Shifting the Night Away (19 page)

“I come here regularly. I know the bartender, Mickey.” He gestured towards the guy behind the bar, who was making up a tray full of drinks for the waiters to take to their tables. “He hooks me up with the good stuff from time to time.”

That explains the top shelf liquor.
I wasn’t surprised; I didn’t know anyone my age who could afford their $40 credit card bill, much less put down that kind of money on alcohol. If I weren’t my parent’s only child with a big scholarship, I didn’t know how I would be going to college. They were renting out the beach house to pay the mortgage these days.

“So you came here for free booze.”

“Who wouldn’t?” He knocked back the rest of his drink, and as an artist I had to admire the clean line of his jaw.
He’d be just my type if he were a little less crass.
He smirked at me again, almost like he could read my thoughts.

My parents raised me on the idea that how people dress and speak mattered; though I’d tried to loosen up in college, I couldn’t see myself taking home a guy like Riker. His face alone promised he’d broken many girls’ hearts.

Still, that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy a bit of bad boy flirtation for one evening. Our chemistry couldn’t be denied.

Curious, I studied the edge of a long, swirling tattoo on his arm. “What’s that?” I asked, my fingers hovering near his painted skin. “It almost looks like smoke.”

“It is.” He pushed back his sleeve, revealing more of his toned biceps. The black smoke formed the shape of a curling Chinese dragon with glowing red eyes. Drawn to its beauty, I ran my fingers over it, as if I could feel the dark ink.

“It’s beautiful,” I said. Normally I hated tattoos, but this one was so nice. My fingers brushed against hard, knotted skin. “Is that a scar?”

Turning away, Riker let his sleeve fall, and I snatched my hand from his arm.
Did I do something wrong?

“It’s an old story,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “Ancient history. Just the thought of it makes me need another drink.”

He signaled to the bartender, who grabbed a glass bottle of beer. “No more bourbon, you’re cut off.” The bartender pushed the bottle to Riker. “Bourbon always makes him morose,” he said to me, smiling subtly.

“What about you?” Riker asked as he twisted off the bottle cap. “It doesn’t look like your date is showing up.”

Shaking my head, I picked up my glass and drained it. “I’ll have a beer, too.”

Why not? I had nowhere to be and nothing to lose.

Chapter Three

Bad Boy

Wobbling, I stood up and looked around for the bathroom. After a glass of bourbon and two beers, I
definitely
needed it.

“Shhh, shhhh,” I said, whacking Riker on the arm to shut him up, even though he wasn’t speaking. “Where’s the drunk? I’m bathroom.”

Cocking an amused eyebrow at me, he gestured towards the back of the restaurant. “You need some help, princess? You look a little unsteady on those pins.”

“I can do it!” Waving him off, I teetered past the bar and through the lines of tables. I could
feel
how drunk I was. It was embarrassing how much of a lightweight I’d become since I’d stopped going to frat parties. With every sip of my beer I leaned dangerously closer to Riker, drinking in his hypnotizing gaze.

You’re so gonna sleep with him if you don’t leave soon,
I thought to myself as I pushed open the bathroom door.
Splash some water on your face and get out of here.

The voice of reason had a point, but just like at the frat party last year, I was too drunk and horny to listen. Instead I found myself powdering my nose and primping my eyelashes in the mirror.

I wanted him. I had a feeling he wanted me too. What was the harm? Unlike that guy from the frat party, I wouldn’t ever have to see Riker again. It was just one night.

Straightening my shoulders and fixing my hair, I turned and strutted out of the bathroom, prepared to seduce a bad boy.

Instead I was pulled back by the waist, a strong arm clasping me, a warm voice in my ear.

“I thought you’d never come out,” he whispered, sucking on my earlobe. I yelped, belatedly realizing it was Riker pressed against me—and
all
of him was at attention.

“You move fast,” I said, turning around in his arms and bracing my hands against his leather jacket-clad chest. “I told you I wasn’t going to sleep with you.”

“Did you? I wasn’t listening when you talked,” he said. I huffed in anger, but before I could say anything more he silenced me with his lips.

His mouth was cool and tasted like hops. Stubble pressed against my lips as I let him in, his tongue twining with mine, his hands strong against my waist. He pressed me to him, making his intentions clear as his erection rubbed against my thigh. My thoughts raced, but I kissed him back as hard as I could, slipping my hands onto his shoulders for balance.

Pulling back, he murmured against my lips. “Your body is telling me a different story. So what’s lying—your mouth?” He kissed me. “Or your hips?” He ground against me, my legs parting as he pushed me against the wall and thrust his cock up and down my hip, his size apparent through layers of clothing.

I thought about the time that had passed since anyone touched me. I thought about the birth control pill I’d taken that morning, having wondered at the time if I even needed to bother. Riker certainly seemed like he knew how to satisfy a woman, and he was obviously eager to satisfy me.
What’s the worst that could happen?

“Your place or mine?” I asked, and he responded with a growl. The sound was deep and animalistic—almost inhuman.

“Princess, I don’t have the patience to make it back to your no doubt pink room and fuck you under satin sheets. I know just the place,” he said, grasping my hand and pulling me forward a step, “and it’s right around the corner.”

***

“I didn’t realize this was your definition of ‘right around the corner,’” I said, stepping into the stock room. “I’m not sure—”

“Hush.” Riker strode towards me and pressed me up against one of the kegs, his hands on my hips, his mouth on mine. I melted in his embrace, the strong planes of his body pressing up against mine. When he pulled back, I almost whimpered, missing his warmth. “We’re not fucking in here. We’re going upstairs. Don’t worry, princess, you’ll get your bed.”

“I’m not a princess,” I protested, but he just shook his head.

“You are, and you don’t even know it. Now c’mon. You’re driving me crazy, teasing me like that. I want inside you.”

I bit my lip at his boldness. Taking my hand, he led me out of the stock room, through an alley, and into another building with a little hallway and an elevator. I reached out to press the button, but he strode past the elevator doors to the stairwell.

“Wait—my heels. I can’t walk up the stairs, we’ll have to—”

Stooping, he swept my legs beneath me and picked me up, supporting my legs and shoulders. I gasped, twining my arms around his neck.

“Warn a girl next time.”

“What can I say,” he said, taking the stairs with surprising ease, “I’m not known for my patience.”

“Where are we going, anyway?” I asked, watching the steps vanish behind us. “Your apartment?”

“Something like that.” The tone of his voice suggested he’d rather I not ask any more follow-up questions.
I swear to God if he’s squatting in some run down abandoned apartment I’m so done… probably… maybe. Once we’ve made out a bit.

His muscles flexed as he gently put me down. I looked around, noting how clean the hallway was, how far apart the doors were—suggesting each apartment was
huge.
Internally, I had to wonder how it was that someone like Riker had a key to one of these units, which he took out and used to open the door. It was only with great self-control that I managed not to ask him if we were even allowed to be there.
Don’t be rude, Mara Finn,
I scolded myself, keeping my tongue on tight check.

The inside of the apartment was
huge,
and decorated with oversized, stuffed furniture that looked like something a Manhattan housewife in her forties would buy. Still, there was an air of sophistication to it, and the large, framed black and white street photographs on the wall added a bit of youth. Nothing in this place screamed that it belonged to a tattooed guy in his twenties named “Riker,” needless to say.
I bet his
real
apartment has a futon and two roommates.

“So…” Riker said, clasping my hips and gently caressing my skin through the sheer fabric of the black dress I wore, “what do you want to do first, princess? My tongue awaits your beck and call.”

I could feel his hard cock straining at the denim fabric of his jeans as he pressed himself against me. His breath was warm and smelled of bourbon, and his height forced me to look up to meet his gorgeous eyes. The thought of his tongue between my thighs sent shivers up my spine, but first I wanted to taste him some more.

“I haven’t had my share of kissing you yet,” I said, standing on my tip toes and pressing my lips to his. He slipped his mouth onto mine, his tongue pressing against my lips, his hands moving to touch my body
just
beneath my breasts. I felt my nipples harden and peak at his touch, the thin fabric between us doing nothing to conceal how turned on we both were by each other’s tongues.

There was a flair to Riker’s kissing, which turned from rough and edged with teeth to soft and tender in a moment’s notice. He walked me back towards the sofa, working my mouth with his own as his hands spread heat through my body.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said, breaking away from the kiss to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “If you were mine, I’d have you six ways to Tuesday.”

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach at the desire in his voice. “Let’s just focus on tonight,” I said, pulling him closer to me.

We fell to the couch together, legs intertwined, hips pressed together. Riker braced his arms around me and I pushed his leather jacket open, marveling at his darkly inked muscles.

“How many tattoos do you have?” I asked, touching their lines with my fingertips.

“Too many, princess.” He peeled his leather jacket off and threw it to the ground, revealing the worn graphic T-shirt he wore beneath. I reached down and teased the edge of the fabric with my fingertips, his skin hot against my touch.

“I want to see them,” I said insistently, as he leaned down to suck at my neck. “I want to taste your skin.”

“You’re drunk,” Riker responded, his voice muffled by my hair. “It all tastes the same, tattooed or not.”

“How do you know?” I asked, as I pulled his shirt up and he moved his arms obligingly to take it off. “Unless you lick yourself on a regular basis, you have no idea.”

“Good point.” He straddled my waist, his bare chest glorious above me. I couldn’t help but put my fingers on his abs, noticing the visible tent in his pants where his erection pressed forward.

“What do they all mean?” I glanced from the tribal symbol that stretched down his arm and across his pec, to the smoke dragon at his shoulder, and down to the panther prowling above his hip bone.

“They’re all just memories I don’t want to forget. Or talk about.” He was looking into some far off distance, his eyes shadowed with the past. “Now c’mon, princess, time for you to take that off.” Riker gestured towards my dress.

“Why don’t you
make
me,” I murmured, watching his eyes flash with heat.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Standing, he pulled me up with him and knelt in front of me. Confused, I tilted my head and watched as he opened his mouth—just barely—and grasped the hem of my dress in his teeth. Then he stood up oh-so-slowly, peeling the thin fabric off me inches at a time. I raised my arms as the dress reached my shoulders, and he pulled it the rest of the way off his with his hands.

“Fuck, that was hot,” I gasped, wrapping myself around him and meeting his mouth in a kiss.

He seemed to lose control against me, his hands wandering all over my body as he walked us backwards until my back hit a door. He cupped one against my ass, the other fumbling with the door.

Reaching over, I grabbed the doorknob and opened the door to what turned out to be a
massive
bedroom. Plush rugs decorated the ground, an electric guitar rested in one corner, and an amazing king-sized bed greeted me.