Authors: Violet Haze
Tags: #Erotic Romance novelette
For The Night
An erotic romance
For The Night (Luna, #1) ©2014 by Violet Haze
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
First Edition: January 2014
This book is an
, intended for adults
If you are not age 16+ (UK) or 18+ (US), you may not be the intended audience of this book depending on your local laws.
If you are not of age and continue, it’s with full knowledge and consent that this book may offend you or be age inappropriate.
Also, this book is
of a series.
Not all situations are resolved, but the story is damned funny if I do say so myself.
To everyone who said I should write this story and put it out there, even if my cheeks were flaming the entire time I wrote it.
I love you.
A rule I don’t intend to break…
They know me as Luna. We meet. We spend the night together. Then we never see each other again. That’s my rule and I’ve never been tempted to change my mind…until him.
A man who wants me to fulfill his every desire…
He meets me as Luna, unaware that he’s met me before as another. And when I realize he’s poised to take away the one thing that matters, I do what I have to do to keep what belongs to me.
A decision that could break us both…
In the secret war between me and a man who may be the one I’d spent my life searching for…will he be the one who gives into my desires…or I into his?
“See something you like?”
The man stares at me like I’m something sweet; a piece of candy he’s been denying himself for so long that he plans to take a big bite of as soon as he can. And I’ll let him. He’ll get to fuck me four ways to Sunday when we get back to his place.
Fitting since it is Saturday night.
I grin, delight and excitement coursing through me at the devilish gleam in his gaze.
His gorgeous blue-green eyes drop from their initial connection with mine to my barely covered cleavage.
A strategic move on my part as no man seems able to keep their focus off them for long.
He lifts a hand and rests it on my bare shoulder. The warm contact of his palm against my skin sets it to sizzling. It’s been a few days since someone has touched me and I am on edge. I crave touch often; I
He leans in, seeking access to my neck, and I oblige by tilting my head.
We’re in public, in a booth in the middle of a restaurant, but I don’t care.
All I want is his touch on me, fulfilling my desires.
I yearn for his lips to take mine, forcing my mouth open and plundering it with so much force that when he drags his mouth away, I’m left gasping for breath. One hand on my breast, another sliding down until it slips into my panties, seeking my pussy. And as I move my hips, trying to coax the hand to go further, he’ll laugh and pull away enough to elicit a curse from me.
Instead, he places a few tame kisses on my neck before pulling back, giving me a lopsided smirk.
“What’s your name, pretty girl?”
I barely restrain an eye-roll at his calling me ‘girl’.
At twenty-three, with measurements of 36-32-38 on a toned five-foot-seven frame, I’m definitely all woman.
“Call me Luna,” I say, sliding a hand under the table to rest it on his leg. “What’s yours?”
He winks and lifts his beer to tip it at me. “Rick.”
I nod as he takes a swig. When he places the bottle back on the table, I glide my hand upward.
“Well, Rick,” I drawl, chuckling a bit at hearing him let out a hiss between his teeth as my hand nears closer to his trouser-covered cock, “How ‘bout we take this party back to your place?”
His hand shoots under the table, grasping mine a second before it makes contact. I pout in protest. He lifts my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing my knuckles.
“We’ve just met.” He releases me and takes another drink. “Are you sure you want to go already?”
I don’t say anything else. I don’t need to.
After all, why do I need to?
He is a stranger. We’d met only thirty minutes before, when he’d found me dining alone and invited me to come over. It hadn’t taken long for me to flirt and take things to the next level.
That is the whole reason I sit alone in restaurants. It’s why I dress in a provocative manner, sure to prompt offers to join single men at their tables.
And it works every single time.
So yeah, no explanation needed for them.
I get what I want, which is all I care about.
Rick takes care of the bill and stands, holding out a hand, which I accept.
“I’m staying here,” he whispers as we walk toward the lobby. “I’m visiting from out of town.”
Damn, this just keeps getting better and better.
“When do you leave?” I try to keep the joy out of my voice at this revelation.
“Tomorrow.” He frowns at me. “You?”
Realizing he thinks I’m also a guest here, I use it to my advantage.
“Same,” I reply as the elevator doors open. “I'm just here for the night.”
We step inside, the doors closing, punctuating our unspoken agreement to spend the evening in each others arms.
Then we’ll part in the morning, never to see each other again.
Exactly the way I like it.
It’s seven a.m. when I leave the hotel.
Rick must’ve had an early flight because when I awoke, he was gone.
When dressing to leave, I noticed something on the nightstand, only to discover he’d left behind a business card with his personal number on it.
Apparently he thought I’d call him and we’d get together again.
“Fat chance,” I muttered before tossing it in the trash and leaving the room.
The sex had been great. He’d been an attentive lover.
However, I didn’t have sex with anyone more than once. It was one night and done; most weren’t worth a second time anyway. It sucked for those who might keep me entertained for more than a night, but there were no exceptions.
And now, I walk home from the hotel. I don’t live far; that’s why this is my pick-up place of choice.
Not even half a mile away is my townhouse, which I share with my two roommates and best friends from college, Iris and Dexter.
I’m lost in thought when my high heel snaps and I topple forward. I put my hands out, hissing as my palms scrape against the ground. I roll to sit and pick up the shoe, checking out the damage before I smack it repeatedly on the ground in frustration.
It takes a second for me to notice that a sleek, shiny black car has stopped next to the curb. I glance up only to freeze, then scowl at
smiling face. He’s taken off his seatbelt and has leaned across the middle of the vehicle to keep me in his view.
“You won’t break ground by using a shoe. You do know that, don’t you?”
At his mirth filled observation, I throw my shoe and he ducks, making sure it flies past his head and lands inside the car somewhere.
He chuckles before stepping out, leaving the car idling as he walks over and offers me his hand.
I stare up at him, realizing that he doesn’t recognize me in my short-haired brown wig. I also have color contacts in, but I doubt he’s ever taken note of my eye color.
Accepting his hand, I wince as my raw palm meets his and stand up. Letting go immediately, I gently kick my other shoe off and lean over to pick it up.
I rack my brain, trying to remember his name and failing. He comes into my work three mornings a week, ordering a black coffee and a bowl of mixed fruit, then sits at the table for an hour while reading the newspaper. A routine he’s kept up for over a month now.
As I meet his dark chocolate gaze with my fake green one, he grins and gestures to his car.
“May I give you a ride to wherever you need to go?”
I shake my head and step back. “No, thanks. I’m not far from here.”
Why did I say that? For all I know, he could be stalker and now he knows I live nearby!
He looks down at my feet, then back up at my face. “You aren’t wearing any shoes; you could hurt yourself.”
“I’ll be fine,” I insist, turning toward the direction I need to go when he speaks again.
“Why don’t you let me at least drop you really close by? I’ll even drive off and you can watch me go before you head to your building.”
I whirl around, crossing my arms over my chest. “I don’t even know your name. I’m not getting into your car with you because you could kidnap me and—“
“Tobias Giles-Blackburn,” he cuts in, taking out his wallet and flipping it open to show me his drivers license. “I’m not going to kidnap you. Even if I wanted to, now you know my name, so I’d have to kill you to keep you silent and I’m wearing my best suit.”
My mouth drops open at his statement, even as I acknowledge that his ensemble — a light grey three-piece suit and white undershirt with a red tie for a pop of color — flatters his physique and features quite well.
“I saw you fall and all I want to do is help.” He walks over to the car and opens the passenger door. “Now, are you going to get in or what?”
I snap my mouth shut and look to my right, discerning that I am at least a quarter mile away from my place. It would be a long walk for me shoeless, since I’d have to walk slowly and watch the ground to make sure I didn’t injure the bottom of my feet.
With a sigh, I face him once more and walk the few steps until only the passenger door separates us.
“Fine,” I finally agree, holding up my shoe, heel out. “But don’t try anything funny. I may not be able to break ground with this, but I’m definitely able to puncture your face with it.”
He laughs and leans close to whisper, “Not to worry. While I enjoy a little feistiness in the bedroom, the only time I ignore a ‘no’ is when there is a consensual safe-word in its place.”
I’m not shocked at his words. I know all about kink and the various forms of enjoyment it can bring to the bedroom. Instead of responding like he obviously wants me to, I slide onto the seat.
As he goes to shut the door, I ask, “Don’t you want to know the name of the woman you’ve invited into your car?”
He shrugs. “Only if you want to tell me.”
Before I can respond, he closes the door and walks around to climb in. He puts on his seatbelt, then turns his head my way and just looks at me, smiling.
He tilts his head a little, pointing a finger at his own restraint. “Can’t drive ’til you put it on.”
“We’re going two minutes down the road!”
“A lot can happen in those couple’a minutes.”
Irritated, I grab the belt and put it on, snapping, “Is that a line you use on every woman you meet?”
He ignores my remark, pulling away from the curb before asking, “Where do you want me to drop you off?”
I want to glare at him, not sure why I’m so pissed off at a man who just wants to help me. Instead, I just sigh and point. “You can let me out by that driveway, with the green trash can at the end of it.”
It’s two houses down from my place. Within seconds, he pulls into the driveway and puts the car in park.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say, opening the door.