Page 29

Violet

I slide back into my seat at the table and whisper to Ash, “I’m bringing a friend. Don’t make it weird.”

“Don’t make what w—?” Ash trails off and her eyes bulge as the guy from the bar strolls over.

I’m not the kind of woman who gets distracted by a pretty face. I work with hot guys all the time. I’m good at putting my libido on lockdown. The same thing applies to tall men with incredible bodies. Truly, my job would be a permanent nightmare if I got overstimulated by every pair of rock-hard thighs that came to my attention.

But this new guy is hot enough to break through my practiced indifference—and then some.

His hair is a sandy brown with just enough sun-kissed gold to make it look expensive. Styled in that perfectly messy way that takes actual effort. His facial hair is trimmed tight around a jaw that could probably cut glass—rugged, not scruffy. Careful, curated chaos.

His body? Let’s just say… he clearly lifts. A lot. And not for aesthetics—though holy shit, the aesthetics are working for me. Broad chest, boulder shoulders, arms inked up with tribal-inspired tattoos that make me think of summer, sweat, and sin.

And tall. So tall I look fun-sized next to him. Like he could pick me up with one arm and use the other to make it really hard to keep quiet.

Total spinner material.

And yet, he’s smiling—easy, unbothered, like he doesn’t even realize how heart-attack handsome he is. It’s infuriating. And stupid hot.

God help me.

At that thought, I reach to pour myself some of the limoncello I just ordered.

Down, Vi. You don’t need to imagine what it would be like for this guy to pick you up and toss you around, even if he does have the muscles for it.

Aaaaand, great, now I’m imagining it. In vivid detail.

Like, wall sex detail. Like, one hand under my ass, the other pinning my wrists above my head while I make sounds I’ve only ever heard in porn detail.

Woof.

But it’s not just the size of him. It’s the way he watches me—like he’s already undressing me in his mind, but not just for fun. Like he’s studying me. Learning me.

I want to know what else those hands can do. What he sounds like when he groans. If he’s selfish in bed or the kind of man who’ll spend thirty minutes between my legs just to see me fall apart.

God. Can he do that? Or is he all looks and no follow-through?

Because if he’s got the goods and the skills to back it up… I might actually let myself be a little reckless.

“Hey, there.” Mr. Tall, Not Quite Blond, and Ripped beams down at us as he proffers his drinks. His hands are big enough to carry his beer and all three of our fresh drinks, two in each hand. Have I mentioned that he has very nice hands? It looks like he moisturizes.

“Hey,” I croak. Smooth, Vi. I clear my throat and try for a sultrier voice. “What did you bring us?”

“Peach bellinis.” He gestures the glasses toward us, like he’s trying to waft the smell in our direction. “Apparently they’re a house specialty.”

“Not shots,” Ash observes. “Interesting.” Her expression is perfectly neutral. Apparently, this man’s charms haven’t rubbed off on her yet. That tracks. Ash is particular about the people she spends her time with, and while she has been known to connect with people she’s just met, she’s a firm believer in the vetting process.

He smiles at her, and objectively speaking, my knees turn to jelly. It’s a good thing I’m sitting down, or I might very well topple into a needy little heap at his feet. What’s wrong with me? I’m never this thirsty. It has been way too long since I got laid. I’m tempted to crawl across the table and sniff him.

Although, come to think of it, that might be the liquor talking.

“Shots go fast,” he says with a slight Midwestern accent, and his eyes flick toward me. “I prefer to take my time.”

Ash whistles. “Damn, sir. Okay, you can stay. What’s your name?”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second. “Friends call me Murph. And since we’re friends now, I guess that applies to you ladies, too.” He sets the drinks down. “And you are?”

“Vi.” I toss my hair off my shoulder and pray that I don’t look as thirsty as I feel.

“It’s my pleasure to meet you, Vi.” Murph cocks his head toward Ash. “And you are?”

“Astrid. But my friends call me Ash.” Her smile is uneven as she takes a sip of the drink Murph brought her. I know this look: she’s prepared to yes, and me into an adventure. Left to my own devices, I’d flirt shamelessly with Murph all night, then go home and take out my pent-up sexual frustration on some toy or other. Once she decides a shenanigan is worth her time, Ash is a born enabler. Sometimes I wish I knew myself as well as she does.

“Do the two of you live in Vegas?” Murph asks. When we nod, he asks, “I got here yesterday, and I haven’t had a chance to explore yet.”

Ash and I take turns listing and debating the best tourist attractions, our favorite restaurants, and the best place to catch shows. Murph listens politely, and he’s attentive when Ash talks… but it’s obvious that most of his attention is reserved for me. The warmth in my face has nothing to do with the liquor I’ve imbibed and everything to do with the way Murph’s eyes keep dropping to my lips whenever I speak—like he’s imagining what they’d look like wrapped around a moan. Or a promise. Or him.

He’s not ogling. He’s… tracking. Studying. Devouring me like he’s already tasted me and wants another bite.

And God help me, I want to be devoured.

I wonder what his mouth would feel like on mine—if he kisses like he looks. Like he’d grip the back of my neck and make me forget my name. I wonder what his hands would do to my skin, if he’d be rough or reverent. If he’d whisper filthy things or make me beg.

I bet he could make me beg.

Half an hour into our conversation, Murph excuses himself so that he can find the restroom. He’s barely out of earshot before Ash reaches across the table to grab my hand.

“You should totally hook up with him,” she says.

I laugh and swat her hand away. “And how many one night stands have you ever known me to have?”

She lifts one shoulder and lets it drop. “None. Your point is?”

I polish off the dregs of my drink, which is thinned and watery from the melted ice. “I don’t even know how to do a one night stand.”

Ash clicks her tongue, like she’s decided I’m hopeless. “Simple. You have sex. You leave. He’s simply a tool, like the ball I gifted you, only instead of sticking it in the closet when you’re done, you go home.”

I press my thighs together. I want him, obviously, but I’m not a hookup kind of girl. Ash does have one valid point, though, which is that I’m deep into a multi-year dry spell. I have no romantic prospects on the horizon, either. “I mean… when you put it like that.” I point to the empty chair. “But doesn’t he go home?”

Ash’s headshake is emphatic. “No. You never invite a one night stand to your place. They should never know where you live!”

“Let’s say I’m considering it,” I hedge. “What if he expects a…” I mouth the word blowjob. “You know I’ve never done that before.”

“There are no bjs in one night stands,” Ash says, with the authority of one who knows. “And if you need one more incentive… remember the bucket list.”

I remember all too well. I also happen to remember that we crafted that bucket list in high school, before we watched Sex Sent Me to the ER , and unlocked the aforementioned fear of cock in mouth.

“What about the list?” I rub my jaw, remembering the scene that has haunted me ever since.

“A one-night-stand is on your bucket list.” Ash slaps her palm on the table triumphantly. “And this guy is perfect for ticking that particular item off. He’s from out of town. Totally your type. You never have to see him again. It’s like the universe has served him up on a platter.”

Murph returns and sits back down. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Ash says. “My turn!” she hops up from the table.

“Oh, are we making a bathroom run?” I ask her.

“Nope.” She winks and heads off her own. She even takes her purse with her.

Traitor. Everyone knows that Girl Code requires all bathroom trips to be made in groups of two or more. She leaves me alone with Murph, the man who we just established I’m attracted to more than any other man over the course of my life. I’m going to give Ash hell for this later.

“So.” Murph leans forward and traces the lip of his glass with one finger. “Have you decided yet?”

“Decided what?” I wheeze.

“If you’re coming back to the hotel with me.”

My body is just as traitorous as Ash. My brain knows better, but my needy pussy is begging me to climb Murph like a tree.

“What makes you think I’d do that?” I ask.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Murph’s sensual smile has my nipples hard against the lining of my bra in a matter of seconds. “This is what I’m good at. And you deserve a man with experience.”

I gulp. “I have some… terms. First, I want to know what’s on the agenda.” Any reference to blowjobs, and I’m going to bail like I’m D.B. Cooper.

Murph’s eyes travel over me, setting me on fire from within. “Excellent. I have some rules. You need an agenda. Let’s see if we can’t negotiate our way into an amazing night. Shall we wait for Ash so that we can let her know that we’re leaving?”

“Nope.” I fumble with my phone. “I’ll text her. Which hotel are you staying in?”

“The Grove at Lake Serenity. Room 317.” He reaches into his pocket and withdraws the room key, still tucked into one of those paper sleeves with the room number handwritten on the front in blue ink.

Okay, but why is it hot that he’s providing that information without me having to ask? The fact that he’s being so forthcoming makes me like him more, which in turn makes me want him more. I text Ash the details with trembling hands. Between my nerves and my lust, I can hardly keep my head on straight.

I guess we’re doing this.

* * *

I’ve seen The Grove from the outside hundreds of times, but I’ve never had a reason to be inside. The lobby is simple in a Norwegian Elegance sort of way. Minimalist, but still upscale. It’s a far cry from the opulence of the Mona Lisa, the only hotel in Vegas that I visit with any regularity.

Murph’s room, on the other hand, is cluttered. He strikes me as the kind of guy who travels light, but he’s got several suitcases and boxes stacked in the open closet, alongside the ubiquitous hotel ironing board.

Murph sits on the bed and gestures for me to join him. “You were asking about an agenda. Did you have something in mind?”

“Oh, um. Not really.” I shuffle over to him. I’m suddenly aware of how tall Murph is. How big in general. He’s broad and muscular, with thighs that could crush a watermelon with ease. What the hell am I doing in a strange room with this complete fucking stranger? I don’t even know his last name.

God, I could totally end up on an episode of true crime. And my mom would cry, and my dad would…

“Would it help if I made some suggestions?” Murph asks, voice low and rough enough to melt my spine.

I sit on the bed beside him. “Sure.”

He leans in, close enough that his breath brushes my cheek. “You good with me taking the lead?”

My breath stutters. “Yeah.”

One corner of his mouth lifts, wicked and slow. “You’ll stop me if anything’s too much, right?”

I nod, but he just arches a brow. Not mean. Just firm.

“I need words, Vi.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I’ll tell you.”

“Good girl.”

The words hit me like a jolt of lightning.

He still hasn’t touched me—hasn’t even tried—but I’m already arching toward him like a magnet.

His fingers finally brush my cheek, slow and deliberate, trailing down to tilt my chin toward him. His gaze roams over me like I’m a puzzle he’s already halfway solved.

“Anything off-limits?” he murmurs.

I shake my head. “No.”

“Damn.” His voice goes dark and reverent. “You just made my night.”

He chuckles. “So, for an itinerary. I’d like to make you come with my fingers and tongue. Then I’d like you on top. As tempting as it is to fuck you into the mattress, Vi, I’d like you to be able to set the pace. And when it comes to a woman as stunning as you are, I like the view of her above me.”

I let out a shuddering breath. “I’d like that, too.”

Then, maybe because I’m nervous, maybe because I’m an over-sharer, I blurt, “But just so we’re clear, no blowjobs. I have… this thing.”

Murph’s brows lift slightly, amused. “A thing?”

“A traumatic memory, actually.” I gulp. “Ash and I watched Sex Sent Me to the ER in college and one of the cases was this girl who broke her jaw on a guy’s dick. I’ve been scarred ever since.”

He stares at me. Blinks. Then snorts. “Vi, that might be the hottest rejection I’ve ever received.”

“I’m serious! It cracked. Audibly.”

He grins, slow and fond, like I’ve just made his week. “Noted. No dick near your jaw. Got it.”

He leans in close, mouth brushing the shell of my ear.

“Good thing I’m not here to take—I’m here to ruin you with my mouth, not ask for favors.”

Then he bites, and I shatter.

I stand up and pull my dress over my head. Thank God I wore my cute underwear tonight, because Murph devours me with his eyes. I’m sometimes annoyed by my height, mostly for practical reasons—it would be really nice if I didn’t have to have a step-stool in every room of my condo—but in general, I feel good about my body. I inherited my mom’s ample tits and ass. So it’s not perfect, but in my field, you learn fast that perfection doesn’t exist.

Murph’s eyes travel up my sturdy thighs, over the slight curve of my stomach, to the much greater curves of my cleavage, and then to my face. He breaks into a grin when he realizes I’m watching him watch me.

“You’re beautiful, Vi,” he says.

I grin. “You’ve got good taste.”

Then I toss my dress onto the armchair. “Let’s see if I do too.”

Murph strips off his shirt and—

Oh. My. Lord.

Perfection isn’t real. But this man? This man is an exception clause the universe carved out just for me.

His torso is all clean lines and carved muscle, the kind of definition that only comes from actual, brutal effort—not lighting, not filters, not Photoshop. His abs flex as he moves, stippled with just the right amount of dark, coarse hair trailing down the center in a path I desperately want to follow with my tongue.

My hand comes up, covering my mouth like I’ve just witnessed a miracle—or a crime. A beautiful, devastating crime.

Am I drooling? Honestly, I might be. My thighs squeeze together on instinct.

Murph smirks—he knows. Of course he does. He’s used to admiration, but this is straight hunger. And still, it’s not enough. He kicks off his shoes, hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans and—Jesus. He’s really going to do it.

He shimmies down his pants and boxers in one smooth motion, and I swear to God, my vision goes white. His cock is huge. Thick, gorgeous, perfectly proportioned—like his body knew it needed to keep up with the rest of the man.

And then I see it.

The piercing.

A gleaming barbell glints in the soft light, running just beneath the crown. My jaw unhinges. My brain exits the chat.

There’s a prize at the bottom of the cereal box and I just got the golden ticket.

He’s not just packing heat. He’s packing hardware.

I can’t look away. I don’t want to. I want to touch it, taste it, ride it into the afterlife and send Ash a postcard from beyond.

Who pierces their dick? Who does that?

Murph, apparently.

And somehow that makes perfect sense. Because of course he did. Of course this man would add a secret weapon to his already illegal-level sex appeal.

My mouth moves before my brain can catch up. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I nearly black out.

“Breathe, Vi,” Murph says. He sounds cocky, but damn, it’s easy to see why. I let out a low moan when he palms himself. I’ve never been with a guy that big before. No wonder he wants me to set the pace.

I’m petite. Everywhere. And it’s been almost two years for me. As I force a swallow, my pulse throbs. I’m not sure he’s going to make it past a few inches.

“Come here.” Murph sits back, and I stumble over to him. He pulls me up into his lap, so that the crotch of my panties is pressed against his thick erection. He pulls me against him and kisses me hard.

I melt into him. It’s so easy to lose myself in the heat of his mouth, the seeking twitch of his tongue, and the warmth of his big, calloused hand pressed against my lower back. I grind against him and revel in the way his body responds to me.

I don’t know how long we kiss like that, but I’m startled when Murph twists, flipping me onto the bed.

“I thought you… wanted me… on top,” I pant.

Murph nuzzles my neck. “Not yet.” His hands roam over my breasts and belly, caressing me in all the right ways. I’m like putty in his hands. By the time he slips his hand inside the crotch of my panties, I barely know which way is up. His fingers circle my clit, and I shudder at how good it feels. Murph wasn’t lying about his skills.

On the bright side, this one night stand is really working out for me right now. On the downside, the bar is now really fucking high.

Without warning, Murph plunges his fingers into me, deep and sure. I cry out and arch against the mattress, coming with a blinding intensity that scrambles every thought in my brain.

“Sensitive,” he whispers against my nipple. He’s nudged my bra aside with only his mouth—no hands, no hesitation. Savage. Sexy. Brilliant. A fucking savant.

“Would you like to see what my mouth can do?”

“Um,” I manage, voice already shot. “Yes. Definitely. Yes.”

He pulls back with a dark, satisfied laugh and reaches for the nightstand.

“Wait—where are you going?” I reach for him, shameless and greedy now.

“I’ve got condoms, don’t worry,” he says, grabbing one and setting it on the table. “I get tested regularly. Paperwork’s in my phone if you want proof. You’d be clean too, right?”

“I am,” I breathe. “I haven’t… I mean… we get tested regularly at my work.”

“Perfect,” he says, and kisses the inside of my thigh like a reward. “Then I’m about to ruin you properly.”

His mouth finds me like it’s a religion and he’s been devout his whole life. Every flick of his tongue is practiced and patient, like he’s reading my body in real-time and adjusting accordingly. When he slides two fingers inside me again, I nearly levitate.

He moans against me, low and pleased, and it hits me right there, where his mouth is working like he’s starving and I’m the only thing on the menu. His fingers curl, hitting that spot inside me that makes my breath catch in my throat.

“Fuck, Vi,” he murmurs, voice muffled by my skin. “You taste so fucking good. Sweet. Like you knew I’d be down here thinking about this for days.”

I whimper, hands tangled in his hair, thighs already trembling.

“You’re so wet for me,” he says, lips brushing my clit between strokes. “So fucking responsive. You want to come for me, don’t you?”

“God, yes.”

“That’s it,” he growls. “Say it again.”

“Yes, Murph—please.”

“Fuck, I love that.” His tongue circles my clit, slow and deliberate. “You’re gonna come in my mouth, aren’t you?”

I nod frantically, hips lifting off the bed. He locks his arms around my thighs and holds me there, completely at his mercy, and honestly? I don’t want it any other way.

“I want to feel it, Vi. Want to taste every second of it. Give it to me. Show me how good I make you feel.”

I unravel.

Another orgasm tears through me like a current—hot, sudden, all-consuming. I cry out, arching into his face, completely wrecked as he groans and sucks me through every wave. His grip stays firm, mouth never breaking contact, like he’s determined to memorize every last twitch of my body.

When I finally collapse back to the mattress, boneless and breathless, he presses a soft kiss to the inside of my thigh like a benediction.

Then he looks up at me with that cocky, wreck-me grin and says, “Two down.” Murph looks up from between my thighs. “I can’t want to be inside you. Are you ready for me?”

“Mm-hmm.” What are words? I’m so blissed out I can barely think straight.

Murph shucks his boxer briefs the rest of the way off. Then he and his big, beautiful, pierced cock climb into the mattress with me. I watch him through glassy eyes as he unrolls the condom down his length.

Suddenly, I’m not feeling so sleepy anymore.

I push myself off the mattress and straddle him, which is easier said than done. Murph’s thighs are as thick as my waist—solid, unrelenting muscle. He probably does squats for breakfast and deadlifts for fun. The physio part of my brain briefly appreciates the structural marvel of him…

But the rest of me? The rest of me is flooded. Heavy. Dripping. Hungry.

“Slowly,” Murph murmurs, voice low and steady as his hands guide my hips. “Relax. We’re not in any rush.”

“Says you,” I grumble, trying to ease him in. “I want—oh… fuck.”

I freeze as he breaches me, eyes fluttering shut against the blinding stretch. My breath stutters. My body fights to adjust. He’s too big. Wide. Heavy. The kind of thick that makes your toes curl on instinct. No wonder he insisted on getting me off first—there’s no way I could’ve taken him dry.

His barbell glides just inside me and I nearly convulse—a slick, metallic friction that makes me gasp. It adds pressure in all the right ways. Different. Sharper. Unreal.

“Easy,” he whispers, his voice wrecked now. “You’re doing so good, Vi. Just breathe for me.”

I try. I try. But the moment I drop my hips again, taking him deeper—deeper than I thought possible—I feel it.

Him. All of him.

That piercing hits my inner wall like a live wire. He’s not even fully seated yet and I’m already seeing stars. It’s too much. It’s not enough. I want him so deep I forget my own name.

“Holy shit,” I breathe.

He moans, hands clenching at my hips. “You feel unreal. Like… fuck. Like you were m-made for me.”

The stutter punches a hole in my chest. Just a second. Just a breath. But it’s enough. Enough to know I’m not the only one spiraling. And that’s when it hits me in a tornado of Oh, fuck and Please, more . This isn’t just the best sex of my life, but more like our bodies fit perfectly together.

I don’t believe in fate, but I believe in this. In whatever’s happening between my thighs and in my chest and in the way my soul is howling like it just found home.

I lift my hips and slam back down, harder now, chasing that electric drag of his piercing against my walls. He meets me thrust for thrust, mouth parted, eyes dark and blown.

This man doesn’t just fill me, he wrecks me.

Every. Single. Stroke.

And I don’t want it to stop. Like ever.

I brace my palms on his chest, breath coming in short, desperate gasps as I ride him harder—faster—chasing that final high. Then his hand slides between us. His thumb circles my clit with devastating precision.

“That’s it,” he rasps. “Fuck, Vi. You’re so perfect. So goddamn tight. You were meant to come on my cock.”

I whimper. My head falls back. I’m gone.

“I want to feel you,” he growls. “Come for me again, baby. One more time. Let me feel you lose it.”

The orgasm crashes into me like a tidal wave—deep, shuddering, explosive. I cry out his name as I clench around him, and that’s what does it.

Murph lets out a ragged, broken sound. Half moan, half growl, all surrender.

“Babe—fuck—Vi, I—”

He thrusts once, twice, then stills, buried to the hilt as he comes hard inside me, twitching with every pulsing wave. His arms wrap around me, holding me tight to his chest like he can’t bear to let me go.

And then, the slip.

A whisper. So soft I almost miss it.

“Mine.”

I freeze just for a second, but he doesn’t repeat it. Doesn’t explain. Doesn’t even realize he said it.

I don’t call it out. I don’t say anything.

Instead, I press a kiss to his jaw and slowly lift off him with a whimper. My whole body feels used—in the best, most worshipped way possible. Collapsing beside him, I’m boneless, ruined, grinning like a fool.

And already wondering how the hell I’m going to walk tomorrow at work without Viktor Abbott making some ridiculous comment.

“Goddamn.” Murph lies with his hands resting on his belly. His still-condomed cock softens against his thigh as his deep, steady breaths lull me toward sleep.

No.

I force myself to sit up before I can get too comfortable. My limbs feel like overcooked noodles and my heart is still doing backflips, but I can’t stay here. If I do, I might say something reckless.

“Wow,” I say, clearing my throat. “That was… great. Five out of five stars. You can quote me on that.”

Murph chuckles, but it sounds quieter than before. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

I scramble out of the bed, suddenly aware of every naked inch of skin. “I’m gonna wash up real quick, and then I’ll go.”

“Already?”

It’s just one word. But it lands like a boulder.

His voice is low, unsure, like maybe he wasn’t expecting me to bolt. Like maybe he wasn’t ready for the goodbye, even though this was his whole idea.

I glance back at him. His eyes track me like he doesn’t want to, like maybe he’s realizing that for the first time in forever… he doesn’t want to be alone afterward.

“I’ve got work in the morning,” I lie.

Because the truth is scarier.

The truth is: I need to get out of here before I ask him to hold me. Before I let my stupid heart start writing poetry about a man who told me this was just sex.

I make it to the bathroom on legs that don’t feel steady. Five minutes. That’s all I give myself to fix my makeup, calm my pulse, and pretend I’m fine.

When I step out, he’s still lying there—naked, glorious, rumpled like a god who just fell to earth. But something’s shifted. His smirk is gone. His eyes are shadowed. And his fingers are gripping the sheet like he knows he messed up by letting me walk away without asking me to stay.

I gather my clothes and pull them on like armor. “Thanks for the night,” I say lightly. “It was fun.”

He nods. Says nothing. Just watches me.

And for a second—just a second—he looks like he’s about to speak. Like he’s going to break his own rule.

But he doesn’t.

And neither do I.

So I prepare to leave him, pretending it was nothing. While everything inside me screams that it wasn’t just sex, I keep my face neutral, my steps measured. This is new for me. A first. But there’s no shame in my so-called walk of shame.

If anything, I feel… proud. Like I reached out and took something just for me. A gift freely offered by someone who got exactly what he wanted, too. It was good. It was incredible. And I regret nothing. Still, my throat tightens as I turn back to him.

“I should go,” I say quietly. “But thank you. For tonight.”

Murph sits up a little, the sheet falling low on his hips. “Let me walk you down. Make sure you get to your Uber safely.”

“I’m good.” I grab my purse, my voice gentler now. “Pepper spray. Tiny knife. Professional training. I promise—I’ve got it covered.”

His smile is soft, hesitant. “I still want to make sure.”

I hesitate, then meet his eyes. “Do you trust me?”

A pause. A beat too long.

“I do,” he says.

But his voice is quiet. Like he doesn’t want to.

I nod and take one step back toward the bed. I lean in and press a kiss to his cheek—soft, lingering, stupid—then whisper, “Sweet dreams, Murp.” And I walk out before I make the mistake of crawling right back into his arms.