Page 311 of The Havenport Collection

Maeve

M y first one-night stand was one for the record books. I was not sexually inexperienced, not by a long shot. But as a lifelong goody-goody, sex had always been in the confines of a serious, monogamous relationship. And at the moment, I didn’t want that.

I wanted hot, anonymous sex with a handsome stranger. I wanted to not be Maeve, not be the workaholic who was going to have to spend the foreseeable future canceling all the meticulously crafted wedding plans and explaining to people my fiancé dumped me three weeks before our wedding.

I was going to have to go to work and be the woman with the canceled engagement. And the worst part—I was going to have to tell my parents, who would undoubtedly be humiliated and blame me for Tristian’s wandering peen.

So tonight was about me. I went in search of a glass of red wine and ended up with a sexy giant pinning me to his couch while he explored my neck with his tongue. And you know what? I wasn’t complaining.

“Fuck, Alex,” he growled in my ear. “You are so gorgeous.”

Oliver was a cop, new in town, and well over six feet of sexy man. And if the bulge in his jeans was any indication, a very well-endowed new friend.

Yes, I had given him my middle name, but for tonight, I needed to escape. I needed to be a bad girl, the kind who has hot sex with strangers and doesn’t give a shit that her life is imploding around her.

I loved the feel of him on top of me, pinning me to the couch. I wanted to let go, to be dominated for a night. I wanted to be desired and possessed. “Oliver,” I breathed as his hands snaked up my thighs, bunching my skirt at my waist.

“Tell me you want me. Tell me you want this,” he said, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“Yes.” His fingers gently moved my panties to the side, lightly stroking my wetness.

He took my lips in a forceful kiss. “Not good enough. Tell me what you really want, Alex.”

I felt one of his thick fingers sink inside me, making my eyes roll back in my head. I could barely speak, never mind give detailed instructions on how to get me off. Not that he was going to need much help.

So I blurted out the first words that popped into my head. “I want you to fuck me, Oliver. Hard and fast. Make me forget about this bad day. Make me come and scream your name.”

He smiled, lowering his mouth between my legs. “Oh, I will fuck you. But not until I’m good and ready. First you’re going to come on my tongue and then my cock. And if you’re a good girl I’ll do it all over again later. When I’m done you will not remember a single bad thing.”

Oliver kept his promise. I forgot about my shitty day; hell, I came so hard I think I forgot my own name at one point.

He was that good—his tongue, his fingers, and his thick and hard cock.

After the second round, where he bent me over the arm of the leather couch and gently pulled my hair while telling me how sexy I was, I had forgotten Tristian even existed.

A few hours later, I woke with a crick in my neck. We had passed out on the couch, our naked bodies covered only by a colorful afghan.

I carefully sat up, contorting myself into various advanced Pilates positions to keep from waking him.

I found my clothes on the floor and admired the sexy beast of a man in front of me while I dressed.

Oliver was massive and yet gentle, laid-back, yet dominant.

In another life I’d curl up beside him and start planning our future together.

But I wasn’t that woman anymore. I was the freshly dumped fiancée with a wedding to cancel. So I found my shoes and my purse and let myself out.