“Don’t look so excited.” He smirks.

“Jim . . . ,” I stammer. Oh hell, how do I say this? “I’m not really the kind of girl who . . .” My voice trails off.

“Who fucks on first dates?” he says, finishing my sentence.

“Yes.” I wince at the crudeness of that statement. “I just don’t want you to think . . .”

“I know. I wouldn’t,” he replies curtly. “I don’t.”

“Good.” Relief fills me. “I was being flirty when I thought we were getting off and never seeing each other again.” “Right.” He smirks in amusement.

“Not that I don’t think you’re great,” I add. “Because if I were that kind of girl, I would totally be into you. We would be fucking like . . .” I pause as I try to think of an analogy.

“Rabbits?” he offers.

“Yes.”

He holds both hands in the air. “I understand; platonic humans only.”

I smile broadly. “I’m so glad you understand.”

Seven hours later

He slams me up against the wall as he struggles to pull my skirt up over my hips, and his open mouth ravages my neck. “Door,” I pant. “Open the damn door.”

Oh God . . . I’ve never felt this chemistry with anyone before. We’ve laughed and danced and kissed our way around Boston, and somehow he makes me feel at ease. It’s as if I do this type of thing every day, and it’s completely natural. The weird thing is, it feels right. The spontaneity of the situation I find myself in has me feeling all brave. This man is witty and funny and dirty as all hell, and in my opinion—which, in truth, could be totally screwed over with alcohol consumption at the moment—he’s worth the risk . . . because I know I will never get the opportunity to be with a man like him again.

I’ve died and gone to layover bad-girl heaven.

Jim fumbles with the key, and we stumble into my room. Then he throws me onto the bed.

My chest rises and falls as we stare at each other, and the air between crackles with electricity.

“I’m not this kind of girl,” I remind him.

“I know,” he breathes. “I wouldn’t want to corrupt you.”

“But there is a drought,” I whisper. “So . . . so dry.”

He raises his eyebrows as he pants along with me. “This is true.”

I stare at him for a moment as I try to clear my arousal fog. My sex is throbbing and pleading for his body. “It would be a shame to . . .” My voice trails off.

“I know.” He licks his lips in appreciation as his eyes roam over my body. “Such a fucking shame.”

He takes his shirt off over his shoulders, and my breath catches. He has a broad, muscular chest with olive skin and a scattering of hair that runs from his navel and disappears down into his pants. His hair is dark, and his eyes are a brilliant blue—but it’s the power behind them that has me aching for him to take me. There’s an edge to his touch that I’ve never felt before.

He’s all male and pure domination. There’s no mistaking who’s in charge here.

Something about this man has opened up another side of me that I didn’t know existed. I know he could have any woman in the world he wants.

And at this moment, he wants me.

There’s no denying the chemistry between us; it’s raw, honest, and allconsuming. He’s hardly touched me, and I already know that this night is special.

Maybe fate has dealt me an ace for a change.

With his eyes locked on mine and in slow motion, he unzips his pants and pulls his dick out. It’s big and hard, and my chest rises and falls as I watch him. My heart is in overdrive. Is this really happening?

Oh. My. God.

He begins to slowly stroke himself, and my mouth falls open as I stare, transfixed.

I’ve never had a man touch himself in front of me before.

Holy fucking shit. This is off the hook.

He lifts one of his feet to the bed and really begins to let himself have it. The muscles in his shoulders and arms flex as he jerks himself hard, and my insides ripple in pleasure as I imagine it’s me doing it for him.

This is like reality porn . . . only ten times better.

What the hell am I doing here? I’m a good girl, and good girls don’t do bad things with men like this.

We don’t know the same people, we don’t live in the same city, and I may never see him again, and there’s an unexpected freedom in that. I can be different.

Whoever he wants me to be.

His eyes are locked on mine, and his jaw clenches. “Get over here and suck my cock, Emily,” he murmurs darkly.

God, yes. I thought he’d never ask. I scurry to my knees, desperate to please him.

I don’t know anything about this guy, but I do know that at this moment, I want to be the best sex he’s ever had. I take him in my mouth as I pretend to be the deep-throat champion of the world. I fist him hard as my hand follows my lips.

It’s been so long, and I feel my sex clench, my orgasm close just from the taste of his preejaculate.

“Fuck . . . so good,” I murmur around him. “The taste of you is going to make me come.”

He tips his head back to the sky and closes his eyes. “Naked. I need you fucking naked,” he growls with urgency. He drags me off the bed and in one moment has my skirt and panties on the floor. He pulls my shirt off over my head and throws my bra to the side.

Then he stops still . . . and in slow motion, with his hands clenched by his sides, his eyes drop down my body. He drinks me in, and I feel the heat as his gaze skims my skin.

My world stops spinning, and I stand before him naked and vulnerable, waiting for his approval.

This is new for me. I’ve never been with a man who’s so dominant and commanding. His eyes, his voice, his every touch reminds me of who I am with and how much his pleasure means to me.

I feel like I want to rise to the challenge, and the primal urge to satisfy him is taking me over.

When his eyes meet mine again, they’re blazing with desire. An undercurrent of darkness and tenderness runs between us. Perhaps I’ve forgotten how a man looks at a woman when every ounce of his being wants her. Because I swear to God, I’ve never seen this look before in my life.

“On your back,” he murmurs.