Whitney slid her keycard into the slot of a hotel room door in downtown L.A., the kind of hotel that hosted conventions and business meetings. Anonymous and huge. The green light flashed and she pushed the door open.
Someone dragged her into the room and slammed her against a wall. The door clicked shut, blocking out the only light available. The room was in pitch darkness, the windows covered, the lights out. She hit the wall with a soft thud, her face against the paper.
Her attacker grabbed her around the waist, his free hand dragging her head back by her hair, and then his mouth crashed down on hers, taking her with a hot desperation that flung her into the whirlwind. Now she couldn’t think. Now she could only feel. His hips pressed against hers at an awkward angle but he twisted them against her and she felt the insistent bulge of his erection.
The moment his lips came into contact with hers, she knew him. Knew that pressure, the way his mouth felt against hers, the way he flicked her lips with his tongue in an unspoken request—demand—that she open for him.
When she didn’t obey immediately, he nipped her bottom lip and when she opened her mouth to protest, he surged in, soothing the bite with his tongue in a gentle caress before resuming his fierce attack on her. She tasted him, peppermint and a touch of something else, something fruity. He’d had a glass of wine recently. He never met her drunk, but he sometimes tasted of wine and sometimes brandy. She loved it. It added a tinge of danger, the threat that he might get carried away and ignore her needs. But he never did.
“Never” being three times. They said that three times and one was hooked. Three cigarettes, three shots of heroin, three “Stranger Danger” encounters. The man with no name gave her what she needed, what she craved. He fed her addiction and she fed his.
He took her mouth with an intensity she could respond to only with the kind of helpless acceptance she never demonstrated in her real life. The life outside this door. Whimpering, she followed him when he withdrew, begging for more. With a grunt, he turned her around so her back pressed against the hotel wallpaper. Her backbone rolled against the hard surface but she welcomed the discomfort. He wasn’t going to stop. He seemed as desperate as she was. That had connected them from the first time, and he was no less desperate now. He wanted her.
Here, in the dark. No excuses, no explanations needed here.
He connected with her again, tilting his head to bring his mouth down on hers in a deeper, harder fusion. He swept his tongue around her mouth in total mastery. She opened for him and lifted her chin to meet his demands. He was much taller than she but then most people were. He must be over six feet, with the kind of abs a girl could get lost exploring. What a way to lose direction.
She grasped his shoulders, felt the rough edge of a T-shirt under her palms and groaned into his mouth. She loved the mounds and dips of his body. Fuck, this guy was ripped. Whoever he was.
He pressed against her, his pecs to her shoulders, and bent to kiss her. Sliding his hands around her waist, he lifted her with a convulsive motion, making her gasp for breath. The thick cotton of his pants rasped against her jeans, the only sound in this hushed room. Lifting his head, he spoke in Greek. He had a deep, gravelly voice and he rarely spoke much. Just to give her instructions. Her Greek was better than her Mandarin, but hardly fluent. In this situation, it didn’t have to be. “Skirt,” he said now. “Not trousers.”
It took her a minute to process the words, and she had to concentrate. Maybe it was time to buy that teach-yourself-Greek DVD. By the time she’d taken a step, he was on her, dragging down her zipper before he shoved her jeans down her legs. He thrust his hand between her thighs but the pants weren’t far enough down her legs for her to open them properly. Bending, he dragged off her sneakers and tossed them aside. They landed in dull thumps. Then he was back, tugging at her jeans again. He got one leg completely off but the other leg tangled around her ankles. She kicked, but it didn’t help.
With a rough word of frustration, a word she guessed must be a Greek curse, he stood once more, lifting her and setting her on a nearby table, dumping her as if she were a doll on the polished surface. She could only hope it would hold her weight because he didn’t give her a chance to protest. She gripped his shoulders as he pressed his nose against her crotch through her panties and inhaled noisily. His soft groan told her he liked it, that he wanted her.
He stood and her hands dropped to his chest, slid down the thin fabric over his lean but powerful muscles. Not bulky with gym-pressed goodness but strong as if he used them for his work. Maybe he was a builder or a construction worker, or maybe he worked at sea. Maybe a soldier.
She wanted him hot, exploring her near-naked body, taking her, forcing her to do what she wanted. Because he knew she wanted it too. He must know, from her response and the perfect way he took her.
He pushed his hand between her legs, forcing them open, and slid a finger under the elastic of her panties. She’d worn red silk for him. Stupid, unless she told him the color, but the texture was great and she knew she was wearing red. She needed that jolt of courage before she came here, or wherever he told her to be. Always a hotel, a good hotel. She found the keycard waiting for her at the desk when she asked for Nikos Sandaloros. Not his name, she was sure. She’d Googled it and found nothing relevant. She never called him Nikos. Only “Stranger”.
She called him that now, gasping the name into his mouth when he kissed her once more. His fingers moved along her crease, touching her clit, teasing it and then, as she pressed against him, desperate for relief, down to her entrance. When he pushed a finger inside her, she sucked him in, her hot walls closing around him. She tightened her muscles in a way she’d learned at yoga class and he groaned. Deep, rumbling, demanding. Two fingers now and he twisted them so they hit her G-spot, sending a jolt of sensation through her. Now it was her turn to groan. “Ah shit, ah fuck, please, more, please!” Christ, she was easy. But only here, in this anonymous room with Stranger.
She’d known when she first signed on to the site “Stranger Danger” that it could be truly dangerous. But she’d been desperate enough to do it. That first time, she’d come armed with mace and kept her finger on the speed dial number for 9-1-1 that she’d programmed into her phone. But the mace had never left her purse, and she’d dropped the phone on the floor, desperate to get more of this ripped, gorgeous man who made her feel beautiful when he took her.
He slapped a packet into her hand. He always did that—gave her control over applying protection, or made her aware that he was using it. It gave her assurance. She did it now, reaching for his cock with shaking fingers. He’d slipped his pants down far enough, his boxers too she noticed when she missed and touched the soft cotton instead. She slid her hand up his thigh, gasping at the hairy, masculine strength under her palm but grabbing his cock with determination.
She’d ripped the package open before she reached for him and now she put the thin circle over the tip. His cock was already greased with his own lubrication, sliding under her fingers. She’d caress him next time, if there was a next time. She’d contacted him late tonight and they might not have time for a second round.
Helplessly, she groped for the right words in Greek but settled for English. “You feel so good, so hot. So long.” Because his cock was the longest she’d ever encountered, and it had a curve when erect, standing proudly to attention. Her attention. Thick enough, especially at the base, that sometimes he stuffed it into her and she felt so full she thought she might burst. But tonight she’d soaked her panties in the car as she drove over here, anticipating what would happen here, in this room. The room she would probably never see.
She didn’t linger over sheathing him this time. She wanted to give him another sheath. A living one.
Thrusting her pussy toward him, she leaned back, knowing he would hold her safe and prevent her from falling. He would put her where he wanted her and she’d go. For him. She hadn’t known this kind of hot, wild sex before. Now she wondered why she’d waited so long to try it, because this made her crazy hot. Sex with someone she didn’t know, in the dark. Perfect.
He thrust hard and deep, only dragging his fingers out at the last minute, replacing them almost immediately with his cock. He slid his hand under her bottom, supporting her through the panties she’d almost forgotten about.
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