The stranger is easily over six feet tall, since he towers over my five-foot-eleven frame, and his shoulders are massive. Mystery Man has such pretty eyes, big and green, and they shine with the promise of trouble. He slides his body behind me and wraps his thick arms around my waist. The contact is foreign, but I ignore the urge to push him away and get lost in the music with him.
We don’t exchange words; we just grind and sway to each song, completely unaware of those around us. I feel him lean forward and graze his nose down the column of my neck. This close, I can smell the faint remnants of his soap. His lips get close to my ear, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down my spine. “Can I get you a drink?” We’re still moving when he asks, and his groin presses firmly into my arse. More vodka couldn’t hurt, so I give another nod. I don’t see Penelope anywhere as I scan the dance floor when we walk to the bar.
Mystery Man hands me a bottle of water while he downs one of his own. His shirt is soaked with perspiration, and I notice for the first time that I am also covered in a sheen of sweat, so I drink the cold liquid greedily before pouring a bit over my head. The sudden cold sends a shock through my system, but it feels so good. “What are you drinking?” His voice is smooth and deep.
“Something strong will do.” I smile, feeling unbalanced. Not physically, necessarily, though the club has taken on a fuzzy haze, but emotionally, I’m a complete trainwreck. Despite the alcohol coursing through my veins, I can still hear Shawn tellingme that I have to leave. I shake my head in an attempt to clear the words that have upended my entire life. With any luck, another drink will drown that out. Ineedto forget.
He turns to the bartender to place an order for two vodka tonics. Shifting, he pulls me close while we wait for our drinks.The bartender returns, and Mystery Man hands her some cash before steering us out of the throng of bodies. Luck is on our side because a couple exits a booth. I slide in quickly. Rather than sitting across from me, the man with no name slides in on my left. “I keep calling you Mystery Man in my head, but that feels rude. What should I call you?” Words feel heavy on my tongue, making my speech slurred.
His smile turns almost predatory, and I feel things. I discreetly shift, making room for my growing erection. “Are we doing names, gorgeous?” Trying to focus on his face is hard, so I look at my lap. Confusion muddles my thoughts. Trying to make sense of how he is making me feel, plus everything else, is difficult. I take a sip of my drink before I answer.
“I have a boyfriend,” I state quickly. Mystery Man doesn’t seem deterred as he gets closer, placing a hand on my knee. A niggling voice tells me that I should remove it, but the contact feels comforting, and that’s what I need right now. Realistically, I know his touch isn’t about offering me comfort. I meet his eyes again, and he smirks.
“Is your boyfriend here?” He doesn’t attempt to move his hand any farther, just holds my gaze with his intense stare, forcing me to look away.
“No, he travels a lot for work.” It’s hit or miss if I’m recognized, but it appears that this stranger is not familiar with my billboards. It also means he won’t realize that Darío Molina, star center fielder for the Brooklyn Sea Scorpions, is my long-term boyfriend.
“You always dance with strangers while he’s away?” He strokes my knee gently, if a bit suggestively. It causes chills to skitter down my spine, and I shiver.
“No. It’s been a weird day. I’m here with my best friend. She wanted to get me drunk, so I’m not sad.” Why am I talking? AmI about to unload my whole story to this man while we’re both trashed at the club?
“Can I help you not be sad?” I down the rest of my drink without flinching, taking in this man who is crowding my space and my senses. His arm rests behind me on the back of the booth, and he moves just a bit closer. I don’t retreat—and blame it on the alcohol—but I lean in. His hand moves to the back of my neck, and my skin feels prickly and tight.
“I don’t think anything will help me not be sad. My life is imploding,” I admit, barely above a whisper. My lowered voice has him bringing his face closer to mine. My lips part, my breathing shallow. I can smell the alcohol on his breath, and I’m pretty sure the same scent is bleeding out of my pores, along with my self-control.
Mystery Man cups my face and brushes his thumb across my bottom lip. I have this fierce urge to suck it into my mouth. Closing my eyes, I allow myself to feel desired by this man whose name I still don’t know. When my brain not so helpfully supplies an image of Darío’s face, I quickly open my eyes and focus on my surroundings. In the remaining rational part of my brain, logic is telling me that this is a terrible idea, but I shut that shit down. Logic has no place here. Alcohol, music, and this hot man are taking up too much space.
“I’m going to kiss you unless you tell me to stop,” he warns me. His mouth is so close to mine that a slight shift would have our lips touching. I have the space of a breath to make up my mind.
His mouth makes contact, and he demands entry with his tongue. I’m having trouble focusing on anything but this moment, and I’m being consumed. I keep my hands in my lap, my lips frozen, but I don’t try to push him away. His persistence pays off, and I feel myself opening to him. Losing myself in the kiss, I grab the front of his damp T-shirt and move to straddle hislap. It’s a tight squeeze in the booth, but I swing my leg around, and he pulls me down against his rock-hard erection.
He breaks the kiss, allowing me to suck in air while he moves his mouth to my neck. I moan involuntarily at the contact of his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin. My body is all heat and need andwantas I rub myself against him. That ever-present voice starts shouting, but I ignore it. His large hands grab my arse possessively, sliding me back and forth on him. “Will your friend miss you if you leave?” His pupils are blown, the green disappearing, as we rut against each other.
My head is spinning with this need that I can’t begin to understand, my cock is throbbing, and my single-track mind has me climbing off this man, tugging him toward the back of the club. “She’ll definitely miss me if I leave,” I confirm as we weave through the crowd. The hall to the toilets is dark and damp, bodies pressed against each other, with illicit moans filtering above the music. We enter the poorly lit loo. It smells like stale alcohol, urine, and sex in here. Ignoring the people around us, we quickly find an empty stall. We barely have the door closed before he has my body pinned against the wall, his hand gripping the back of my neck.
The taste and feel of this man reminds me again that this is all wrong. His taste, his smell, the callouses on his hands are all unfamiliar. I shake my head at the sour thoughts trying to break through my vibe. I tug at his belt buckle, not allowing myself to think too hard about what I’m doing. He sucks at my collarbone while I wrap my hand around his hard length. “Fuck, gorgeous. I want to bury myself in you. Are you going to let me fuck you?”
“Let me suck your cock,” I offer, instead of answering his question. I make quick work of getting his pants down, and he fists my hair. The sting has me groaning as he pushes me to my knees. I refuse to think about why the floor is sticky, swallowing back the bile rising in my throat, and I take him all the wayin one swallow. I run my tongue along the thick vein on the underside of his dick, making him moan. He doesn’t give me a chance to adjust, instead holding my head as he fucks in and out of my mouth without regard.
“Take your cock out. Make yourself feel good,” he growls, slamming to the back of my throat and holding himself there. Just as spots overtake my vision, he releases his hold, allowing me to suck in a ragged breath. Drool is sliding down my chin, and I can feel tears streaking down my face. It’s unclear if it’s only because of the face fucking I just endured.
I’m not coordinated enough to take myself out. I’m actually not even sure I’m hard anymore. I close my eyes as I lick around the head of his cock, the salty precum coating my tongue. His grip tightens on my hair, as he comes down my throat without warning. I try to swallow it all, but I end up coughing, sending cum leaking down my chin with drool.
Without a word, I rise and step around him to exit. He doesn’t attempt to stop me, and I quickly make my way to the sinks. Shame floods me, the regret coursing through my veins. I feel disgusting. Avoiding eye contact with anyone, myself included, I wash my hands in front of the streaked mirror. My phone buzzes in my pocket, reminding me that I have to face Penelope when I step out of here. My stomach turns, making me retch. It has nothing to do with the alcohol.
Penelope is waiting for me by the exit, her eyes creased in concern that quickly turns to surprise when she sees me. “Harlan, what did you do?” Hot tears start to fall as I approach her. “Did someone hurt you?” The anger and alarm in her voice have me quickly shaking my head.
“Just me,” I mutter. I can still taste the stranger on my tongue as I fight the urge to gag, and the full reality of what I just did crashes down on me. “I need to get out of here, Pen.”
“Ok. We’ll go.” Her calm, no-bullshit tone brings me little comfort. “Lan, you’re making me nervous. Please tell me you’re ok.” She takes me by the elbow and starts to walk us out.
Shaking my head, I quickly exit the club. Once I’ve hit the corner of the brick building, I vomit. Sweat coats my skin, and the smell of the man and the alcohol have me heaving again. I don’t even know who I am right now. “I need to go home,” I rasp. I need to scrub this night off me.
Like the sweet angel that she is, Penny gets me home and in the shower before helping me dress. Once I’m in bed, I fall apart in her arms as I tell her how badly I’ve fucked up. I ignore my phone for the night, unable to face seeing Dare’s name on the screen. I have no idea how I’m supposed to look him in the face on Sunday and tell him that I’ve ruined everything. Just the idea of hurting him has me wanting to vomit all over again.
I spend the remainder of the weekend avoiding my phone, drowning myself in bone-deep regret. I left the house long enough to stop by Allegra’s to let her know that I’ll be leaving. I didn’t say much, but she could tell something was wrong. She hugged me tightly for a long time. “Whatever’s got you feeling this way, don’t hold it in, baby,” she told me. “If you need to talk, you know I’m always here for you.” I thanked her quietly before retreating to the sofa again.
I’ve managed a few texts to Dare, but I ignore most of his calls. The guilt that eats away at me is too much to bear when I have to hear his voice. It’s selfish, I know that. He’s clearly worried, but I was afraid that if I talked to him, I’d end up confessing to everything. I owe it to him to tell him in person.
