Heath (Wild Boys After Dark, #2) by Melissa Foster
Chapter One
FUCKING PERFECT. THOSE words played over and over in Dr. Heath Wild’s mind as he thrust his tongue deeper into the receptive mouth of the sexy woman who was grinding her hips against his cock in the elevator of the Gray Mountain Lodge. He buried his hands in her hair and gave a less-than-gentle tug, testing the woman’s boundaries. The sexy moan that followed was all the green light he needed to press her up against the wall and pin her wrists above her head with one large, capable hand, while thrusting his other beneath her little black dress and into her—thong, hot damn—beneath. He didn’t waste any time finding his way inside this beautiful, willing creature. Her head tipped back, and he claimed her neck, sucking as he fingered her hot, wet center.
“Oh God. Yes. Right there,” she panted.
Acutely aware that the elevator was about to reach the sixth floor, he circled his thumb over her swollen clit as he claimed her mouth in another ravishing kiss. She clawed at his dress shirt, making sounds that had him picturing her spread-eagle on his bed, arms restrained, with his face buried between her legs.
“Ah. Fuck.” She dug her hands into his thick hair as the orgasm gripped her—and the elevator chimed.
Heath casually fixed her dress, unhurried by the elevator doors sliding open. He drank in her flushed cheeks, the light sheen of sweat on her upper lip that he wanted to lick off, and her full, heaving breasts.
“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” he said in a gravelly voice. He wanted more, and he was about to get it.
***
ALLYSON JENNER TRIED to act nonchalant as she passed an elderly couple in the hallway on the way to her room, hoping they didn’t smell sex wafting around her and the incredibly hot guy she was with. She lifted her chin as she unlocked the door, acting as if her hands weren’t shaking, like she did this type of thing every day, as the mind-blowing kisser she was about to fuck obviously did. She might not do it every day, but she wasn’t a stranger to hooking up with random guys, either. She enjoyed sex the way others might enjoy an occasional swim in the ocean: reveling in the shocking experience at first, then giving in to the exquisite pleasures, and finally, when she was satiated, going back to her normal life feeling rejuvenated for the next few months.
The door clicked shut, and the sound of the dead bolt sliding into place brought her back to the handsome man licking his lips. His piercing blue eyes raked over her body, lingering on her breasts. The edges of his mouth quirked up as he loosened his tie and cracked his neck to either side. Her nerves prickled. This was the moment she had to push past—the urge to flee from fear of the unknown. What if he was a psychopath? What if the staff found her bloodied body in the bathroom tomorrow morning? She’d watched him all afternoon at the medical conference downstairs. She hadn’t missed that, while she’d been sizing him up, he’d been stalking her like prey, and it had turned her on before he’d even bought her a drink after the conference. She really should have gotten his name. What had she been thinking?
She knew exactly what she’d been thinking, because the thought had only grown more intense with every passing minute. She wanted to feel his powerful body above her, his arms around her, and the enormous cock bulging beneath his zipper and outlined by his dress pants inside her.
He clutched her hips and tugged her against his expensive suit, taking her in another mind-numbing kiss. She fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, desperate to get to the smattering of chest hair she’d seen peeking out of the top. She could feel the strength of him in his kiss, in his grip, in the rock wall behind her hands. He was easily six two or six three. She was five five, maybe five eight in her heels, and he—what’s his name?—still had several inches on her.
“What’s your name?” she asked between kisses.
“Heath.”
Heath. She liked that. Smooth and hot, like him. She’d always loved a man’s man. A man who made her feel feminine but didn’t treat her like she was a delicate flower. A man who took what he wanted but still made her feel special, and this guy had stroked her hand, not her thigh, when they were in the bar. His eyes read, I’m going to fuck you hard, but his actions told her he knew how to respect and pleasure a woman. Crazy, she knew, because how much could he respect a stranger he was about to fuck? But if he’d put his hand on her thigh in public, it would have sent a completely different message.
“Ally,” she offered.
The edges of his mouth curled up, but his eyes turned midnight dark as he tore her dress over her head, tossed it on the chair, and pulled her against him again.