mafia, he could be a convict, or the freakin’ assassin sent to take me out. At that moment, I didn’t care.
“I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I’ll be able to make it to the nearest bed, cara.” His predatory gaze made my heart race. “Since you can’t seem to decide, come with me…”
