Not Your Average Vixen: A Christmas Romance Page 7

  She glanced out the open doors. “Where’s the hallway?”

  He surveyed the suite. “Probably on the floor below.”

  She frowned, her brow crinkling into an innocent expression of confusion.

  She cupped his cheek in her hand. “Where are we?”

  “We’re on the twentieth floor. You pressed the button,” he deadpanned.

  She ping-ponged her gaze into the spacious room, then back to him. “What’s on the twentieth floor?”

  He suppressed a grin. “Not a hallway.”

  The adorable crinkle to her forehead was back. “Is this whole floor your room?”

  He gave a little shrug. “They call it a suite.”

  “Holy moly,” she said with such awe in her voice he nearly chuckled.

  When the hell was the last time he’d heard anyone utter something as hokey as holy moly?

  Even Janine didn’t drop that kind of exclamation.

  But, somehow, it made his one-night vixen even more alluring.

  Gently, he lowered her to the ground, retrieved her clutch from the elevator floor, then took her hand.

  “I want to show you something.”

  They entered the darkened suite. Track lighting leading to the bedroom gave him just enough light to find what he was looking for.

  He led her to the center of the room. “Close your eyes.”

  She glanced up at him. “Please tell me this isn’t the part where you decide to drug me and harvest my organs.”

  She was teasing, but he could hear the trace of hesitation in her voice.

  He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “We organ harvesters like to take off the week before Christmas. So, no, I won’t be harvesting your organs tonight. But I can’t make any promises about what I’ll be doing next week.”

  She giggled. “Phew! Thank goodness for the holidays.”

  “You’re a lucky lady. You should see what kidneys go for these days,” he teased.

  “Soren!” she chided. And there it was again—his name coming from her lips, and the two syllables had never sounded so lovely.

  He squeezed her hand. “Now that you know that I’m not here to drug you and harvest your organs, could you please close your eyes?”

  Her sweet as hell giggle echoed through the room. “You must get all the girls with lines like that.”

  This woman.

  “Bridget,” he said, lowering his voice, and she stilled.

  She bit her lip. “I like the way you say my name.”

  He liked it, too—more than he should.

  “Close your eyes, Bridget,” he repeated, and this time, she complied.

  He released her hand, then went to the opposite side of the room and pressed a button. A mechanical hum filled the dimly lit space as a curtain spanning the length of the suite opened. He stared at his one-night vixen, who remained still with her eyes closed as the glow from the city lit her in an angelic hue of warm golden light.

  “Soren, can I open my eyes?” she asked, her teasing tone gone as the mood shifted.

  It was as if she sensed that they’d moved past the witty banter stage and onto—to what? The part where they shared their darkest secrets? He swallowed hard, hating himself for how badly he wanted to open his heart to a complete stranger.

  “Yes, you can open your eyes,” he replied, fighting to keep the emotion from coating his words.

  Observing her like a hawk, he watched as she blinked her eyes open, then gasped. Slowly, as if she were in a dream, she walked to the window and stared out at the city.

  “Oh, Soren,” she said on a faraway whisper as she pressed her hand to the glass.

  He observed her expression of awe in the reflection as he came up behind her. “Have you ever been to Denver?”

  She nodded, gaze trained on the city with the Rocky Mountains standing, dark and formidable in the distance. “Yes, years ago, and it’s as beautiful as I remembered. The snow and the twinkling holiday lights make you feel like anything’s possible, doesn’t it?”

  There was a thread of yearning in her words that wound around his heart. A parallel longing they each possessed.

  What did she want? What were his one-night vixen’s innermost desires?

  He swallowed hard. He couldn’t go there—not with her, not with anyone.

  “Unbutton your dress,” he said instead.

  She held his gaze in the window’s reflection as her slender fingers worked their way down, undoing each button in a seductive striptease. Every inch of revealed creamy skin set his body ablaze. And once she finished, he couldn’t stop himself from trailing his fingertips along the nape of her neck, then peeling the garment from her body.

  In a lacy nude bra and matching panties, she was the best early Christmas present he could ask for.

  She caught her reflection in the window, then wrapped her arms around her body. “You’re probably used to women wearing sexier lingerie.”

  With perfect breasts that begged to be licked and sucked, hips he wanted to grip as she rode his cock, and an ass that could stop traffic, how could she not grasp her own exquisiteness?

  He pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades as he removed her bra, then dropped to his knees and slid her panties down her toned legs.

  “You could wear a paper bag, and I’d still want you,” he growled as he rose to his full height.

  The mischievous glint returned to her eyes, and his cock twitched in his pants.

  His vixen liked a little dirty talk.

  “Your turn. Shirt first, then pants,” she ordered without even the hint of unease.

  He took a step back so she could take in the complete package. Slowly, he slipped out of his dress shirt, tossed it onto a chair, then removed his shoes before undoing his pants and adding them to the pile.

  “Commando!” she said on a surprised yelp.

  He grinned.

  What was the point of underwear? It only got in the way.

  She stared at him, and her greedy eyes devoured his reflection.

  He took care of himself, and women liked the way he looked—that was a given. But he’d never gotten a rush out of a woman admiring his hard abs and muscled body until this little vixen showed up.

  “Do you want me to take off my boots?” she asked, her voice a sexy rasp.

  Buck naked in black high-heeled boots and lit only by the lights of the city; she was a goddess.

  “They stay on, for now,” he answered, taking his cock into his hand as he gave it one hard stroke, then two as he drank in the scene.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Are you going to stare at me all night?”

  He could. He most certainly could, but his cock was done waiting for this woman. He slipped a condom out of his pants pocket, tore it open with his teeth, then rolled the sheath down his hard length, already weeping with desire.

  He came up behind her, and they locked eyes in the window’s reflection. She parted her lips and released a ragged breath as he slid his hands up the sides of her body before palming her ripe, round breasts.

  She arched her back and pressed her ass against his cock, igniting a firestorm of desire. He leaned down and dropped a series of kisses on her bare shoulder before working his way to her earlobe.

  “Everyone in this city will know that tonight, you are mine,” he whispered against the shell of her ear.

  She pressed her hand against the glass, and he covered it with his own, entwining their fingers together. But she wasn’t here to only hold hands—and neither was he. Gripping her hip, he held her in place, lined up his cock, then thrust into her wet heat. He sucked in a sharp breath as he took it slow, stretching her, opening her, filling her to the hilt.

  She cried out as her body inched forward, now pinned between him and the cool glass. The contrast between their heat and the window’s cold bite sent a frenzied zing through his body. He slipped his hand from her hip down between her thighs, feeling his cock enter her slick, tight center. He’d never basked in this moment
. He liked a good, hard fuck. He didn’t slow down to savor the connection. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced. A mindfulness he’d never thought to employ.

  Bridget squeezed his hand and rolled her hips, and a torrent of desire redirected his attention to his restless vixen.

  “Soren, don’t tease me,” she whispered, raw need dripping from her plea.

  “You need to know something about me,” he said, rocking his hand against her tight bundle of nerves.

  She gasped. “What’s that?”

  “I’m no tease,” he answered, pulling back then rocketing forward.

  His cock slid in and out with punishingly delicious thrusts. She welcomed his hard length into her body’s tight embrace as the slap of skin on skin fused with the hum of the city below. The sounds and sensations twisted and tangled around him, heightening his arousal. Every thrust drove him higher. Every sigh, every moan, every heated breath intensified their connection.

  And he couldn’t get enough.

  Wanting more and desperate to touch her very soul, he changed the angle of penetration and caressed her with his hand as he pistoned his hips, making love to her with a desperate ferocity. Their bodies rubbed against the cool glass, and the opposing sensations, coupled with the slick slap of their bodies, had him ready to commit himself to unrestrained oblivion. The desire within him twisted into a coil, aching with the need to explode.

  Bridget’s cries of passion rang out as her body gripped his cock in spasms of pleasure. She craned her neck, and his lips collided with hers in a frenzied kiss. He doubled his pace, and his body moved as if its sole purpose in life was to bring this woman unimaginable sexual gratification.

  With her wild cries of passion urging him on, he joined her as a tidal wave roared through them, crashing and colliding in a storm of passion. He called out, repeating her name, unable to stop himself.

  Bridget! Bridget!

  Uninhibited and blissfully unrestrained, this was their night to forget the world, take unbridled passion by the reins, and ride that stallion all night long. Her body trembled beneath his, as the power of the pulsating rush receded, and they stilled as their audible breaths punctuated the silence.

  She stared at the city, shrouded in a hazy holiday glow, hummed a sweet, satisfied sound, then tightened her grip on his hand—the hand that had remained laced with hers. She held him in place—a safe harbor offering refuge. He kissed her temple, and she leaned back, resting against him.

  “Soren?”

  Whatever she said next, whatever she’d asked for, it would be hers. Had she cast a spell on him, or was she a beautiful Christmas vixen, a gift from above sent to get him through the week?

  “Yeah?”

  “I don’t know if my legs will be able to keep me upright much longer,” she said with a sated sigh.

  In all fairness, the intensity of his orgasm had taken a hell of a lot out of him, too.

  “We can’t have you collapsing,” he replied.

  Carefully, he pulled out of her, then removed the condom, and tossed it into a small trash bin. Then, before she could stop him, he scooped her into his arms.

  “I didn’t mean that you had to pick me up, but I’m not complaining,” she said, resting her head in the crook of his neck as he brought her into the bedroom.

  Gently, he laid her on the plush comforter, removed her boots, and covered her body with a blanket. “Are you hungry? We could order room service,” he offered, suddenly feeling like an awkward teenager.

  But she shook her head and reached for his hand, guiding him under the covers with her. She reclined onto her back as he rolled onto his side.

  She brushed a dark curl from his forehead. “Would you think it was strange if I just looked at you?”

  There it was again—that gentle, piercing honesty. He traced a line from her earlobe to the hollow of her neck.

  “No, I don’t think it’s strange,” he answered, unable to look away, unable to take his eyes off of her.

  She smiled up at him. Her expression welling with such tender gratitude, he wished he could bottle the moment and keep it with him, close to his heart.

  She blinked, then pressed her hand to her mouth as a yawn escaped. Her eyes grew heavy as they watched each other in the glow of the city as she hovered on the verge of sleep. And then, after a heavy blink, her eyes remained closed, and he listened to the sound of her breath, slow and steady, like the tide coming in and going out in a rhythmic lullaby. He stroked her cheek, and her lips curved into a smile.

  “I can feel you looking at me, Soren.”

  Damn, he liked the way she said his name.

  He twisted a lock of her hair between his fingers. “I thought you were asleep.”

  She opened her eyes, and the breath caught in his throat. It was as if he’d spent a lifetime adrift, and she was his anchor. A woman he knew nothing about had pierced his heart with her soulful brown eyes and her delicate lilt of a sweet, sated smile.

  She stroked his cheek. “What is it?”

  But he couldn’t speak as Tom’s words echoed through his mind.

  I wish you could understand what it’s like when you lock eyes with someone, and you know that your life will never be the same.

  She frowned as worry flooded her mahogany gaze. “I should get back to my room.”

  He should let her go. No woman had ever spent the night with him—just sleeping. He’d made damn sure to structure his life around no strings attached sex. He’d never had the desire to wake up next to anyone. Not until Bridget, not your average vixen, crashed into his orbit.

  He shook his head. He’d give in to the ache—the empty part of him that wanted, no, needed her with him tonight.

  “You should stay here,” he said, hardly able to believe he’d spoken the words.

  “With you?” she pressed.

  This wasn’t him. He wasn’t a sleepover, cuddle bug of a bastard. Once he’d gotten his fill, scratched that lustful itch, he was out the door without a backward glance. But this mystery woman was different. He’d felt it the moment he saw her. The honest hunger in her eyes. The unabashed need. The sincere, open desire. This one-night stand wasn’t her norm. She wasn’t like him.

  She didn’t plow through lovers like a steam train.

  He’d never met anyone like her.

  “Soren?” she whispered.

  There it was again—she said his name, and angels couldn’t have made the word sound sweeter.

  He gathered her into his arms and tightened his grip on her body. “I want you to stay. I want you to fall asleep in my arms.”

  A dreamy smile pulled at the corners of her mouth as she nestled into him. “I’d like that,” she replied with a whisper that washed over him like a prayer.

  He’d give himself tonight. A night to pretend that someone like her could be his. A night to pretend he wasn’t the lonely little boy on the cusp of losing everything that mattered.

  He inhaled her cinnamon vanilla scent. Tomorrow, he’d get back on track. Tomorrow, he’d be ready to fight and fight dirty to make damn sure that his best friend didn’t make the biggest mistake of his life.

  5

  Bridget

  Bridget closed her suitcase, then glanced around her hotel room. The morning sun streamed in through the window, and the storm that had dumped over two feet of snow yesterday had vanished like a thief in the night. She glanced in the mirror as a giddy euphoria took over.

  She’d done it.

  In the last twenty-four hours, she’d experienced not one, not two, not even three or four orgasms.

  Nope, she blew past that when her handsome stranger rocked her world with seven—count them—seven mind-blowing, toe-curling, hot as hell orgasms.

  In one single night!

  If a vixen hall of fame did exist, she was pretty sure that having seven orgasms in one night would qualify her as one of the top one-night stand vixens out there.

  After she’d fallen asleep in Soren’s arms, she’d woken to find
him not at all displeased when she’d reached beneath the covers and stroked his hard length. A very vixen thing to do. And it only got crazier from there. His hands, his mouth, his cock. Every part of this man sent her pulse racing.

  Missionary, doggy-style, side by side, sitting, standing, and then, balanced on an ottoman, there didn’t seem to be a bad way to spiral into sweaty sexual bliss with her hotel hottie.

  No, not hotel hottie. He had a name. A beautiful name. A name she whispered to herself this morning in the shower and instantly had craved his touch.

  Soren.

  A name as delicate as it was powerful, she’d sensed the same quality about the man.

  There were moments when he’d looked at her with such tenderness it nearly penetrated her soul. What was supposed to be a night devoted to unadulterated pleasure, at times, felt like more—like so much more.

  When he’d said her name, it was as if she really were someone else. Someone confident. Someone ready to take charge of her life. Soren, with his smoldering eyes and electric touch, saw her. The her she could only dream of becoming.

  Or—at least, he did for the night.

  Because that was all she had to give. She was no vixen, not in real life, and that’s why she had to leave the warmth of his embrace.

  Thanks to waking on a baker’s schedule at four thirty in the morning, she’d given herself five minutes to watch the man as he slept. And he was nothing short of glorious. Chiseled jaw. Rock-hard abs. A cock that put Garrett’s in the category of itty-bitty cocktail wiener. Observing him was like appreciating a work of art.

  But while his body was sinfully unreal, his eyes were the real masterpiece.

  In his gaze, she’d seen him.

  Sure, they’d just met, but in those unguarded seconds, his green eyes revealed such longing and such heartbreaking sadness, all she could do was allow it to wash over her. Like him, she knew those emotions far too well herself.

  And that’s where she’d left him—in bed, sleeping. But not before she’d swept a dark curl off his forehead and left a whisper-soft kiss on his cheek.