Fiona
Tonight could be titled “The Story of Fiona’s Life” or since it is Halloween, maybe something like “Fiona’s Life: a Horror Short Story.”
Here I am at the coolest party in town, surrounded by glamorous, beautiful people, and I’m standing in the corner like an awkward dork.
The only reason I even got an invitation to this charity shindig is because it’s being hosted by Zee Suite Software which is owned by my brother Ezra Carlisle. Yes, that Ezra Carlisle, and, yes, he is as brilliant as he seems in interviews.
The only reason I actually came to the party is because it’s being held at The Montgomery in Austin, and my best friend, Ainsley, currently runs the hotel (that her family owns), and she begged me to come.
As far as I can tell, I am the only woman here not dressed as a Sexy Something. Sexy Nurse. Sexy Vampire. Sexy Tree. Sexy Whatever. Fill in the blank.
Nope, not me. I am just dressed as Merida, as befitting my red curls. Not the sexy version. Just Merida.
In my defense, I’m just under five-one, and it’s hard to pull off a sexy costume when you’re my height.
So here I am, once again, dragged along to the cool kid party, by my brother and my friend, aka actual cool kids, and I’m standing in the corner like a dork because I feel out of place. Like I said, it’s the story of my life.
Before you start throwing shade at Ezra and Ainsley for not making me feel more included, Ezra only has eyes for his new wife, Paisley, and Ainsley’s best guy friend, Reid, is back in town and throwing serious I’m-secretly-in-love-with-you vibes in her direction, so she’s probably been struck dumb by his attention.
And it’s okay. It’s fine.
Even if I barely top five feet—I exaggerated earlier when I said I was five-one—I am a grown-ass-woman, and don’t need a babysitter to keep me company.
I’m trying to decide if I should sneak out and go home to watch Hocus Pocus for the forty-seventh time when I hear a voice from behind me.
“Hey Princess.”
The voice is deep and husky, and my nipples bead painfully in my bra. I spin and come face-to-face with the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. Okay, we would be face-to-face if I wasn’t pocket-sized and he wasn’t a giant.
He’s dressed as Zorro. Head-to-toe in black, complete with the bandana mask. He’s not wearing the wide-brimmed hat, just the mask. But he does have a rapier hanging from his belt. I’ve never considered myself to have a Zorro fetish, but this is working for me. Big time.
Part of me thinks grown men dressing up in costumes is just … silly. Since many of the men at this costume party are professional athletes, a lot of them just look awkward, like they are afraid they look ridiculous. Not this guy. This guy owns his Zorro costume.
My own costume is form-fitting and hugs my curves. The wideness of my hips only serves to make my waist appear more narrow. But there’s no low dip showing off cleavage. Like, I said, it is not a sexy costume. I really only picked it because I have thick, red curly hair, so it fits. Still, one look from Zorro, and I feel like the sexiest woman in the room.
His dark brown—almost black—eyes rake over my body. And wow…my brain has stopped functioning. I’m probably standing here staring at him with my mouth agape because that is how cool I am.
His short-cropped beard does nothing to hide his smile. It’s one of those wicked, half grins that’s crooked and so sexy that I think I might actually be dreaming.
“Merida, huh? You’ve definitely got the hair for it.” He holds out a hand to me. “Mateo Cruz.”
I have enough presence of mind to put my hand in his because I’m ready for this sex-on-a-stick man to touch me wherever he can. His large firm hand is a bit calloused, and it engulfs my smaller and paler one.
I take a shuddering breath and manage a single word. “Fiona.”
“Fiona,” he repeats as if wanting to feel the consonants of my name in his mouth. Then he brings my hand up to his lips and presses a kiss against my pale flesh.
Okay, question … Can you orgasm from a simple hand kiss? Asking for a friend.
All I know is that I have never responded like this to another man, but I am literally ready to volunteer myself as tribute for his pleasures tonight. Because…damn, he is so sexy that I might actually be drooling.
Oh shit, what if I’m having a stroke? I inhale deeply to see if I detect the scent of toast.
His brows raise, and then he leans in closer. “What do you smell?”
Oh, double shit. He noticed me inhaling deeply. Fantastic.
Since he probably already thinks I’m deranged, there’s no reason not to be honest. “Toast. Or rather, I don’t smell toast, so that’s probably good.”
He laughs. “Fiona, dance with me.”
“Okay,” I say meekly, shocked my huffing like a spray paint addict hasn’t scared him off.
He leads me out to the dance floor, then pulls me in close despite the faster beat of the music playing. His arms are wrapped around me, his palms dangerously close to my ass. I’m tempted to just move them to where I want them. He’s so tall, and I’m so not that I barely hit his chest, but with him holding me this close, I can feel his heartbeat against my ear.
I know that no one actually slipped anything into my drink because I haven’t had anything here. But I feel so aware of my body. Every movement brushes fabric against my taut nipples. The feel of his hands on my body, even through the crushed velvet of my dress is so sensual I feel like any minute I’m going to start to purr.
I’m clearly starved for physical touch.
And then the familiar guitar riff and snaps start to play. Suddenly I’m pulled even closer to Mateo while Shawn Mendes’s Señorita plays. It’s probably a cliche, but it’s so damn hot I feel like I’m on fire. I don’t know if we look as hot as I imagine that we do. Probably not because I’m not the most graceful creature on Earth. But I figure Mateo and his pure animal magnetism makes up for any of my shortcomings.
He sings a few of the lines close to my ear, and I’m pretty sure I moan.
“I really want to kiss you, Princess,” he says. The low gravel of his voice slides over my skin, and chills follow.
“Not here,” I find myself saying.
Because there is no way I’m going to let Ezra catch me making out with some guy. Despite the fact that I’m a grown adult with two college degrees, my brother is still ridiculously protective of me. But I’m pretty sure I know a place where we can hide for a quick smooch. I grab his hand and pull him off the dance floor. He follows willingly as I take him out of the hotel ballroom where the party is being held to a small storage room.
The minute we’re closed into the room, he presses me against the wall and kisses me. There’s no slow, gentle seduction in his lips. No, this is pure carnal lust with tongue. He picks me up, so we’re better matched in height. I wrap my legs around his waist, and my dress lifts and spreads out behind me, leaving my panty-clad core pressed to the hot seam of his pants.
He sucks my tongue into his mouth and rocks his pelvis against me. The hard ridge of his erection rubs against me, where I need him most. I moan because I swear nothing has ever felt so good.
I rake my fingers into his hair, disrupting his bandana mask, and it falls to the ground. But we still don’t break the kiss. Our tongues slide against one another while he continues to pump against me. The rhythmic press of his cock against my pussy is rapidly building inside me. I should be embarrassed that he’s going to make me come like this, but I’m not.
I whimper into his mouth and rock myself against him, trying to speed towards my climax. Nothing I do alters his pace.
I pull back from the kiss when my orgasm hits. I arch against the wall at my back, crying out as pleasure pulses through every nerve of my body.
He’s breathing heavy, and now that I can see the full of his face, I know just how ridiculously handsome he is. I also know who he is. His face and his name click into place in my memory. Now, I know why he’s so big. I try to find it in myself to care that I just dry-humped one of my brother’s football players, but I don’t care even a little bit.
“Fiona,” he murmurs. “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.”
I stare into his dark eyes, searching for whether or not that’s a line because surely a man who looks like him is a total man-whore. But I see only sincerity shining back at me.
“Do you want to go upstairs to my room?” I ask. I don’t actually have a room yet, but since Ainsley basically runs the place, getting one will be easy.
He swallows visibly, his Adam’s apple bobs. He nods. “Very much so. But we don’t have to. I just want to spend some time with you. Get to know you better.” He wraps one of my curls around his finger.
“We can get to know each other better while we’re naked, though, right?” I ask.
He tosses his head back and laughs. The rich baritone feels like the first shot of coffee in the morning. Like it’s waking up something deep inside of me.
“Yeah, Princess, I’d love to get naked with you.”
“Then follow me. I just need to stop by the office super quick.”
He holds my hand, and we walk together to my best friend, Ainsley’s office. It doesn’t take me long to pull up the rooms on the computer, pick one and reserve it and program a key card.
“I take it you work here?” he asks.
“More or less.” Technically I do actual work here. But I’m not an employee of The Montgomery. But when you’re an heiress, and you don’t have to work, you find things to occupy your time.
We’re silent on the ride up the elevator. Finally, when we’re standing in front of the room I’ve secured for the night, I turn to him to ask a question.
“How did you know who I was dressed as?”
He gives me that panty-melting grin again. “I have nieces. I know all of the princesses.” He fingers another curl. “But Merida has always been my favorite.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because she’s independent and strong.” Again his heated gaze travels the length of my body. “And she’s mouthy. I like a sassy woman.”
I open the room, and he comes in behind me.
“Tell me, Fiona, do you have a sassy mouth on you?”
I lick my lips, and then I smile at him.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks.
“Definitely.” I reach behind me to find the zipper on my dress and can’t quite reach it. I try to get to it from another angle and nearly fall over.
He chuckles and steadies me. Then he spins me around so my back is to him. The sound of the zipper sliding open on my dress is loud and nearly obscene. His hands push the dress off my shoulders, and it falls to the floor.
“Take off the rest of your clothes and get on the bed. On your back, hands above your head.”
Whoa. If someone had told me that tonight I’d be in a hotel room with a sexy man who was bossing me around, I would have said hell no. Because I’m a strong, independent woman, and no man tells me what to do.
Unless he’s this man telling me to get naked.
I toe off my ballet flats, then turn to face the bed. He walks around me and strips off the top covers, leaving the bed with only the bottom sheet and pillows. My plain nude-colored bra is functional and not at all sexy and I’m wearing cotton panties that nearly cover my belly button. In other words, I am rocking the frumpy sexy look. That’s a thing, right?
He just stands there watching me. He’s unbuttoned his black shirt, and it hangs open, revealing his swarthy skin. His torso is like airbrushed perfection of muscles only interrupted by dark curly hair that bisects his stomach and the occasional tattoo.
I may or may not be drooling again. I sneak a wipe of my chin while I unhook my ugly bra and step out of my granny panties. I laugh nervously. “You can tell by my super sexy lingerie that I was fully prepared to hook up tonight.”
He laughs. And I’m pretty sure that when he smiles at me this time, I fall a little bit in love with him. This man is clearly dangerous, which is why it’s a good thing this is a one-night thing.
He shrugs out of his shirt, and it falls to the floor. His shoulders and arms are so muscular that it makes me want to sculpt him. But I am not an artist and the only thing I’ve ever sculpted was with Play-doh.
I turn away and crawl up the bed, and lay down flat, raising my arms above my head. I’m thankful that regardless of my underwear choices for today, I did shave all my important areas.
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