Just One More Night by Caitlin Crews (fb2 epub reader .TXT) 📗

“Take off your clothes,” he told her, doing nothing to soften his voice.

She shivered a little, still smiling, and stayed where she was as she stripped her shirt off, then tossed it aside, without a word. Her small, perfect breasts weren’t contained by any bra, so he could see her hard nipples immediately, and he liked that. Then she knelt up higher on her knees, unbuttoning her jeans and shoving them over her hips, with another one of those thongs that he vividly recalled from Budapest. Tonight it was hot pink, a detail he suspected would live within him always.

He hoped it would.

When she sat back, she rolled back so she could stretch her legs out in front of her and pull her jeans the rest of the way off.

So smooth, so easy.

“You take your clothes off well,” he said. “Almost as if you have done it before. For money, perhaps?”

He knew she had. But would she admit it? It wouldn’t ruin anything for him if she lied on this, their first night. Stefan knew too well the risks of oversharing, or even the faintest attempt at transparency. But if she lied, it would give him an insight into her. And her relationship with shame.

Indy’s smile was wicked. And completely shameless. “You should see me on a pole.”

“Is that what you do when you’re not roaming about bad neighborhoods in Europe? Strip?”

She shook her head. And she knelt so easily before him once more, he was already hard again. “You know how all the girls like to say that they’re stripping to get through college, right? I actually did. It was fun.”

“Then why did you stop?”

She considered him for a moment while she knelt there, perfect and naked and within reach. After all this time, he could simply extend a hand and touch her as he wished.

Part of him still couldn’t believe it. Not even now, after she’d sucked him good with that wicked mouth of hers.

“I think that stripping is the kind of thing that could quickly become pretty much the opposite of fun, if it went on for too long and became about, for example, paying rent. And here’s something about me that you should probably know, Stefan.” Her gaze was steady on his. Her voice was quiet. “I don’t want to do it if it’s not fun. Whatever it is. Because what’s the point of that?”

“Life is not always fun, foolish girl. I would say it is very rarely any fun at all. How have you never learned this?”

She was so young, he thought. A product of the country she came from and the splendid life he knew she’d lived there, white picket fences and shiny dreams and all the rest of that New World crap. While he had been born into the ruins of the very, very Old World, had been raised dreamless and dark, and knew better.

But when she smiled, she seemed neither young nor naïve. “Whether life itself is fun or not isn’t the point, Stefan. How I choose to live is fun or I don’t choose to do it. Do you understand?”

“I understand that you are a privileged American girl, no? So maybe it is easier for these things to be fun for you while for others, living is not so delightful. It is merely the better option.”

“Maybe,” she said, and though he studied her expression he could see no indication that she took any offense at his words. He couldn’t tell if he liked that or not. “Or maybe I don’t think that we all need to be quite so serious all the time. Really. We don’t. No one does.”

“And if I tell you that I’m a very, very serious man?”

Another flashing smile and something like wisdom in her gaze. “I like how serious tastes. And I’m guessing you like how fun tastes, or you wouldn’t be here either. Would you?”

He laughed at that and then he stood, leaving his jeans unbuttoned. And enjoying the look of her there, still kneeling at his feet.

His beautiful, foolish girl.

Stefan reached down and picked her up, but he didn’t set her on her feet. He lifted her even farther, liking the way she laughed a little and melted against him. Making it the easiest thing in the world to lift her so high that she was kneeling on his shoulders.

Indy laughed. “You aren’t really...”

“I would hold on,” he advised her. Sternly.

Then he gripped her ass, made sure he was holding her securely, and brought her pussy directly to his lips.

He licked his way in, finding her wet and sweet and hot and in the next moment, coming against his mouth.

Just as he remembered.

He teased her clit, sucking on it and raking it gently with his teeth. He saw how many more times he could make her come as she gripped his hair so hard it hurt and arched her body there where she knelt on his wide shoulders. She tossed her head back, writhing against him and showing him that she fully trusted he would not drop her.

Her trust made his cock so hard it nearly hurt.

And only when he was satisfied with the way she screamed and rocked against his face did he lower her down his body, handling her with an ease that made him ache, to finally slam his way inside her.

This time, her whole body formed a perfect bow. She wrapped her legs around his hips, her mouth wide open as if the scream was trapped inside her, and he could no longer tell if she was coming or about to come again.

He didn’t wait for her to accommodate him, because she was molten hot and so sweet it almost burned. Instead, he moved her, using her to fuck himself, loving the feel of her in his hands. That tight fist of her pussy, wetter and hotter with each stroke.

The longer it went, the more she moved into it, letting her back arch once more. Letting her