A surprise short story from the delightful mind of Alysha Ellis... Because we like to keep you guessing ;)
Chance Encounter
Celia sat at the
bar in the five star hotel and cursed herself silently. When her mother told
her she’d set up a blind date for her,—“With my friend Tessa’s son. He’s a
lovely boy. Such a sweet personality,” any normal woman would have reminded her
that the last five dates she’d gone on to please her had been disasters. Celia loved
her mother, but the woman was determined to see her daughter married. No matter
how often Celia tried to tell her she didn’t need her help, her mother kept on
trying. Stubborn didn’t begin to describe her. But Celia had had enough. This
blind date was the last one she’d ever go on. No matter what her mother did,
she’d just say no and keep on saying it.
She’d chosen a
seat with a clear view across the lobby to the coffee shop where she was
supposed to meet her blind date. If Johnson Bartholomew Winthrop was as pompous
and stuffy as his name, she could make her escape without ever speaking to the
man.
She ordered a
large glass of wine and took a sip. The sip turned into a gulp when a man about
thirty years old and thirty pounds overweight, dressed in dark conservative
pants and a knit polo shirt that did nothing to hide his paunch, walked up to
the coffee shop, cast a quick look around the lobby and scurried inside. Celia
swallowed the rest of the wine and stood.
“You’re not
leaving are you?”
She turned to
see who’d spoken and her heart did a triple somersault. Beside her sat a vision
of masculine perfection. Golden blond hair, clear blue eyes and a luscious
mouth. His black t-shirt draped over a muscled chest. Blue jeans covered lean,
powerful legs. His booted feet hooked over the rungs of the barstool. Her conservative,
socialite mother would hate him.
Celia sat back
down.
He shifted his
stool closer to hers. “Buy you another drink?”
She nodded and
her head swam a little. When the wine he ordered arrived, she sipped slowly.
“You staying at
the hotel?” His voice had a husky rasp that made Celia’s toes curl.
“I just came to
meet someone.”
His lips curled
into a delicious smile. “I’m someone.”
Heat burned
through Celia’s body. Just once she wanted to rebel, to do something wild and
wanton, to show her family she was more than a pawn to be moved into the
correct school, the correct college, the correct job and worst of all the
correct relationship.
She got to her
feet, swayed a little then stood firm. “Do you have a room?”
He straightened.
“Honey, are you sure?” He cast a glance at the wine glass in front of her.
“Maybe it’s the alcohol talking.”
She grabbed his
hand. “I know what I’m doing. I want you. Now.”
He got to his
feet, towering five or six inches above her own five foot nine. He put his hand
on her shoulders and leaned in close. “If you’re certain this is what you want,
I’d love to.”
He pulled her
close and the rigid cylinder of his erection pushed against her hip. She
clenched her hands to keep from grabbing it right there in the bar, and gasped
out through her tight throat. “Come on.”
They shared the
elevator with other people, but when they reached his room he pushed her
inside, spun her around and body slammed her up against the door. He bent his
head and covered her lips with his mouth.
His tongue
thrust in and out and hips ground against hers. Moisture flooded her, warm and
ready. She reached out and undid the snap of his jeans. The harsh rush of air
in and out of fevered lungs drowned out rasp of the zip. She shoved her hands inside and whimpered in
delight. He wore no underwear.
Her hands closed
around his hot, smooth cock.
He shoved his pants down to his ankles,
pausing only to extract a foil packet from the front pocket, then he hiked her
dress up to her waist, ripped her thong panties away, covered himself and
thrust inside. She opened her legs wide,
aching to take him.
He angled his
body and lifted so she sank down on his shaft. The deep penetration forced a
gasp of pleasure from her. He gripped her hips and lifted her, then let her
slide down until she pressed against the root of his cock. She writhed and
twisted, wanting the unbearable tension to snap and push her over the edge and
at the same time wanting more, more, more.
Her legs
collapsed, but he held her upright, her back pressed against the wall—her hips
slamming against it with each thrust.
He groaned and
her muscles tensed. The tension coiled higher and higher. Just when she was
certain she could take no more he reached down between them with two fingers
and pulsed them hard and fast against her clit.
She screamed and
her body dissolved into waves of orgasm. Through the roaring of blood in her
ears she heard him groan, felt his cock pumping as he came.
After a moment he
straightened and gently withdrew. Celia sank towards the floor. He caught her
in his arms, carried her to the bed, settled her on top of the covers and kissed
her forehead. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
Celia heard the
snick of the bathroom door open and closing but she lay there, too exhausted
and far too satisfied to move.
When he
returned, he’d removed the condom and his clothes. Celia couldn’t stop her
appreciative grin. He looked just as good without clothes as he did with them.
Better. His golden skin stretched across a firm body. She gasped. On his hip, low and to the centre, he had a
small tattoo of a dragon. Her tongue sneaked out to moisten her lips. She
wanted to take a long, loving bite of that.
He sat on the
side of the bed. “You gonna pull that dress back down and go?”
She lifted her
head and looked down at the black material still bunched around her waist. “Do
you want me to?”
His eyes grew
heavy. “I want you to stay.”
She pulled the
dress over her head and flung it aside. “I want that too.”
He lay down
beside her. She ran her hands idly over his stomach. He grinned at her. “I’m
glad I decided to go into the bar instead of doing what my mother wanted.”
Celia swallowed.
“What your mother wanted?”
He shrugged. “She
set me up with a blind date with the daughter of some friend of hers. I decided
not to go through with it so I went to the bar instead.”
Celia grabbed
his hand and held it tight. “What’s your name?”
“Call me J. B.” He
looked sheepish. “Who’d want to answer to a name like Johnson Bartholomew
Winthrop?”
