I throw back another shot before leaving the bar. I don't need it. In fact, it's the last thing I need. But tonight, I don't see a way around it. It's my first Valentine’s Day post-Tony. Tony—his name alone eats away at me. But seeing him fancied up with Ericka, kneeling on the ground, pulling out a ring, well that's enough excuse for just one more drink.
When the brown liquor has burned its way down my throat, I turn towards the door and head for the street. It's unseasonably warm for February in Denver, but I keep a light jacket draped over my short red dress just in case the heavens throw me another curveball.
"Well, you're a fucking mess," a dark voice says from beside me.
I narrow my brows and turn, stumbling enough that the tall, muscular man feels the need to reach out and help.
"You don't even know me," I manage, slurring my words. "You try spending Valentine’s Day surrounded by happy couples," I sigh, my limbs heavy. "I mean, not once... not once... did one man hit on me tonight."
The man holds me in place. His scent like smokey jasmine and cedar. His tone sarcastic. "I can't imagine why. You're so put together."
I roll my eyes, "And I suppose you know everything about love. You are a man after all. They have it all down, right?”
A smug smile lifts onto his face, his arm still around me. "I do know everything about love. But not because I'm a man. More so, it's my job."
He laughs, "You never cease to amaze me. You know, not once has your viewpoint changed on things. I know I'm not the most eloquent guy, but some people have an innate sense about me. A premonition that at the end of the day that I'm here to help. " He shakes his head, "You though... you just keep it real. Every, single, fucking time."
My head feels light, the street is blurring, and I'm carrying too much on my shoulders to stand any longer. "Can you stop saying things so fast? In case you haven't noticed... I'm drunk!” The words slur slightly from my lips before my knees give out.
The man catches me before I hit the sidewalk, but instead of helping to my feet, he heaves me over his shoulder.
I kick against him. "Where are you taking me?"
"Back to your apartment," he says angrily. Passersby on the street are seemingly unphased by the show, or kidnapping. I’m not sober enough to tell which.
I mean, do I know this guy? Did I take a shot of something strange? How does he know where I live?
This is exactly why single women shouldn't be out alone.
As the kicking and screaming gets old, a building that looks like my apartment comes into frame.
“Thanks for the ride big boy,” I say, patting him on the back. “But… I think I’m good from here."
The man opens the front door of the apartment without words and carries me upstairs, only sitting me down when we’re outside the pale-yellow door of my apartment.
“Keys,” he suggests, motioning towards the door. His face still straight.
God, he’s done nothing but carry me down the street kicking and screaming while berating me for life choices. Yet, I’m oddly turned on. I guess that’s the whiskey.
"I'll get you settled in, then I'll take off," he says, towering over me.
I slide the key into the knob and look up at him. "Who are you anyway?"
He rolls his eyes as though he’s already told me the answer. "Que. I came for your—"
"Que? That's a weird name. Is it short for something?"
He looks away, brushing his beard with his thumb. Maybe he did tell me already and I’ve forgotten.
"Would you like coffee?” I ask, my lips feeling loose. “Because I could really use a cup of nice…warm… caffeine."
There's no inhibition left in me, only false confidence, which I think would do me rather well in the future. Maybe that's what I've been missing—a good shot of whiskey every morning to help me relax a little.
He nods and sighs, "I'll sit with you while you sober up a little, but then we need to talk.”
"So, are you from out of town? " I ask, crunching on a chocolate chip cookie from the glass case on the counter. " You don't look like a Denverknight.”
He laughs smugly, "And what does a Denverknight look like?"
I do a few spins around the island, until I'm leaned against his solid chest. "Like this..."
He nods, though seemingly unamused, his hands unmoving at his sides.
"You're hot!" I say, looking up into his perfect, dark face. "Like really, really hot!”
He looks away, then back again. "And you're really, really drunk."
I slap my hand against his chest softly, running it lightly down between his legs until I feel a ridge begin to grow. "And you're a little excited."
He pushes away from me and moves to the coffee maker to brew coffee, but I can't stop myself from staring. He's perfect. Every muscle sculpted and flexing as he moves. The dark eyes and hair. The aloof attitude. The fact that he doesn't want me, he's my signature recipe. The type of guy that always lets me down. The one I go for every single time.
As the coffee drips into the carafe, I make my way to his side. "It's Valentine’s Day, you brought me home from the bar, like a big, strong man. You must be lonely. What's the problem?"
He fights a coy smile and looks away. "I'm not lonely."
I crunch into the cookie and lift myself up onto the counter, too drunk to care about pulling my dress down to cover. "You're here, alone on Valentine's Day—you're lonl—"
With swift movements, he boxes me in on the counter, his large body nearly on mine, his face grimaced. "Loneliness implies that I’ve been looking for company. I'm not lonely."
That last shot of whiskey I had does its work: convincing my lips to press into Que’s, convincing my legs to wrap around his waist and pull forward into him, convincing my arms to yank him towards me.
He doesn't struggle. Instead, he presses back into me. Our lips locked, our tongues massaging one another as heat passes between us. He's intoxicating, heightening my libido like no one ever has. His touch like tiny shocks of static against my nerves as he moves.
I lean my head back as he kisses down my neck towards the lobe of my ear. His whisper like a mind melting orgasm for my brain. "You have to be the most difficult client on my list, Ms. Wilder."
"Your list?" I pant, my clit throbbing, aching, burning with desire.
"My list," he whispers. "But there's something about you... something different than the others." He drags his hand up to my chin and holds it in place as he stares into my eyes. "Something... I just can't resist."
It's unprofessional, will require explaining, may even get me in trouble, but it's been eons since I've had this feeling. Eons since my cock has grown this hard. Eons since I've let it. The mere thought of touching Stephanie's soft core has left me with an unbearable urge. An urge I can't go home without quelling. We've been through a lot together. I've watched as men have broken her and watched as she’s broken them.
Every single time, I know I can do better. I know I could give her the love she needs. And I leave thinking about this. The thing I’m not supposed to be doing. The thing I’m going to get fucking hell for. The thing where her lips are on mine and my hands are wandering her curves.
I lift her from the counter and carry her around my waist to the bedroom, laying her down soft as I pull her panties from beneath her skirt. I've thought so many times of pulling these tight little panties from her waist, eating her better than she's ever been eaten.
I strip off my jacket and kiss my way up the inside of her leg, making my way onto her cunt. Her soft, salty, seam like a welcomed fucking slide for my tongue. Sucking, licking, circling her clit with pressure and pause until she's moaning and gripping my hair. Her legs shaking against the sides of my face as she comes. The taste of her juices changing from salty to sweet with her pleasure.
"Que… what are you doing to me?" she groans. My name falling from her sweet lips like the fantasies I've played over and over.
I lick up from the base of her cunt one last time, flicking at her clit until she jumps away. The tease too much for her orgasmed nerves.
She sits up, unbuttoning my shirt slowly, feeling each muscle of my chest as she strips the fabric off my body and moves towards my pants. My cock jumps from the zipper the second it's set free.
Her eyes widen. "Oh damn. I'm not sure I can..." She flashes a glance up at me, then back towards my cock. "That's huge."
I don't have much to compare myself to, nor have I thought about how large it is, but the way she strokes my width in awe, I figure it's a positive.
Bending down, she slides her lips over my cock. Her mouth spreading wide as her tongue flicks against my head. Her hand pumping along the shaft.
I'm standing at the edge of the bed now, my pants around my ankles as I lean my head back, my fingers lost in the soft silk of her hair.
"Fuck," I moan. "You look so fucking good." My muscles begin to tense and I know before long I'll need to feel her.
I pull my cock unwillingly from her lips and bend into her mouth. Kissing her soft, our gaze on one another. "I can't wait to feel you."
Her eyes darken and gloss as she stands from the bed, pulling the side zipper down from her dress. Her stare on me as she lets the fabric slide off her skin, leaving behind full, naked breasts. Her nipples pointing hard and nearly purple.
Narrowing down, I take each one into my mouth, sucking gently as my hand draws over her hip, bending her onto the bed.
The moment she's there, what little focus I have left disappears. Her seam is red, swollen, and dripping the sweet juices I’d primed earlier. Her hips are rocking with anticipation.
I grip her ass and bend into her slowly. Her moans increase as I spread her wide.
"Fuck me Que," she cries. "Please. I've never been so filled."
I thrust into her slowly, then faster. The tight space warm against my cock. The tip hitting the back of her cervix as I slap against her ass.
With one hand, I reach between her legs and rub her clit, anxious for more whining, more cries, more everything.
She presses back against me and wiggles her hips to the rhythm of my circling. Then pauses as a wave ripples down her back and forces her one last time against my cock. Her juices soak me as I feel my own orgasm building.
Stephanie jumps up on all fours. I grip one shoulder, and the opposite hip, pushing deep one last time. Euphoria surges, sending shivers spreading through my body involuntarily until the sensitivity becomes too much to bear.
I pull from her cavern and turn her around, wrapping her into my arms.
"That was incredible," she whispers, leaning against my chest. "What is it about you I don't want to let go of?"
I could tell her the answer, but she won't believe me, and what good will it do? The truth is, she won’t remember a moment of this in the morning.
This isn’t right, someone else should be trying to push her into another man’s arms; not me, not after tonight, not after this. The burden is too much. No one can treat her like I can.
Stephanie sighs and snuggles into me further, lifting her leg up and over mine.
“Don’t go tonight, okay?”
I kiss the top of her head. Love doesn’t even begin to describe what I feel for this woman. She’s perfect, and the only soul I’ve ever wanted.
I savor the sweet scent of her skin against mine. She deserves so much. So much more than anyone here can give her.
I know it’s only going to get me in more shit, but I pull her in closer and whisper softly, “Don’t worry about tonight. I’ll be here until morning.”