Just for Tonight

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Just For Tonight Copyright  2011 by Natalie Dae ISBN: 978-1-61333-048-7 Cover art by Dara England All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC Look for us online at: www.decadentpublishing.com

Just for Tonight Natalie Dae

A 1 Night Stand Story

Just For Tonight

The jingle of her cell blasting an operatic message tune brought Dahlia Singleton out of a dream involving a man she’d never met giving her rather a good time in bed. He was the quintessential tall, dark, and handsome, and had her wetter than a British April shower. She sighed and glanced at the clock, pissed as hell to see 11:00 p.m. in glowing green numbers. She’d only been asleep for an hour? “Hell! So much for turning in early on my night off.” She snatched up the phone, muttering, “Whoever you are, I’d like to say: What could be so important that you need to text me at this time of night? Unless someone’s died, I don’t want to know.” A message flashed up from 1NightStand. If she wasn’t fully awake when the phone shrieked, she was now. Shit, this was all she needed. Some French broad getting hold of her when she wasn’t in the mood to deal. Madame Evangeline promised to hook people up for one-night stands. Dahlia hadn’t had a single match in the month since she’d signed up, which only cemented the fact she wasn’t suited to anyone—anyone at all. She was stubborn, highly strung, and prone to bouts of sulking. Oh, and being late. What man wanted a woman like that? And why was Evangeline messaging her anyway? Didn’t she have employees who did that kind of thing? Mentally working out whether her subscription fee had actually gone through okay—after all, the head of 1NightStand couldn’t possibly be contacting her for any other reason—Dahlia read the message. I’VE FOUND YOU SOMEONE, MY DEAR. Holy shit! HE’S WAITING FOR YOU AT THE CASTILLO HOTEL. What? “Now?” Dahlia sat up, shuffling to the edge of the bed. She raked a hand through her hair—damn, that knot hurt—and fumbled for the bedside lamp. Her phone went off again.

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HE’S SUCH A GENTLEMAN. I CAN’T IMAGINE HE’D MIND WAITING ANOTHER HOUR… But… “No more buts,” she said to herself. “Get showered, get dressed, and get pretty.” The phone didn’t go off again, leaving Dahlia with a sense of excitementstroke-dread pooling in her gut. *** If her stomach rolled one more time, Dahlia would vomit. She stood inside the Castillo Hotel, having walked through the double glass doors on shaky legs clad in black thigh-high stockings. What had she been thinking? Her little black dress was littler than she’d ever worn, purchased on a whim when on a lonely shopping spree last month, and her fitted black leather jacket made her feel like a biker chick gone wrong. She was used to jeans, baggy T-shirts, and her black hair stuffed into a ponytail. Tonight, she’d showered, shaved, and spent as much time as she dared on her hair, coiling it into an up-do held in place by a black sparkly clip. Who was she kidding? No one but my damn self. With the jitters sending her half insane, she took a deep breath and wandered through the foyer, wondering whether this mystery man would be in the casino section or the bar. Evangeline had failed to give her specific details, and Dahlia floundered, trying to maintain a calm, poised exterior while her insides raged. Crazy, that’s what you are. Crazy, coming out without knowing the background on this guy. He could be a murderer. A pervert. Anything! You’re dreaming. Got to be. You dreamed you got the call, and here you are, zipped to another part of the dream where you’re in a situation you don’t like, with an outcome that will make you wake up screaming. She hiked in a deep breath and opted for the bar, walking toward it as though she’d been born a catwalk model. So long as she concealed what she really felt, all should go well. Her date might not be an ax murderer after all, and she’d get 2

Just For Tonight

home without the requisite knife wounds or out-of-the-way burial in the Las Vegas desert. Pushing the door to the bar open, she sauntered inside. The place was packed. Hell, he could be one of any number of men. Some stood at the bar, and others sat alone at small round tables. A few couples occupied booths at the back, and Dahlia eyed them with envy. If she was honest, she didn’t want a one-night stand. No, she wanted what they had. Clasped hands on tabletops and special looks only the couples themselves knew the meaning of. Shared secrets and lovemaking that transcended the actual sex act. One-night stands wouldn’t give her that. She sighed, letting the air out slowly, and pasted on a smile as though she did this kind of thing all the time. Hell yeah, she was Dahlia Singleton, one-nightstand extraordinaire. Quickly assessing the room again, she found a space at the bar and waited for the attendant to become free. It was weird—no music, not much chatter, and no vibe. Where was the damn life in here? Something tugged at her inside, the knowledge that she’d chosen the wrong room—because, shit, no man had turned to watch her entrance, and they would have, wouldn’t they, if they were expecting her to show? Unless he got tired of waiting. Of all the freakin’ luck. She turned and strode toward the door, angry with herself for feeling deflated. For having pinned her hopes on some stupid date that would give her what she craved. What had she expected? Some guy to come rushing up to her and sweep her off her feet? If she was honest, yes. But that only happens in books and movies, woman, so get a damn grip! Shoving at the door, she huffed in temper as it met with resistance. She pushed it again, harder, then in a fit of anger, her cheeks heating, she forced herself through the small gap, intent on going home and back to her bed—the only place that had welcomed her wholly, without any stipulations. And came face to face with a suited man taller than he had any right to be with a face like a movie star. Now, she knew she was asleep, because this guy had featured in her very recent dream, before the phone woke her. Oh, Jesus Christ. I’m going to faint. 3

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Something she didn’t need. To fall flat on her tomato-colored face, her dress hiking up to show her ass, and a nosebleed from hitting the floor to boot. All in front of this sexy-as-hell-oh-my-God-he’s-beautiful man who gazed down at her with a sardonic grin on his ruggedly, too-damn-handsome face. “Umm, sorry. I was—” “Dahlia Singleton, correct? Evangeline said you were a beauty.” If she didn’t know better, Dahlia thought he’d said her name. Evangeline’s name. And that she, Dahlia, was a beauty. In a wonderful British accent. “Um, yes?” “I was waiting in the other room,” he said, taking her elbow in his slimfingered hand that sent shivers of delight throughout her body. He guided her across the foyer to an unoccupied sofa. “But I thought I’d check to see if you were in the bar.” He waited for her to sit before he settled beside her, his warm, muscular thigh touching hers. His warm, muscular thigh touching mine! Oh my Lord, this man, this man is sitting next to me. Me! “And here we are,” he finished, tilting his head to regard her with deep brown eyes, his arm resting on the back of the sofa, and his head supported in his hand. “Yes,” she said breathlessly, so unlike her real voice. His hair, black and wavy, gave her the urge to run her fingers through it. “Here we are.” She smiled and looked at him from beneath lowered lashes—not to be coy or alluring, more because she was embarrassed as hell and completely out of her league. Guys like him didn’t go for women like her. They chose glitzy young belles, all blonde hair and bubbly personalities, not thirty-something, left-on-the-shelf women who had missed their chance. “As I said, Evangeline was right.” He placed his free hand on his thigh and rubbed absently. What she wouldn’t give to have her hand doing that instead. “Oh? In what way?” “You are beautiful.” Dahlia stifled a trill of laughter. He’d been paid to say this, surely. Evangeline had realized she couldn’t match Dahlia to any man and paid this guy to flatter 4

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her. Yes, that’s what had happened. Ashamed she’d joined the dating agency, ashamed that she’d even dared to dream she could meet a man because of it, she stood to leave. “I’ve made a mistake. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to go home.” He stood swiftly, standing before her, so tall she had to look up to see his face. “Whatever for? We only met a little while ago.” Her stomach rolled over again. Please don’t let me be sick. Not yet. Not until I get outside. “Um, I really shouldn’t have joined the agency. I…you…you’re not my type.” God forgive me for lying. “Not your type? Evangeline assured me we were a perfect match, and you’re very much my type.” “I am?” “Indeed you are. Please, sit with me for a while. At least let me spend some time with you before you go dashing off like Cinderella.” He glanced down at her high-heeled black shoes. “Although Cinderella didn’t wear such a charming pair of stilettos.” Prince Charming—he was that all right, and so not the type of man Dahlia had ever dared to date before. She had never approached a god such as he, for fear of receiving unbridled laughter at her request for a date. She didn’t enjoy blushing from shame one little bit. “Uh, okay. Maybe I can talk to you for a few minutes. But then I really do have to go home.” She sat back down, her leather coat squeaking, and her face heated further. What if he’d thought she’d made that sound? What if he thought she’d far— “Leather, you’ve got to love the noises it makes,” he said, sitting beside her again. “Especially from specific garments.” She laughed quietly, her mind processing what he’d said. Had he implied, with on specific garments, that he liked leather in that way? Dahlia was partial to it herself, had always fancied wearing a leather basque and thigh-high boots, but she was sure she hadn’t put that in her profile. Why would she? That kind of information was…private.

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“Would you like a drink?” he asked, indicating the bar door with an elegant wave of his hand. “I promise it will only be one, and you may have a soft drink if you prefer.” She would like a drink, a Coke that would burn away the dry fuzz that suddenly coated her mouth. One she could guzzle in one tip of the glass, but the stuff made her burp, and she didn’t think this man—this gentleman, because that’s what he appeared to be—would appreciate that. She nodded and allowed him to steer her toward the bar. He stopped at the door and smiled down at her. “I will always remember this as where we met.” The twinkle in his eyes set Dahlia’s heart racing, and once again her knees weakened. At this rate, she’d be a heap on the floor in no time, embarrassing herself as usual, and he would run for the hills. “Um, I’m sorry about smacking into you with the door. And…what’s your name? Evangeline didn’t tell me anything much.” She lowered her gaze—if she looked at his face for much longer she might rise up on tiptoe and press her lips to his. And that wouldn’t do. She’d appear wanton, forward, and she was far from that. Yet, something about him gave her a sense of wanting to set herself free, do things she’d never done—before it was too late and she scampered away home. Stupid. You’re being stupid. Have a drink, a little chat, and see where it goes from there. “I’m Connor. And Evangeline didn’t tell you anything because I asked her not to. She has in the past, and the women have been fawning, simpering types who didn’t hold my interest at all. But you…” He leaned down, brushing his lips across the top of her head. “Are far from that.” Oh, God. If he did that again, she’d melt. She acknowledged the way her stomach knotted, how her cheeks heated even further—she must look a sight, by now—and how she grew wet between her legs. What the hell was happening to her? Her response to a simple brush on her head was ridiculous. Her throat tightened, she opened her mouth to speak, but found she couldn’t utter a thing. Now, he’s going to think you’re a mindless bimbo. Fan-bloody-tastic.

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Just For Tonight

She managed a weak smile—that would have to do for now—and he gave one back, showing straight, white teeth some high-class dentist must be very proud of. He stood upright and inclined his head as though about to ask her something but changed his mind. Linking arms with her, he took her into the bar, and this time all eyes turned their way. Music filtered from speakers she hadn’t been aware of last time, and everyone chattered and made merry—a far cry from the scene she’d encountered before. What the hell was going on? What kind of bar, at midnight, was quiet one minute, then hopping the next? “Ah, parties always seem to get going when I arrive. Brilliant, don’t you think?” he asked, smiling down at her. “Yes, brilliant.” Weird. It’s like… What was it like? Some kind of magic occurring? Oh, don’t be so bloody stupid. Maybe the damn nightlife in this place starts at twelve. Maybe you came in here before in between songs. Maybe— “What would you like to drink?” He nodded to the bartender then returned his attention to her, penetrative eyes seeking hers out as though he saw something in them, saw into her soul and who she really was. She shivered, but that ripple going up her spine wasn’t unpleasant. No, it warmed her in places that shouldn’t be warmed in a bar full of people. That kind of warmth belonged in the bedroom. He dipped his head and said in her ear, “I have a suite here, if that’s what’s on your mind.” Drawing back, he glanced at her midsection, as if he’d read her thoughts and knew what was going on between her legs. She blushed again—goddamn it—and swallowed. “I’m…uh…to answer your first question, I’d like a glass of white wine, and to your second comment…do you come here often?” Dahlia cursed herself as he chuckled. Great. Do you come here often was not only one of the lamest lines she’d ever heard, but the inference of it made her appear a sex-starved bitch. She’d bet, him being British, he didn’t come here often, and if he did, whoever he’d come with was one lucky woman. “No.” He reached out to tuck up a stray tress that had fallen from her up-do. “I rarely come at all.” She hid a choke of surprise by lightly coughing. “Oh. Right. I—” 7

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“Because I only come with women I have some affection for, some…knowledge that we are suited. But I have yet to find a woman who I felt complete with. Until now.” What the devil was he banging on about? Either he was being sincere or he’d spent quite some time creating unusual pick-up lines with the intent to impress airheads who would fall for them. Dahlia was a lot of things, but she wasn’t a damned airhead. She’d have this drink and go, despite how he made her quiver in her “charming” high heels. The barman came to serve them, and while Connor gave their order, Dahlia took in the new information she’d gleaned. A good-looking guy like him would have women falling all over him, yet he’d claimed he didn’t…well, he claimed he didn’t sleep with women very often. She’d thought, from his looks and whatnot, that he’d have used them to his advantage. Every other guy she knew who had his charisma and handsome face had slept their way through a hundred or more women. Or so they implied. Maybe he’s lying. Maybe he’s got more notches on his bedpost than the average guy. Maybe he thinks because I signed up for a one-night stand that I’m up for anything. I’m not, and I never should have joined, never should have thought I could go through with something like this. But I couldn’t find a PleaseLoveMeForLifeWartsAndAllDotBloodyCom. The barman clunked a bottle of white wine on the bar, bringing her out of her reverie. Connor thanked him, offering no payment, and Dahlia supposed he had an account. Going by his appearance, it stood to reason he’d have a tab, didn’t it? The likes of him didn’t have a clue as to the way people like her lived. “I was poor once,” he said, again seeming to pick up on her thoughts. Had she muttered out loud? She was so used to living alone, that speaking to herself had become an alarmingly frequent occurrence. “Oh, right.” She felt stupid not saying anything more, but what could she say? If she mentioned his obvious wealth, he might think of her as a gold digger. “But everything changed when I—” He smiled at her, not in the least perturbed at having stopped midsentence, and jerked his head, indicating that she follow him to one of the booths. 8

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The booths the couples occupied. “But they’re all full,” she said, looking up at him. He held two glasses in one hand and the uncorked wine bottle in the other. “Really?” His smile reached his eyes, and he walked on, weaving through the crowd. Dahlia remained where she was, watching the sway of his suit jacket, unsure whether to follow or turn tail and run. She wanted to do both in equal measure and, frustrated, dithered from foot to foot, deciding which option to take. He turned then, glancing back at her with one eyebrow quirked, and as though her feet had a mind of their own, she took a step forward. He’d stopped in front of an empty booth, and she looked from side to side, noting all the booths were empty. Where had the people gone? “Oh, fuck it!” she breathed and strode toward him. One glass of wine wouldn’t hurt, and besides, she’d paid for this introduction, and she’d damned well get at least a half hour of his time to make the payment worth it. Whether she could carry it off, acting like someone she wasn’t, she didn’t know, but she’d try—try to be sophisticated and all the things he was bound to expect from a woman. So far, she’d shown him she might possibly be denser than wood in the brain department and someone who gave stupid answers to completely normal questions. Lack of self-confidence was a bitch. Her leather jacket squeaked again as she sat in the enclosed booth, and as he situated himself beside her, thigh once again pressing against hers, he smiled such a devilishly charming smile that she knew it had something to do with that sound. What on earth did he like, leather-wise? Before she could stop herself, she asked, “So. You like leather?” “Oh, I do.” He winked, then focused on pouring the wine. “And so do you.” “And you know this how?” She reached forward and picked up a glass, taking a long sip of wine. The cold fluid pooled in her empty stomach. If she didn’t take it easy she’d be drunk in no time. She looked at him over the rim of the glass. “I know lots of things,” he said mysteriously, with a hint of the sexy danger she’d only ever dreamed about. “Lots of things.” 9

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*** The bottle of wine—they’d finished it, and also another. Now tipsy, Dahlia wobbled in the doorway to Connor’s suite. Oh, she’d agreed to come up here, the alcohol giving her courage, and told herself that if a person signed up for a onenight stand then that’s what she should get. Connor was a dream to look at, had impeccable manners, and seemed to genuinely find her amusing and someone he wanted to spend time with. They’d talked about anything and everything and lots more in between, in the booth Dahlia would always think of now as their own. It felt like she had known him for longer than the two hours she’d spent in his company, and it amazed her that this had happened. How had Evangeline been able to find someone who fitted Dahlia so perfectly? If she didn’t know better, she’d say the owner of 1NightStand was a witch. Rather than dissect the whys and wherefores, and how he seemed to know one hell of a lot about her—damn, she’d given up thinking about that two glasses back—Dahlia took a deep breath and promised herself one night of passion. Shit, she’d never get the chance again, not with someone as divine as Connor, so she may as well go for it. At least she’d have something to daydream about for the rest of her lonely life. Her throat swelled with emotion. Do not even go there, woman. Tears are for later. Connor had walked over to the large living room window while she’d been wobbling in the doorway. He turned now, a lopsided grin on his face, and motioned with his head that she join him. She closed the door, feeling ungainly in her heels, and considered taking them off, but that would have been— “Much as I adore those heels…get them off.” Her stomach rolled again—my God, he was going to send her into the crazy land of creaming her panties where she stood if he commanded her like that again. “And come here.” I’m there. In Crazy Land. With creamed panties.

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She kicked off her heels, concentrating on not falling over as she did so, and tried a sexy saunter as she made her way toward him. She thought she’d pulled it off well enough, and if she went by the glitter in his eyes, she definitely had. Standing before him, with her heart pattering way too fast and her knees weakening beneath his smoldering gaze, Dahlia waited, wanting more commands to spill from his lips. Please, tell me what to do. I have no idea how to act, how to do anything like this… Then I’ll teach you. Show you. Startled, because she’d have sworn his lips hadn’t moved and she’d heard his voice, she swallowed deeply to combat her nerves. The wine was playing tricks on her, for sure. Did you— Yes, but don’t question it. Just for tonight, accept that this is happening, and tomorrow will take care of itself. What was he, some kind of magician? A ventriloquist? Whatever he was, however he spoke to her like that, she couldn’t refuse him. Not when he looked at her as he was doing now, all half-lidded brown eyes and a smile that would charm the birds from the trees. He’d charmed her on glass of wine number one, and if she was honest, he’d charmed her right from when she’d shoved him with the door. Love at first sight didn’t happen, not to Dahlia, but lust at first sight did— and she could recognize this situation for exactly what it was, what she’d signed up for. A one-night stand. Oh, but it’s far more than that, Dahlia Singleton. Much, much more than that. Don’t you remember? I don’t come here often… “Yes,” she whispered. “You said that, but I—” “Didn’t believe me?” He pulled her into his arms, one hand settling on her ass, the other twining in her hair. “I know you didn’t, but I promise you, I do not come here often. To this realm.” “What?” “I’m…I’m a—”

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Damn, he’d cut himself off again. What did he mean, he didn’t come to this realm often? Where the bloody hell did he live then? Mars? “Something like that, pretty Dahlia.” “Oh, you’re funny!” She swatted the air, going along with his little joke. What was a little weirdness when presented with a man like him? If he thought himself an alien or whatever, she didn’t care. No, she’d take what he offered and enjoy her damn self. “You don’t believe me,” he stated, “yet you can hear me when I’m not speaking, which tells me you are—” He damn well did it again, stopped midsentence. She opened her mouth to ask why he did that, but he crooked a finger beneath her chin, tilted her head up, and swooped down to cover her mouth with his. That kiss, it burned brightly with the promise of so much—everything Dahlia had wanted from a kiss. Soul-searing, special, soft, and perfect—so perfect that her knees weakened and her heart rate picked up speed. She returned the kiss, loving the feel of his tongue brushing hers, the way his fingertips massaged her scalp. If she died tonight, she’d die a happy woman from this alone. And I would die a happy man… A whimper sounded, and it took a moment for her to realize it had come from her. She embraced him, hands smoothing up and down his back, and she risked a daring move to cup both his ass globes. He stiffened against her, a groan rumbling in his chest, the reverberation transferring to hers. Oh, God, he was delicious, tasted of a good night to come and a whole lot of sexiness, and she pushed herself into him, memorizing how it felt to be near someone so masculine, so beautiful. He lifted her then, into his big strong arms, the warmest embrace she’d ever had, and broke the kiss to look down at her. He turned, taking her to the window, and she rested her head on his shoulder, holding on tight with her hands about his neck. For the first time in her life, she didn’t feel embarrassed—being held like a baby, as though she were precious, was a new experience, one she would treasure forever. Look at the lights out there, Dahlia. Aren’t they beautiful? 12

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She stared out the window, taking in the sight of Las Vegas lit up, the multitude of sparkles in different colors breathtaking. She felt so safe, so wanted here like this, that she was hard pressed to remember a time that rivaled it. Dahlia went down Thought Road, where she recalled that for most of her life she’d been alone, felt unwanted, in the way, someone who didn’t fit. She’d come to Las Vegas to start again, the glamour and glitz an enticement she hadn’t been able to ignore. After all, she could lose herself in Vegas, got to meet so many different people, and working at Planet Hollywood had made her feel like the star she wasn’t. You’ll always feel like a star with me, Dahlia. She swallowed the lump in her throat and dared to glance up at him, leaving a tear to trickle down her cheek. She was done with wiping them away. Connor held her easily in one arm and smoothed the tear, wiping until all traces of it was gone, and she wondered, for a moment, what it would be like to be with him for all time. “You can find out, if you want,” he said. “And I know you have many questions as to what I am, where I come from, and how I can want someone like you, but they can wait until tomorrow. Tonight? Well, I’m going to take you in my arms and love you. And you want to be loved, don’t you?” She nodded, and he left the window, carrying her through the living room and into a bedroom that came right out of her dreams. Candlelight flickered in long tapers on every surface—two sets of drawers, a sideboard, an occasional table— and she briefly wondered who had lit them and when. “I did,” he said, lowering her to the plush-carpeted floor. “How?” “With my mind.” He said it so casually, so easily, that she accepted the explanation as though she heard such insanities every day. The wine. It had to be the wine. Or the dream she’d told herself she was having. “It’s no dream, pretty Dahlia, but if you want to tell yourself that….” He reached out and drew her leather jacket down her arms, holding it against his stomach as he studied her. “Now, take off that dress.” 13

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His voice held authority, and reams of sex-laden visions flickered through her mind. “Watch them all, Dahlia. Who is in those visions? You? Me?” She nodded, caught up watching herself and Connor in sexual poses she’d never thought were possible. “And do you see where we are?” She nodded again. “On a bed, in what looks like a bedroom in a castle.” “That’s right. My home. Somewhere far away. Somewhere I will take you, so you understand who I am.” Her breath caught, and she shook her head, maintaining eye contact as she shimmied out of her dress. She let it pool on the floor and stepped out of it, surprised at her lack of embarrassment at standing before him in her black panties, bra, and stockings. “Now the rest. Take it all off. I want to see you naked.” Now, the embarrassment came in the form of a heated blush that grew from her chest, up her neck, and settled on her cheeks. She immediately worried that her face flamed an unsightly bright red. He smiled then chuckled, a sexy rumble that wet her cunt and set her clit to throbbing. “You look prettier when you blush. Please, take off the rest.” After taking a deep breath, she slipped her bra straps off her shoulders and unhooked the band, peeling the lace from her body and dropping it on the bed. Still looking at him, she slid her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and drew them down her legs, tossing them to settle with her bra. With a surge of courage that came from nowhere, she lifted one leg and rested it on the mattress edge, then rolled her stocking down her leg. She repeated the action on her other leg, never so thankful that she’d shaved before coming out tonight. “Very nice. So beautiful. Turn around. Let me see all of you.” Dahlia took her foot from the bed and planted it firmly on the floor. The alcohol that had so recently swum through her veins had disappeared, leaving her part vulnerable, part brave. She pirouetted, shoving the vulnerable away and welcoming the brave, hugging it to her so she could get through this without making a fool of herself. 14

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Don’t worry, Dahlia. Be yourself. She faced him again, purposely not covering her breasts or cunt, sensing that he wished to inspect all of her. Surprisingly, she didn’t feel under scrutiny in the sense that she was uncomfortable—more that she felt adored, as though he looked upon her as someone of incredible beauty. His expression—something she hadn’t seen on any man before, all wide-eyed amazement and lazy grin—told her that by some miracle of fate, this man, this gorgeous, hunk of a man, found her desirable. And I do. So very much. Now, get on the bed. She shivered at his tone, loving the spirals of desire that surged from her core to her clit, and obeyed. Settling her head on the puffy pillows, she waited for what he would do next. He threw her leather jacket on the bed beside her. “Put that back on.” Oh, God. Oh, God, this is so hot. So damn hot… It is, Dahlia, and you are turning me on. She was? Dahlia shifted her gaze from his face, down his shirted chest, and came to a stop at his pelvis. His erection bulged beneath the fabric of his pants, and she sucked in a breath of wonder that she had caused that. Quickly, she put on her jacket and made herself comfortable again, watching him as he shirked off his jacket and let it drop to the floor. His shirt followed, and she gasped at the planes of his body, the way his stomach muscles tapered and disappeared beneath his waistband. His large biceps screamed out for her to touch them, and her cunt grew wetter, her clit throbbing harder. She wanted to touch herself to alleviate the building pressure there, but resisted—Connor would do a better job than she ever could. Kicking his shoes off, he removed his pants and socks, revealing that he wore no underwear. He stood at the foot of the bed, his hard cock jutting out from his body, a scribble of dark hairs surrounding its base. There was no trace of insecurity about him, yet at the same time, it wasn’t because he knew he looked good. No, there was something else…like he was proud to have her look at him and find herself wanting him so much—more than she’d ever wanted anyone else.

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Natalie Dae

He knew—yes, he knew exactly what she thought; he’d proved that by reading her mind. With slow, languid movements, he crawled up onto the bed, rested on his haunches, then lifted her, setting her down on his lap. She curled her legs around him, her arms about his neck, and the leather jacket creaked again. They groaned at the same time, and he slid his hands beneath the jacket to clasp her waist. His hands, God, they were so big and warm, and the contact sent shivers over her skin and a spike of lust to her cunt. Gently, he raised her, and his cock tip nestled in her entrance. She held her breath, looking up at him, then sank down, letting him fill her, stretch her to her limits. The feel of him inside her ratcheted up her desire and prompted the instinct to ride him hard and fast. He lifted his eyebrows and smiled, then bent his head to kiss her, at the same time using his grip on her waist to set her rocking. She dug her knees into the mattress and drowned in his kiss, allowing him total access to her mouth. His tongue plundered, sought out every space inside, as though he wanted to possess every inch of her. And, God, she felt beautiful, desired, and so very special. Heat burned inside her, the kind that grew quickly in intensity and urged her to work faster. She upped her speed, lifting, then ramming down onto him, a frenzy overtaking her. Digging her nails into his shoulder blades, she raked them down his skin, enjoying the sound of his appreciative moan. She wrenched her mouth away, wanting to taste his skin, and laved a path with her tongue from his collarbone to his ear. He rubbed his cheek against hers, and she suckled his earlobe, the skin soft on her tongue. Passion ignited inside her, so swift and urgent that she knew it wouldn’t be long before she exploded. She drew her nails up his back again and clamped her hands over his shoulders, pushing down for leverage as she rode him. He sought out her mouth for another kiss, licking the seam where her lips met, and moved his hands from her waist to cross his arms over her back and bring her closer. Her skin, the exposed strip where the jacket didn’t meet, warmed when he hugged her to his chest, and a ribbon of excitement swirled through her lower body, spreading out into tendrils to heat her.

16

Just For Tonight

A flash of daring hit her, and she eased off him and turned around, sinking onto his cock. She leaned back, his broad chest pressed against her back, and braced her hands on her thighs. Rising and falling on his shaft, she smiled as his hands snaked under her jacket to cup her breasts. This feels so good, Dahlia. I can touch you here… He tweaked a nipple. And here… He trailed one hand down to her soft folds, two fingertips gliding over her wet clit. She sucked in a sharp breath, her sensitive nerves buzzing from his touch. He applied pressure, circling her nub, the strength of his strokes releasing a rush of sensation from there straight into her cunt. Dahlia gripped her thighs harder, nails digging into her flesh, and hissed through her teeth. She strove to reach the peak, unable to concentrate on any one feeling—his fingers on her nipple, his fingers on her clit, his warm kisses on the side of her neck. Light breaths shunted out of him, warming her skin, and she shivered in delight. I want you to come, Dahlia. Let go and come. She worked harder, faster, thrusting down onto him. Drawing back up, leaving only his tip inside, she waited a beat before plunging onto him again. She repeated the motion, gaining speed, and he groaned out his pleasure. Dahlia joined him, releasing a strangled moan as her climax descended, crashing over her with great waves of desire. She felt his cock stiffen further, then throb, and then the sweet heat of his ejaculation soaked her walls and aided her movements. She glided up and down, clenching her teeth as her pelvis spasmed from the force of her orgasm. His nipple tweaks changed to soft caresses, and his fingers stilled on her clit. His hand drifted from there to stroke her thigh, and she hung her head back, turning her face to the side to look up at him. He dipped his head, drawing his hand away from her breast to run a trail up and down her leathercovered arm, and a light puff of air reached her mouth a moment before his lips. He kissed her sweetly, a tender joining that had her clit throbbing for more of his expert handling. How had she nearly turned him away? What she would have missed if she had gone home! There are many more hours left of this night, Dahlia. Care to share them with me? 17

Natalie Dae

*** Dahlia roused but didn’t open her eyes. Her inner eyelids were red from sunlight streaming in her window, and she smiled at the memory of that amazing dream with the amazing Connor. A shuffle sounded, and she frowned, wondering if she’d left the window open last night and the drapes were billowing. But there was no breeze, and she distinctly felt a body spooning hers, an arm draped over her stomach… She shot upright, twisting around to see who the hell was in her bed. Connor? “Good morning, Dahlia.” Oh, God. She’d known he wasn’t a dream, really, had only been kidding herself that it was, because that weird thing he did by speaking in her mind wasn’t normal, couldn’t really happen. And now morning’s cruel reality slammed into her. She must look a mess, with her hair a tangled bush, her black clip God knew where, and her makeup undoubtedly smeared. Mascara panda eyes were so not en vogue, and she didn’t do these morning-after rituals with guys. “Is that what this is?” he asked. “A morning-after ritual? Surely you don’t believe that.” She turned and snuggled her chest against his. A little more affection wouldn’t hurt, would it? “I told you last night, meant everything I said. I’ll show you my home, the realm where I live, and explain exactly why I can speak with my mind, why you can hear me.” She swirled a finger around his nipple. “But it’s all so…so weird. This kind of thing doesn’t happen to me.” “What kind of thing?” He kissed her forehead. “This. Meeting you. Having you talk in my head. You speaking of other realms.” She paused. “You gave me drugs, didn’t you. In the wine. You slipped me something.” She smiled, not believing a word of what she’d said, but it seemed the best way to rationalize what had happened between them. 18

Just For Tonight

“I’ll show you, and then you’ll understand. You don’t have to leave here to see it. I can show you, like I did last night, with images.” She closed her eyes and allowed him to fill her mind with visions. And then she understood, and accepted, that she had spent the night with a very special someone she never wanted to let go. Voices in her head or not, she wanted him like no other. She had questions, but their answers didn’t seem to matter. Nothing did, except him. Just for today, accept that this is happening, and tomorrow and the rest of our lives will take care of themselves, pretty Dahlia.

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~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~

With over fifty books published in various pen names, you could say Natalie Dae has been rather a busy bee. Or you could say she’s insane, has no life, and seriously needs to go and see a specialist of some kind. Natalie writes romance and erotica tales, although she has penned a few m/m tales in her time as Sarah Masters. She also writes mainstream, horror, psychological, and thrillers as Charley Oweson. Some days, she has no clue who she is. She has five children, whose ages range from 8-19, a grandson, three irritating black cats, and a husband, who thankfully, isn’t irritating. Visit Natalie online at: www.nataliedae.blogspot.com

The 1 Night Stand Series To Feel Again by Valerie Mann The Virgin and the Playboy by Kate Richards Just for Tonight by Natalie Dae Familiar Desires by Olivia Starke Panties Optional by Stephanie Beck Burn Me if You Can by Mahalia Levey One Night With a Wolf by Rebecca Royce Fairy Casanova by Gracen Miller Forever Bound by Stacey Kennedy Erotic Healing by Becca Dale Maggie’s Secret Wish by Starla Kaye Wings of a Butterfly by Azrifah Zakaria Back in the Saddle by Ashlynn Monroe It’s a Jungle Out There by Stephanie Williams Takedown by Stacey Kennedy The Middlesex Suite by Gwendolyn Page A Bid for Love by KT Grant

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