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My back slams unceremoniously against the wall right inside my hotel room door, but I don’t even register any pain. Why? Because the man who pushed me into the wall just dropped to his knees in front of me, ready to devour my pussy.

I should back up a few hours, I think.

It’s my first night in Denver, Colorado, where I moved to be closer to one of my older brothers. Grant plays for the NHL team here, the Wolves, and he’s been pretty miserable since he was traded two seasons ago from our hometown of Portland, Oregon. Grant and I have always been close, and it was an easy decision to follow him to Colorado. I excitedly packed up all my belongings and started the two-day drive across the Rockies.

Grant volunteered his bare-bones apartment for my first night, but I graciously declined. His mattress is on the floor for crying out loud, and he survives on takeout food and energy drinks. He has barstools, a couch, and the biggest television I’ve ever seen. If this is where he brings women home, I’d imagine this is also why I haven’t heard a thing about any relationships. I bet he doesn’t even keep cookable food in the place to make them breakfast after a night of debauchery. I’ll probably stay with him after my hotel splurge, but just for tonight, I’m going to live a little.

I’ve read so many stories about athletes and their strict diets, how health-conscious they are, and how they never put processed foods into their bodies. Grant is the exception to that rule, since his diet rivals that of a fifteen-year-old boy going through puberty and eating a family-size bag of pizza rolls every afternoon. It’s appalling, and I want no part of that. Don’t get me wrong, I love my brother. We have a fantastic sibling relationship, which seems to improve as we age. I can tell Grant anything. But the fact that we barely survived the teenage years living in the same home tells me we shouldn’t live together as adults. Plus, most boys are just gross.

I decided to treat myself to a nice hotel on the outskirts of town for the night, until I could find an apartment that meets my needs and budget. Is this realistic? No, not really. I’m thankful I have my brother here to fall back on if needed. But I knew I needed to get out of Portland. I just felt so stuck. Stifled. Thirty years old, and I’m starting over in a new state. While I have some savings to ease the pain of no current income, I knew the hotel and meal out would be my last hurrah for a while. And it’s just my luck that the most attractive man I’ve ever seen sat next to me at the restaurant bar next door to my hotel. Devilishly handsome. Dark brown hair with a natural wave that kept falling across his forehead. The deepest brown eyes I’d ever seen. He’s quite a bit taller than me, well over six feet, and I quickly had inappropriate visions of what it would be like to be with him.

He told me his name was Gabe, and we got to talking about Colorado. He’s also not from here, but he gave me tons of advice on Colorado survival.

“It’s crazy windy here. Way windier than you’d think,” he said.

I shrugged and rolled my eyes. “It’s windy everywhere.”

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you? But we routinely get hurricane-force winds here.”

I’m sorry, what now?

“Oh, and don’t rent an apartment, or house, where the parking is on the north side of the building.”

“Why?”

“Because the snow won’t melt. Ever.”

I laughed, thinking he was joking, but his expression never changes. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Tons of memes about it. A tale of two Colorados. South facing buildings have the sun to melt all the snow, so you won’t even need to shovel it. Well, most of the time.”

“Most of the time?” I remember asking.

He scratched his head in thought. “If it’s a blizzard, or we get two or three feet of snow, that changes things.”

Holy shit. Feet of snow. Feet . Snow in Portland was rare, and hardly ever amounted to more than a couple inches.

“Are you a sports fan?” Gabe asked suddenly, jarring me from my hyper focus on snow.

“Why?” I asked warily. I’m always hesitant to tell anyone about my brother. Grant had already told me the sports fans in Denver were nuts.

“Fans here are pretty rabid for their teams. If you’re a fan of another team, I’d suggest keeping quiet about it.” I don’t say a word about Grant, hockey, or my overall interest in sports. I’m thankful I didn’t wear Grant’s number twelve Wolves jersey, or any of the other hockey related paraphernalia I’ve accumulated over the years. I did always think it was cool to wear a jersey with our last name, McNally, on it. Back home, people even call me by Grant’s hockey nickname, Nally. But, for all I know, Gabe could be a huge hockey fan, and then he’ll try to get me to introduce him. No thank you.

Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the first time a man used me to get to Grant, or his teammates.

I’m the youngest in my family, with all three of my brothers playing professional sports. Honestly, it’s a wonder my parents survived all of our childhoods. You’d think we must have some amazing genetics at play, right? Not even close. My father owns an HVAC company, and my mom is a nurse. And I’m quite possibly the least coordinated woman in the world. I can trip on air. Don’t put a set of skates on me and expect it to be successful. Granted, I did play hockey growing up. Since the rest of my siblings were obsessed with sports, I figured I could try one. Hockey was the only sport that excited me. And if I’m stationary, I have excellent aim with the puck. Just don’t ask me to move while controlling the stick and the puck. And if you want me to throw or kick a ball, don’t be mad when it somehow hits you in the face when you weren’t even on the field.

I’m digressing.

The more Gabe and I talked as we ate, the more I could feel the sexual chemistry building between us. Our conversations got a little more intimate. We turned toward each other. I touched his hand. He pushed a piece of hair behind my ear. I dragged my fingertip down a line of script on the inside of his arm, and then he put his hand on my thigh.

He’s lucky I didn’t mount him right there.

When our bills came, and he grabbed mine, I thanked him by asking if he’d like a nightcap in my hotel room. His response of, “I’d fucking love one,” will forever be embedded in my memory for how husky and seductive he sounded.

Gabe’s lips are on mine before the elevator doors close, and my hands are carving a path along the spectacular back muscles under his shirt soon thereafter. When the doors ding, signaling the arrival at my floor, he unceremoniously throws me over his shoulder before taking off down the hallway.

“Room nine-fourteen,” I giggle.

“Get the key ready, or I’m fucking you in the hallway, Firecracker,” Gabe grunts as he sprints toward my room. He’s called me Firecracker a few times tonight, and I love it more than I thought I would. Typically, I find pet names to be icky, but this seems endearing and cute.

“Why are you calling me Firecracker?” I ask as we arrive at my room, and he puts me back on my feet.

“Because your face lit up more than once when you were talking tonight, and I have a feeling it’s going to be fucking spectacular to watch you come,” he says against my hair. I stifle a moan as he pulls me back into his body, leaning down to kiss my neck and slide the tip of his tongue against my skin. I shiver and reach up to grab his hair, holding his head against me. My neck is incredibly sensitive, and I love it when men spend time kissing me there once they realize how much I like it. I don’t miss the vibration of Gabe’s chuckle as he slides a hand around my waist, covering my hand, before dragging it up to wave the keycard in front of the room lock.

Goodness. Gabe teased fucking me in the hallway, and I’m already so far gone that I’d probably have let him. Gabe pushes me gently into the room after I open the door, and once it’s closed, I drop my things on the floor and turn into his arms. His lips are on mine immediately, his tongue flicking into my mouth as I wrap my arms around his neck. When his hands finally slide to my ass, he grabs and lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist.

Moaning, I latch onto his hair as I suck his tongue into my mouth, and Gabe kneads my ass as he spins us to push me against the door. He breaks off the kiss and pants against my cheek. “You can’t suck my tongue like that, Firecracker. Makes me want you on your knees right fucking now, with my cock down your throat.”

“God, yes,” I whimper. I’m not a big fan of blowjobs, but for some reason, I’m aching to taste him.

“Not yet. First time I’m coming, it’ll be in this pussy,” Gabe growls as he slides a hand between my legs from behind. Looking up at him, I see his lips are puffy. Hooded eyes stare at me fervently as his breathing quickens. I’m only wearing a very thin pair of leggings, and my utterly saturated thong is doing little to conceal how hot and wet I am. “Jesus Christ, Cassie. You’re soaked. This all for me, baby?”

For crying out loud. Why is a man calling me baby so damn hot?

Gabe reaches around to grab one ankle, pushing it down so my legs move from his waist. When my feet touch the ground, he drops to his knees. Shit. I’ve been driving all day. I haven’t showered yet. There’s no way I’m fresh and ready for oral. “Gabe, no, wait.”

He looks up at me, and I can barely see his eyes in the dark room. “If you’re about to tell me that you’ve been on the road all day and you don’t want me to get your taste on my tongue, I’ve got half a mind to throw you over my leg and spank the hell out of you. I don’t want to taste fucking soap, Firecracker. I want to taste you .”

Good God. I may have just come. That is the hottest thing a man has ever said to me. Quite possibly the hottest thing any man has ever said.

I must moan incoherently because Gabe rests his head against my thigh and laughs. “May I continue?”

I’m fairly certain I reply in the affirmative, but it is complete gibberish. Gabe’s hands grab the hem of my leggings, pulling them down to my ankles, before helping me to step out of them and my shoes. I’m a heartbeat away from grabbing my thong to remove it as well, but Gabe stops me when he leans forward and tongues my clit through the fabric. At that point, I forget how to breathe.

It’s an odd juxtaposition between the wetness of his tongue, and the coarseness of my lace thong against my clit, and it’s making me crazy. I don’t know what feeling to focus on, and then he slides one finger underneath the fabric to swirl against my opening. Pushing inside, my body clamps down on his digit as he quickly finds my G-spot and rubs against it. I’m two seconds from coming when he leans back slightly, and I cry out in frustration.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll get you there,” he whispers as he grabs ahold of the side of my thong and snaps it in half. “Put one leg on my shoulder.”

I dutifully follow his order as his thumb finds my engorged button of nerves. I cry out again, this time from pleasure, as Gabe slowly rubs his thumb around and around. Collecting my wetness, he swivels his hand before pushing his thumb against my back hole. I don’t have time to think before Gabe latches his lips around my clit, adds a second finger inside my pussy, and pushes his thumb just beyond the ring of muscle. He moans against me as my hands grab his head, and I reflexively begin to move his head how I want him to lick me.

“That’s it, baby, use me,” he mutters against me, and I feel emboldened, so I push his face further into my pussy. I’m moaning loudly, gyrating against Gabe’s face, and I vaguely hear voices outside the door. Stiffening, I move to push Gabe away, but he latches harder on my clit. “Ignore them, Firecracker. Come for me. Give me what’s mine.”

Sucking my clit again, he nibbles just hard enough to send me into one hell of an orgasm. The triple threat of his tongue, fingers in my pussy, and his thumb in my ass make me erupt in a way I’ve never experienced before. White-hot pleasure courses through my body, starting at my feet, in a wave that overtakes me, and robs me of the ability to breathe. My knees buckle, and I begin to collapse, but Gabe catches me as he stands.

Three long strides later, we’re catapulted onto the bed.

“I figured you would fuck me against the door,” I say breathlessly.

“Thought about it. But I prefer having more room to move around. Since you’re a good eight inches shorter than me, Firecracker, it could be a feat of physics and prayer for sex against a door. Also, who the hell knows when that door was last cleaned?” Gabe shudders against me dramatically.

“Germaphobe?”

“Sort of. I’m around gross guys a lot. I can’t make them be cleaner, though.”

I don’t ask any further questions. We decided a while ago that we wouldn’t share personal information, other than our first names. I think we both know this is a one-night thing. Scratching an itch. I’ll never see him again in a city this big.

“How about you stop talking and fuck me?” I ask as I pull his head down to mine. Gabe chuckles against my mouth as he slides his tongue against mine, and I’m pleasantly surprised that I don’t hate the taste of myself. Maybe it’s a combination of his manly taste with mine, or perhaps I’m just so turned on that I don’t care. But a few long kisses later, I’m shimmying against him like a nympho needing another hit of an orgasm.

“Slow down, Firecracker. We’ve got all night,” Gabe says as he bites my nipple through my shirt and bra.

“I’m the most impatient woman you’ll ever meet, dammit,” I moan.

“I highly doubt that. You strike me as a woman with infinite patience.”

He’s not wrong. My degree is in early childhood education, and I usually have more patience with children than I do with adults. But right now, my body is taut with feral need, and if he doesn’t make me come in the next minute, I’m taking it upon myself to finish the task at hand. Yeah, I had an orgasm against the door. But Gabe makes me want more. Need more. I have this nagging feeling that every orgasm with him will get better.

“I think the next time you come needs to be on my cock,” he murmurs. I look at the door, somewhat disappointed that he didn’t throw me against it. I read romance books. All the heroes seem to toss their women around. Sex against doors, walls, and even in the shower. When am I going to experience all that? “Fucking hell, Firecracker. You’re still thinking about the door.”

“I mean, I know I’m not skinny, but you’re solid muscle, and I think you could easily hold me against the door,” I comment. I have curves. Pockets of flab here and there. I’m not skin and bones, and I never intend to be. I like food too much.

Gabe’s head pops up from my chest. “Did you seriously just say you aren’t skinny? Jesus, Cassie. Your body is fucking perfect.”

“I just meant I’m not tiny.”

“What is your definition of tiny?” he asks.

I shrug. “Well, I guess thinner than me. Bony. Easy to pick up and throw around.”

Gabe’s eyes narrow as he studies me. “Guess you threw down the gauntlet, didn’t you?”

“What? No, I didn’t throw anything — woah!” I shout as Gabe instantly picks me up and holds me over his head.

“Want me to try it one-handed?” he asks with a devilish glint in his stare.

“Uh, no, I think I’ll just give you the benefit of the doubt,” I answer hastily. I’d prefer not to have to visit a hospital tonight.

Gabe slowly lowers me until our faces meet, kissing my lips softly. “You really want sex against the door?”

I ponder for a moment. Do I? Honestly, I’ve never been with someone so virile and strong. I like that Gabe can manhandle me, yet I feel safe and cocooned in this warmth at the same time. And since I’ll never see him again, I finally nod. When in Rome. Or maybe it’s bite the bullet. Whatever.

Gabe chuckles as he pivots and walks to the door. “You gonna be quiet, or you want to alert the entire floor to what we’re doing?”

I hesitate before responding, “I’m not entirely sure.”

The answering smile I get is full of fondness, with a cheekiness I didn’t expect. I think Gabe wants me to be loud.

“Do you want me to alert the floor to our shenanigans?” I ask incredulously.

“Shenanigans?” he laughs. “Yeah, baby. I think I’d like you to be loud. Bet I can make you really sing.”

He did.

Four times.