Regular Sex ~ Issue 9 ~ The One Night Stand (The Regular Sex Weekly Series ~ Raunchy coffee-break reads)

Regular
Sex 9 ~ The One Night Stand

By

Kitty
French

Welcome to the ninth issue of
Regular Sex, the brand new series of sexy half hour reads guaranteed to make
sure your weekend starts with a bang!

Enjoy!

Happy reading,

Love Kitty x

Regular Sex ~ Issue 9 ~ The One Night Stand

You know those
days when your own life feels too dull and you just want to get laid by a hot
stranger? I'm having one of those days. Most times I ignore the urge and move
on, but today I'm indulging myself.

The guy who just
walked into the bar is drop dead sexy. I'm not the only woman in the room to
notice him; two women in business dress at a table close nearby look his way
too, and the brunette waitress collecting glasses pauses to give him the once
over, and then the twice over. I don't blame her. He's not regular hot. Lots of
guys are that, but this one has that special something that turns him into an
eye magnet. You know what I mean, right? He isn't necessarily the most
classically handsome man in the room, and not usually the loudest, but he's
always the one you'd pick to take home, if you happened to be in the mood to pick
a stranger up in a bar.

Which, as luck
would have it, I am.

This isn't
something I do often; very rarely in fact, once a year at most. I kicked work
to the curb an hour ago and headed here to the hotel bar I always choose for
this, because it’s never packed out and rowdy but always busy enough to not
feel conspicuous drinking alone. I'm wearing black capri pants and my favourite
sheer purple blouse and skinny chiffon scarf, a classy outfit that suggests
work, or maybe dinner. I could be perched on this barstool waiting for a first
date who doesn't show, or maybe meeting a friend who just texted me to cancel.
Easy cover stories I can explain away with a wry smile and a slight shrug.

He hasn't looked
my way yet. That's okay. It gives me time to make my assessment, to decide if
he's definitely the one. The bar is set out in a square and, for now, he's
taken a seat on the opposite side.

I nurse my almost
done with martini, sliding the olive from its stick with my teeth as I look
over at him unobserved. He's not a suit; his tawny hair is too long and he has
the kind of tan that comes from spending days outside in the sunshine rather
than in a spray tan booth. He chats easily with the server, and then seconds
later he drinks deeply from the tall beer glass, as if his day has been every
bit as long as mine. He closes his eyes as he swallows, as if beer is his
religion and he's paying it due respect. I know that feeling well, and it reminds
me that my glass is empty.

'Another?'

'You read my
mind.' I smile at the wet behind the ears server. He can't be more than
eighteen or nineteen, but he mixes a decent martini and he's attentive enough
to notice when I need re-fuelling. Attention to detail is a trick most guys
should learn early; it goes a long way with a girl if he can remember how she
takes her coffee and whether she prefers Pinot or Chablis. Not that I'm
considering parking Mr.Cute Hair on the sub bench in favour of bar guy; give
him twenty years and then maybe I'll look again. I like a man who has enough
experience to know how to handle me, and my instinct tells me that my one
night-stand is sitting at the bar rather than working it.

'Give him
another too,' I nod discreetly towards the guy as I murmur to the server when
he returns with my freshly mixed martini. For a second he looks surprised, a
slight lift of his brows, then he nods once and does as I've requested without
another word.

I look down as
he replaces the guy’s empty glass with a full one. Eye contact at this point
would be too direct on my part. I don't want to come over as pushy, or for
everyone else in the place to know what's happening, at least not until I'm certain
how he's going to respond. A public knock-back is something I can well do
without on a Friday evening.

For distraction
I check my phone and smile at a couple of new texts, and when I look up again he's
not on his stool anymore. Crap. Was I too obvious? Did I scare him away?

I glance
casually around the room, trying not to blatantly search for him.

'Thank you.'

The voice is
right behind me, and I don't need to turn to know it's him.

'Don't tell me your
name,' he says, and his arm slides out to place his beer on the bar beside my
martini. His 'n' hers. It looks a damn sight better than a pair of monogrammed
bath towels.

A tiny shudder
of pleasure strokes feather light down my spine. His voice is rich with quiet
confidence, and his choice of words tells me that he and I are cut from the
same cloth this evening.

'It's Rita,' I
lie, and he laughs softly as he slides onto the bar stool beside mine.

'It's not Rita,'
he says. 'Pick again. My mother's name is Rita.'

I play with the
stem of my glass. 'Laura?'

His brows draw
down. 'Second cousin twice removed.' He studies my face, and it gives me the
opportunity to notice his eyes are the same shade of green as the olive in my
martini and shot through with shards of gold, as if someone flicked glitter in
them. He's an odd mix of outdoor healthy and darkly sexy; looking at him sparks
something low in my belly. I recognise it as pure, absolute lust.

'You look like a
Holly,' he decides.

'And you must
be... Adam.'

Those gold-dust
eyes glitter. 'Pleased to meet you.'

I incline my
head and consider him over the rim of my glass.

Close up, I can
see the freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose and the laughter lines
around his mouth when he smiles. They put him late thirties, forty at most, which
makes us just about equal. He might have a couple of years on me at best; I'm
thirty-five, half way to seventy, and I plan on making every year between here
and there count. They say women peak around my age, so this guy should feel
goddamn honoured to have my prime piece of real estate ass sending him free beer
and an invitation for more. I feel a little like Thelma picking up Brad Pitt in
a motel. Or was it Louise? No matter. The point is that this guy would look
mighty fine in a Stetson and I want to get laid, so right here right and now,
we are the perfect match.

'So, Adam. Are
you in town on business or pleasure?'

I'm pretty sure
I lifted that line verbatim from Pretty Woman.

'Business up to
now,' he says, and his hand brushes mine on the bar as we both place our
glasses down at the same time. 'Pleasure from here on in.'

I swallow, and
glancing away I catch the suited up business women eying Adam from behind; the
look they give me is laced with envy. I can practically see the green eyed
monster seated at their table with them. Sorry ladies, go cast your nets
somewhere else. This fish has taken my bait and is well and truly on my hook.

'Is that right?'
I flash him my you've-got-me-if-you-want-me smile.

He lays his hand
on my knee, firm and massaging. 'Want to know a secret, Holly?'

'As long as it's
not your address or phone number,' I say.

He leans in and
pulls my stool closer to his, and his eyes tell me he understands and isn't in
the least offended. 'I don't want your Saturday nights or dinner with your
folks, either. Just tonight.'

The bar tender
is close enough to catch his words and I see his eyebrows hit his gelled fringe.
Watch and learn, boy, because there's a master-class in process here. I'm turned
on, hot from the inside out by such clearly laid out intent. I have a couple of
options here. Do I play it cool, or put my cards on the table? Oh, what the
hell. I never much liked playing it cool anyway.

Slithering to my
feet, I end up between his spread, jean clad thighs and wind my arms around his
neck.

'Tonight, huh?'
I look at my watch over his shoulder. 'It's still pretty early. That gives us a
fair few hours until morning.'

His arm hooks
around my waist and pulls me flush against him, and he pushes his other hand
into my hair.

'I'm done
talking,' he whispers, and then lowers his mouth to mine. Oh. My. Fucking. God.

If I've met a
man who kisses better I don't recall him, and if I've met a man with more
charisma I've forgotten him for my own good. This guy, he kisses like a
champion. He's gentle until he isn't, and his hand splayed on my back feels as
if it's branded against my bare spine. It's a good job his name isn't actually
Adam because I'd have forgotten it.

We should
probably stop now. It's a little after six on a Friday evening and the bar is
filling up, but how do you end the best kiss of your life? The answer is you
don't. I press my body greedily into his and thread my fingers through his
hair, and at some point he moves from sitting to standing and I'm almost off my
feet with the way he's holding me captive against his chest.

'I have a room
here.' He speaks into my mouth, sweet, delicious words, and then he lifts me so
I can wrap my legs around his middle while he kisses me deeply. The heat of his
cock presses into my crotch, and if we weren't in public right now I'd work his
zipper down and release it.

'I do too,' I breathe.

'Yours or mine?'
He's walking now, and I snag my bag from my stool as we pass. I don't miss the
incredulous looks on the faces of the other after work drinkers; for
incredulous, read jealous as fuck. As pick ups go this one has been
spectacular, and I am just glad I'm the woman in his arms rather than one of
the various green eyed gals pretending to be shocked.

Someone coughs
behind us, and I see a well-dressed security guard heading our way through the
tables.

' Get a room,'
one of the two women at the nearby table grouses cattily, loud enough for us to
hear.

'We did,' Adam
breaks off from kissing me to look down and respond. 'And now we're gonna go up
there and fuck like animals.'

I laugh into his
shoulder, shocked, and let him stride through the bar with me in his arms.
Those people who can see past their own jealousy give a ripple of applause, and
I laugh again, exhilarated. This guy... he's like a legal high.  

He doesn't put
me down as we head for the lift bank, and the hovering security guard scurries
ahead of us and presses the button, keen to get us out of the eye-line of the respectable
general public.

As we step into
the lift and the doors move together, Adam presses me back against the mirrored
wall and fills my mouth with his hungry, demanding kiss again, no longer
holding anything back for the sake of not being arrested.

'God,' he
breathes, 'You're the hottest woman I've never fucked.'

'Yet,' I
whisper, palming his violently hard cock through his jeans.

'Yet,' he
acknowledges, stabbing at the lift buttons before coming back to my mouth to
give me more of his I-can't-wait-to-get-you-naked kisses that are setting my
blood on fire.

The lift pings,
and he sets me down so we can stumble from it out onto the carpeted hotel
corridor, and he tugs me along by the hand at a pace that would have me out of
breath even if he hadn't just kissed me breathless.

'Slow down,' I
laugh. He turns to me and narrows his eyes, and then he stops altogether and
sandwiches me against the wall with the heat of his chest. He looks down into
my eyes, and then his fingers unravel the knot of my scarf and pull it so it
slips from my skin and into his hands. A slow smile creases the corner of his
mouth as he winds it around his fingers just before he delivers an ultra- slow,
searching kiss that sends me reeling. When his tongue touches mine, it's a sensual
brush, not a demanding probe. He cradles my jaw between his warm hands, his
eyes closed, a low sound of pleasure in his throat. He's not doing this just
for me; he's enjoying this change of pace too.

'Better now?' he
asks, when he opens his eyes. I slide my hands inside the softness of his T-shirt
over the hard muscles of his back.

I don't really
need to answer him because he already knows, but I nod anyway.

'Which room is
yours?'

He pulls his
keycard from the back pocket of his jeans and peers at it. '244.'

I scan the
numbers along the corridor and see that we're outside his door. It touches me
that he didn't take me inside for that kiss.

'Giving you a chance
to change your mind,' he whispers, dragging his thumb over my lip.

I shake my head.
'Not a chance.'

He swings the
door wide and pulls me inside, and for a second I'm nervous because slowing the
pace has given us both thinking time. The urge to have sex with him is still strong
enough to classify as violent, but I'm nervous too.

Adam seems to
sense it because he lays the key down and takes my bag from my fingers, then
strokes my jaw with the back of his hand. I'm surprised when he turns me
against the wall, sweeping my hair over one shoulder so he can kiss my neck.
It's a good move, one that feels screamingly sexy, the kind of thing you only
ever do with a stranger or your illicit lover. He fills his fists with my hair,
lifting it, kissing the back of my neck when he exposes it as if he knows that
it's my kiss-me-there-and-I'll-do-anything spot.

'You like that?'
he whispers when I groan. 'You like it when I kiss you here?'

I close my eyes
and nod, unpicking the buttons of my blouse. He lowers his hands and helps me,
takes over, tugging my blouse free of my waistband and opening it so he can
touch my breasts.

I rest my
forehead on the wall in front of me, loving his mouth on my nape as he covers
my breasts with his big hands. He's breathing fast and his crotch is against my
ass as he undresses me, and then he unhooks my bra and slides it off and I skip
a few breaths.

'Turn around.'

I do as he asks and
watch as he picks up my discarded chiffon scarf. My pulse quickens when he
slips it between his hands and then lifts it to in front of my face.

'Yes?'

I love that he double
checks I'm okay with it.