Page 6 of Play With Me
“Cocky.” She grins, finishing her martini and raising the glass to the bartender to signal for a new one. While she’s looking at him, I stare at her crimson-painted lips and imagine what they’d look like wrapped around my thick cock.
It’s been a while since I’ve fucked anyone. Too long. Only five seconds in, and I think this stunningwoman and I are already on the same page. There’s no wedding ring on her finger. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a green light.
“It’s working, though, isn’t it?” I flash her a smirk.
She shakes her head with a throaty chuckle. “You can’t handle me, sweetheart.”
Challenge fucking accepted.
“Baby, when I’m through with you, you’ll be begging for seconds, thirds, and fourths because I handled you so well.”
The bartender doesn’t disguise his snort as he gives her another drink. Okay, so it was a cheesy pickup line. I’m shooting my shot here. That would have worked on a girl back home.
I’m not dealing with a girl here, though. She’s a woman, and she’s completely unphased. “Where are you from, smooth guy?”
“What makes you think I’m not a local?” My food arrives, but I ignore it, now hungry for something else instead.
Huffing a laugh, she eyes me again. “Everything about you.”
I’m wearing jeans and a black shirt, my California tan highlighting all the tattoos on my arms. Guess that’s too casual for flashy New York. “West Coast. In town on business for a little while.”
“What kind of business?” She takes a long pull of her drink, finishing half of it in one gulp. It makes mewonder if she’s got a gag reflex. Barely five minutes, and the only thing I can think of is having sex with this woman.
“What’s your name?” I don’t answer her. The less people who know I’m a detective, the better. If she pushes, I’ll pull a bullshit job title out of my ass.
“Cara. Yours?”
“Anders.” I don’t know why I tell her my real name or, at least, my nickname. Usually, I’d tell a woman my last name because it’s less personal and harder for them to try and track me down afterward.
“Well, Anders. Welcome to New York.” She leans over and grabs a fry from my plate. She smells like rich chocolate with a touch of tobacco and vanilla. Her scent drapes itself along my skin, winding around my organs until it grabs the one between my legs and strokes it roughly. “Be careful. This city will eat you alive.”
Cara makes a show of sliding the fry through her lips, pushing it between them with a pointed, black-painted nail. Then she slips off her stool after finishing her drink. Nodding to the bartender, she tells him, “Have a good night, Danny. Put these on my tab, would you?”
Wait a second. What?
“Sure thing, Cara. Be careful getting home,” he responds while he makes a batch of blue-colored martinis.
She winks at me as she heads for the exit. “Night, smooth guy.”
Too stunned to speak, I watch her leave.
“You’re a fucking idiot if you don’t go after her. That’s as good of an invitation as you’ll get from her, dude,”Dannysays.
Quickly, I drain my drink and slap a hundred next to my plate of untouched food. “Keep the change.”
When I make it outside, she’s getting into a cab. Pushing a few people out of my way, I open the other side’s door just as she shuts hers and climb in next to her. “The St. Regis,” I tell the driver.
She blinks at me with wide eyes when I meet her gaze. “Bold,” she says sharply.
Slinging my arm around the back of her seat, I flash her a smile that usually melts the panties off the women back home. “Confident, baby.”
Cara scrutinizes me for a few seconds before humming. “Consider me intrigued, smooth guy.”
It takes far too much time to travel the ten blocks to my hotel. By the time we arrive, my knee is bouncing uncontrollably, and I’m already sporting an erection the size of a baseball bat. All Cara did the whole way was watch me like she was getting ready to eat a bloody steak after fasting for a week. She looks absolutely ravenous, and I’m more than ready to satiate her hunger.
“A suite? Must be some job,” she lilts as we walkinto the room, shrugging off her jacket and placing it with her purse on the sofa. Her top is backless, and now that I’m getting a better look at it, I have a feeling she’s wearing lingerie beneath her pantsuit. My cock salutes her, standing at attention. Then I’m hit with the reality that I don’t have any condoms.
“Fuck, I don’t have a condom.”