The woman was insatiable. They were three-for-three in the orgasm department and he was getting hard again just thinking about her lying naked in the next room. It was turning out to be a hell of a first night back in the city.
Draining the glass, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was a mess, sticking up at odd angles, and he could use a shave, but that would come later. He needed a few more hours of sleep before he’d be ready to face the day. He refilled the glass and leaned into the vanity, thinking about Olivia.
He’d been with a lot of women, but not like this. Never like this. He wasn’t exactly sure why it was different, except that there was usually more talking involved before a woman agreed to go home with him.
Not that he was complaining.
He knew he was good-looking, but in his experience, most women, even the ones who knew the score, liked to play hard to get. Maybe it was part of the thrill for them. Or maybe it was their way of dealing with society’s double standard when it came to the rules of sex. Either way, he wasn’t judging. He liked sex and he appreciated a woman who wasn’t afraid to go after what she wanted, especially in the bedroom.
But what made Olivia different? Try as he might, he couldn’t put his finger on it. She emanated class, and he was certain this wasn’t characteristic behavior for her. That much was evident in her nerves. The fact she’d nearly bolted in the lobby said it all.
No, this definitely wasn’t her typical Friday night.
His rebound radar kicked in then, but he dismissed it immediately. It didn’t feel right. She didn’t have the desperate air of a woman nursing a broken heart, or of one looking to get even with a cheating boyfriend.
Well, whatever the hell was going on with her, he liked it. A lot.
Smiling, he flipped off the bathroom light. He would definitely have to get her number in the morning. After all, he hadn’t been in Manhattan for years. It wouldn’t hurt to have a gorgeous woman to show him around.
As he slid back under the covers, she rubbed her bare ass up against him.
Christ. The woman was going to kill him, but he wasn’t about to deny her.
Chapter Four
Olivia stretched lazily and rolled to her side. Screw the gym. It was Saturday and she was sleeping in. It wouldn’t kill her to miss one day on the treadmill. She deserved a break. Maybe she’d even go for brunch. She was starving and the thought of Belgian waffles with fresh blueberries and crème had her stomach rumbling.
The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced she deserved to treat herself. She could take her Kindle and sit on the patio of that cute little café down the block. She’d always wanted to eat there, but had never made the time. Of course, that plan would require getting out of bed. As she peeked out from beneath sleep laden lashes, debating the merits of hibernation versus food, reality came crashing back.
Olive or Twist.
The dare.
Cole.
Holy. Crap. She’d really done it. Chloe would never believe her. If it weren’t for the super-hot, super-naked man lying next to her, she wouldn’t believe it herself. Knowing Chloe, she’d want photographic evidence, but she sure as hell wasn’t going there just to convince her friend.
She lay still, barely daring to breathe for fear of waking him. She studied his profile and smiled to herself. He had a wicked case of bed head, but it only seemed to add to his sexiness, something she was sure he wouldn’t say about her if he woke up and saw the tangled mess that was her own hair.
After a quick look at his muscular chest, she resisted the urge to run her tongue over his pecs, down his hard stomach, and up over his… No! Bad idea, she scolded her inner sex kitten. He’d wake up and then, well, she knew what would happen: morning sex. And while she wasn’t fundamentally opposed to morning sex, her vagina might feel differently after the marathon session last night.
How did a guy who practically screamed Wall Street get a body like that anyway? She sighed at the injustice of it all.
Sex with Cole had been un-freaking-believable. She had never had two orgasms, let alone four, in one night before. There was no doubt about it, he was hands down the best lover she’d ever had, and despite the lack of actual sleep, she felt pretty damn good.
Still, she was in the penthouse suite of a complete stranger, a guy she’d had crazy monkey sex with and whom she sort of hoped wouldn’t engage in any awkward morning-after talk. Maybe she could sneak out while he was still sleeping. It was a cowardly thing to do, but what the hell. There would be plenty of time to overanalyze the whole thing later. She’d be much more comfortable questioning her sanity and decision making skills from the privacy of her own bed.