DIRTY RICH ONE NIGHT STAND DUET
Cat and Reese's story
DIRTY, RICH ONE NIGHT STAND.
That's all it was supposed to be. Her. Him. Pleasure. And then a fast goodbye. He's a stranger. And yet, he's not. She knows him even though he doesn’t know her.
He's the powerful attorney, now world-renowned after coming off the trial of a century which was publicized across the country. And I'm one of the reporters that sat in his courtroom.
I watched him, studied him, got to know him from afar which isn't hard since I know his exact brand of confidence, arrogance, and wealth.
I know his type. I've dated his type. Which is why when I happen to come face to face with him, when sparks fly and heat simmers between us, I know what happens if I say "yes" to Reese Summer.
I know he'll taste like sin and sex, even before he kisses me.
I know he'll feel like pleasure and passion, even before he touches me.
I know he'll demand more than I wants to give, and yet, because I dare to give myself to him, the result will be deliciously hot.
I know that I will not leave his bed without being utterly, completely sated.
And I know that I will leave the next morning anyway.
And so, I do.
And so, he follows.
And as the chase begins my question becomes: Is Reese Summer THE one or is he really just a dirty, arrogant lie that should have stayed a one night stand?
That's all it was supposed to be. Her. Him. Pleasure. And then a fast goodbye. He's a stranger. And yet, he's not. She knows him even though he doesn’t know her.
He's the powerful attorney, now world-renowned after coming off the trial of a century which was publicized across the country. And I'm one of the reporters that sat in his courtroom.
I watched him, studied him, got to know him from afar which isn't hard since I know his exact brand of confidence, arrogance, and wealth.
I know his type. I've dated his type. Which is why when I happen to come face to face with him, when sparks fly and heat simmers between us, I know what happens if I say "yes" to Reese Summer.
I know he'll taste like sin and sex, even before he kisses me.
I know he'll feel like pleasure and passion, even before he touches me.
I know he'll demand more than I wants to give, and yet, because I dare to give myself to him, the result will be deliciously hot.
I know that I will not leave his bed without being utterly, completely sated.
And I know that I will leave the next morning anyway.
And so, I do.
And so, he follows.
And as the chase begins my question becomes: Is Reese Summer THE one or is he really just a dirty, arrogant lie that should have stayed a one night stand?
ORDER DIRTY RICH ONE NIGHT STAND NOW
ORDER DIRTY RICH ONE NIGHT STAND: TWO YEARS LATER NOW
READ AN EXCERPT FROM DIRTY RICH ONE NIGHT STAND
Reese’s fingers are tangling in my hair, his mouth lingering just above mine. “Sleep is overrated,” he says, a moment before his mouth crashes over mine, his tongue doing a wicked, smooth slide against mine, and then it is gone.
He lingers close a moment, breathing with me, and then, without warning, he turns me around, pulling my backside to his front, our bodies melded intimately together. And for just a moment, or two or ten, I think…I think he just breathes me in, and it’s quite possibly the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced. My body responds as if he’s touching me, goosebumps lifting on my skin. My nipples are tight, aching buds. My panties clingy and damp. Suddenly, and yet not sudden at all, he is dragging my jacket away, his hands caressing my bare arms along the away, his touch light, but every part of my body is now laden with a warm, needy sensation.
He tosses my jacket aside. I don’t know where and I don’t care. I try to turn to face him, but he catches my hip. “Not yet,” he says, his voice a low, sexy rasp I feel straight to my toes.
His fingers caress my hair to the side, over one of my shoulders, his lips touching the delicate skin of my nape. A tiny kiss that leaves me tingling all over as he reaches for the zipper of my dress and, with deliberate laziness, slowly tugs it downward. Inch by inch, it travels from my shoulder blades down to my lower back, the cool air of the room contrasting the combustible heat of anticipation: What comes next? What will he do? What will I do?
Questions that Reese answers when his deft fingers unhook my bra. He kisses my neck again, a whisper of a touch that shivers through me. His hands find my shoulders, and in a blink I’m naked to the waist. In another blink, he’s caressing the material over my hips and my clothing pools at my ankles. Instinct has me ready to untangle my feet, but, showing he does have manners, he doesn’t leave me a tangled mess. His powerful arm wraps around my waist, and he lifts me, his foot scooting aside my clothing.
The moment my feet are back on the ground, I am aware of my naked body being the only naked body in this room. Seeking to remedy that fact, and maintain some semblance of control, I twist around to face him. In the process, his arm has managed to remain around my waist, my hands have settled on his chest, and our eyes have collided. I forget control. I forget everything but these few seconds in which this warm blanket of intimacy wraps around us and steals my breath.
And then in the next moments, in which his eyes lower to my naked breasts, where they linger for countless seconds, my aching nipples pucker beneath his inspection before his gaze returns to mine. “You’re as perfect as I knew you would be,” he says, his voice managing to be both sandpaper and silk on my nerve endings, as he adds, “and almost as naked as I want you to be.”
The idea that he has wanted me as much as I have wanted him does funny things to my stomach, but more so, delivers an unexpected wave of illogical vulnerability. This is sex. The end. I don’t want or need to feel anything more. I want and need him naked and fucking me now, fast, hard. That’s safe. Desperate to find that safe place, to shift the control from him to me, I push to my toes, my breasts molding to his chest, and press my lips to his lips. They are warm, and he is hard everywhere I am soft.
And his response to my kiss, the answering moan I am rewarded with, is white-hot fire in my blood that he ignites further with a deep, sizzling stroke of his tongue. He slants his mouth over mine, deepening the connection, kissing me with a fierceness no other man ever has, but then some part of me has known from moment one that he is like no man I have ever known. Which explains why he is everything I want. And nothing about this night is what I expected, any more than this man is anything I can control.
But there is something intensely arousing about the idea of trying.
As if claiming I am reaching for the impossible, he molds me closer, his hand between my shoulder blades, his tongue playing wickedly with mine, but I meet him stroke for stroke, arching into him. He cups my ass and pulls me solidly against his erection. He wins this one. Now I am the one moaning, arching into him, and I welcome the intimate connection. I burn for the moment he will be inside me.
But I also want him to burn for this just as much as I do, and I need to touch this man. Really, really, need to touch him. My hand presses between us, and I stroke the hard line of his shaft. Reese tears his mouth from mine, pressing me hard against the pillar supporting the window again, and when his hands leave my body, when his palms press to the concrete above me again, I sense his withdrawal is about control. I was winning. I confirm that as reality when our eyes lock, and the dash of fire in his eyes is lit by one part passion and one part challenge.
“If I slide my fingers between your legs right now,” he says, “will you be wet for me? Are you ready for me?”
“Why don’t you find out for yourself?”
He lingers close a moment, breathing with me, and then, without warning, he turns me around, pulling my backside to his front, our bodies melded intimately together. And for just a moment, or two or ten, I think…I think he just breathes me in, and it’s quite possibly the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced. My body responds as if he’s touching me, goosebumps lifting on my skin. My nipples are tight, aching buds. My panties clingy and damp. Suddenly, and yet not sudden at all, he is dragging my jacket away, his hands caressing my bare arms along the away, his touch light, but every part of my body is now laden with a warm, needy sensation.
He tosses my jacket aside. I don’t know where and I don’t care. I try to turn to face him, but he catches my hip. “Not yet,” he says, his voice a low, sexy rasp I feel straight to my toes.
His fingers caress my hair to the side, over one of my shoulders, his lips touching the delicate skin of my nape. A tiny kiss that leaves me tingling all over as he reaches for the zipper of my dress and, with deliberate laziness, slowly tugs it downward. Inch by inch, it travels from my shoulder blades down to my lower back, the cool air of the room contrasting the combustible heat of anticipation: What comes next? What will he do? What will I do?
Questions that Reese answers when his deft fingers unhook my bra. He kisses my neck again, a whisper of a touch that shivers through me. His hands find my shoulders, and in a blink I’m naked to the waist. In another blink, he’s caressing the material over my hips and my clothing pools at my ankles. Instinct has me ready to untangle my feet, but, showing he does have manners, he doesn’t leave me a tangled mess. His powerful arm wraps around my waist, and he lifts me, his foot scooting aside my clothing.
The moment my feet are back on the ground, I am aware of my naked body being the only naked body in this room. Seeking to remedy that fact, and maintain some semblance of control, I twist around to face him. In the process, his arm has managed to remain around my waist, my hands have settled on his chest, and our eyes have collided. I forget control. I forget everything but these few seconds in which this warm blanket of intimacy wraps around us and steals my breath.
And then in the next moments, in which his eyes lower to my naked breasts, where they linger for countless seconds, my aching nipples pucker beneath his inspection before his gaze returns to mine. “You’re as perfect as I knew you would be,” he says, his voice managing to be both sandpaper and silk on my nerve endings, as he adds, “and almost as naked as I want you to be.”
The idea that he has wanted me as much as I have wanted him does funny things to my stomach, but more so, delivers an unexpected wave of illogical vulnerability. This is sex. The end. I don’t want or need to feel anything more. I want and need him naked and fucking me now, fast, hard. That’s safe. Desperate to find that safe place, to shift the control from him to me, I push to my toes, my breasts molding to his chest, and press my lips to his lips. They are warm, and he is hard everywhere I am soft.
And his response to my kiss, the answering moan I am rewarded with, is white-hot fire in my blood that he ignites further with a deep, sizzling stroke of his tongue. He slants his mouth over mine, deepening the connection, kissing me with a fierceness no other man ever has, but then some part of me has known from moment one that he is like no man I have ever known. Which explains why he is everything I want. And nothing about this night is what I expected, any more than this man is anything I can control.
But there is something intensely arousing about the idea of trying.
As if claiming I am reaching for the impossible, he molds me closer, his hand between my shoulder blades, his tongue playing wickedly with mine, but I meet him stroke for stroke, arching into him. He cups my ass and pulls me solidly against his erection. He wins this one. Now I am the one moaning, arching into him, and I welcome the intimate connection. I burn for the moment he will be inside me.
But I also want him to burn for this just as much as I do, and I need to touch this man. Really, really, need to touch him. My hand presses between us, and I stroke the hard line of his shaft. Reese tears his mouth from mine, pressing me hard against the pillar supporting the window again, and when his hands leave my body, when his palms press to the concrete above me again, I sense his withdrawal is about control. I was winning. I confirm that as reality when our eyes lock, and the dash of fire in his eyes is lit by one part passion and one part challenge.
“If I slide my fingers between your legs right now,” he says, “will you be wet for me? Are you ready for me?”
“Why don’t you find out for yourself?”