His For More Than One Night Read online

  Table of Contents

  His For More Than One Night

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  About the Author

  Kate Frazier wants one night and one night only. It’s the only thing she’s made for, the only thing she’s capable of. She doesn’t want any hand holding or cuddling;, she wants to get off and then she wants them to leave. She likes her men bland, boring, and non-threatening—only the Nordic god staring at her from across the pub is anything but. One by one she’s breaking her rules for only one night, because the moment he gets close she can’t help herself.

  Trey refuses to let it go at one night. He knows her secret, the one she’s tried so hard to pretend didn’t happen, didn’t exist, even as her nightmares still haunt her. He knows and has her admitting to the rape she suffered at the hands of her mother’s boyfriend for two long years, and he knows about the frantic, ugly things she did with anyone who would have her in her teens. He sees it all and it doesn’t faze him. He wants the woman she is now and he’s not going to let her go.

  Now Kate has to make the decision to go through the painful door of her past to the other side, where Trey and the happiness she never thought she could know is waiting.

  His For More Than One Night

  By Fiona Murphy

  Copyright © 2013 by Fiona Murphy

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover design by Cheeky Covers

  Chapter One

  I scan the room again, careful not to be obvious about it. Checking my watch, it’s a little after ten thirty, and I’m thinking this place is a bust and it’s time to move on. Then my eyes catch his, and a little frisson of electricity runs down my spine and straight to my pussy. Shit, he’s beautiful, and not at all my type. I like them dark, he is golden blonde with startling blue eyes. He also looks big, too big for me. At five foot four, a very inconvenient height, most people are taller than me, but he isn’t just tall, over six foot, I can easily tell from across the crowded pub, but up close he could be even bigger, he’s also broad and muscular, like a damn skyscraper. It’s also obvious he puts in hours at the gym. Gym rats hold no appeal to me at all. No, my mind screams, and I know I have to obey. I drop my gaze and ignore the odd sensation of loss. I signal the bartender for another shot, but instead of the Tuaca I’ve been shooting I ask for Jack straight. The burning pulls my mind away from the Nordic god, and I know I need to get the hell out of here. His eyes are still on me, I can feel them as heavy as a touch.

  It finally hits me, he’s who’s been looking at me from time to time over the last two hours. I had the feeling of being watched but hadn’t been able to pinpoint the source. It’s him but he hasn’t made a move. No doubt I’m well beneath his usual type. I noticed the small party he’s with when I came in. Maybe eight or ten people, all looking like they should be in a classy place on the Magnificent Mile, not a pub in Lincoln Park. They reek of money, from the jewelry on the women to the watches on the men. Their clothing is all current season big-name fashion. I know it because I sell it as an assistant manager at a boutique that normally wouldn’t even allow me through the doors looking like I do now. It doesn’t surprise me that he hasn’t made a move, and won’t. I’m glad because he isn’t what I’m looking for.

  I push away from the bar just as the type I’m looking for steps up, and relief hits me hard. I need to get off tonight. I need it so badly. My vibrators aren’t doing the trick. I need a warm man against me and a hard cock buried inside me. This guy is perfect. Dark brown hair with soft chocolate eyes. He works in a bank but isn’t a trader, which is a point for him. Traders are arrogant assholes, and if I wanted one, I’d be in a bar on Rush Street, not a pub in Lincoln Park. He isn’t too tall, he isn’t short, and he’s thin, with just the lightest definition to his body. Telling me it’s important for him to look good, but he puts other things, likely work, before it.

  Shit, the Nordic god is looking at me again, and I wonder if he’s coming this way.

  I force out a little laugh without the slightest idea what the banker is talking about, and flip my hair and inch toward him. What’s his name? Matt, Mike, something like that. He picks up the hint, and his hand comes down on mine. It’s a casual touch, one I’ve been inviting all night, except his hand is sweaty and my skin crawls. Damn it. Pulling away from him, I make a mumbled excuse, and it’s obvious he’s surprised. A point for him, though, he’s nice enough about it and melts into the crowd.

  Okay, now I’m out of here. I had a good time the last time my body had sent me out with a guy in a bar across the street. I don’t like repeats, but I’m willing if he’s there tonight. Pulling out my wallet, I signal the bartender I’m ready to pay the tab I had opened up.

  “Giving up on him?” It’s him. His voice is deep, with a hint of gravel and smoke. He’s turned to me, only a few feet away, close enough to catch the faintest tang of his cologne. It smells like him, smooth and expensive.

  His words aren’t what I’m expecting. It’s the only reason I answer him, “Giving up on who?”

  “Whoever it was you intended to meet tonight. You’ve checked the door about every five minutes and your watch every ten. It looked like you were waiting on someone.”

  Shit, was that why men didn’t approach me? I don’t usually have a problem picking up someone. I’m passably pretty with a heart-shaped face and a chin just a little too sharp. I’m on the edge of boring for my features. Dark brown eyes match my long, thick hair, and round cheekbones soften my nose, which is small and thin. Pretty much the only thing going for me is my skin, a rich olive tone that looks good without makeup and with it even better. That and my body. I’m thin, sometimes too thin when I get stressed, but I have tits and an ass that are always thick and full. Tonight I’m dressed to take advantage of my assets, a short, tight black skirt that makes it obvious I’m either naked or wearing a very small thong underneath, and a tight bright pink top showing my overflowing C cups off. Is that what kept him away? Would breaking my type be worth it for him? He’s gorgeous, but that doesn’t mean anything. How good will he be in bed? I’ve found men who are too pretty or have a big dick are the laziest in bed, as if it were an honor enough for them pull their dicks out. Fuck it, I need it bad, and he’s here, so I turn to him, and dear lord, he’s overwhelming this close up.

  “I’m not here to meet someone specifically. I’m here to find someone who is willing to take me back to their place and fuck me hard all night long.” I throw the words at him and allow my eyes to run over his body, which tenses up at my words. His eyes roam over me, lingering on my breasts. I’m so wet now I wonder if he can smell me the way I can.

  “All night long?” A thin blond eyebrow goes up. It changes his face, there are lines in his forehead I wouldn’t have expected to see on him. He doesn’t look old enough for lines so deep. I’d put him at mid-thirties, but with the lines he looks almost a decade older.

  “All night. I have tomorrow off to get sleep. If you’re not up to it, I can understand. Not every man is.” It’s a taunt, and he smiles then and it takes my breath away. It’s a full, sincere, open smile, no naughty grin for him, and it’s blinding.

 
“I think I can do that for you. What’s your name?”

  “Kate.” I don’t give my last name. He waits then lets it go.

  “How far are you from here?”

  “I want to go back to your place.”

  He shakes his head and motions back to his table, which has begun to empty. “I have family in from out of town. When I make you scream from pleasure, I would rather they not come running.”

  His eyes have gone from sky blue to sapphire, and I can only nod.

  “Do we need a cab or can we walk?”

  “Cab, I’m in Uptown.”

  His arm comes around me and his hand goes to the indent of my back, and my body goes nuts. As we cross the street he hails a cab. Opening the door for me, he waits until I’m settled before he gets in. I give the cabbie my address. He pulls me close until I’m flush against him, and I have to bite back a moan at the feeling of him against me. I can’t stop the trembling when he studies my hand in the flickering city lights.

  “You’re very small and I’m very big. How much of a problem will that be for you? I have every intention of following your ‘all night long’ demand, but I have no desire to leave you in pain afterward.”

  His words cause an almost painful throbbing of need, and I want to crawl over him then and there to find out how big. Only his concern about my comfort stops me, no one has ever asked me that before. No one asked how I would feel or asked how I felt at the end of the night. It sends a shiver of fear up my spine. I don’t want him to care. I want him to make me come and leave. Caring is dangerous. Caring is stupid. Remembering that, I give him an answer meant to make sure he understands, “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I have a ten-inch dildo I use regularly, and it’s nice and fat. So unless you’re bigger than that, I’ll be just fine.”

  “Good to know.” The words don’t seem to faze him. He simply nods with what looks like relief. Then he brings my hand up to his mouth and presses a hot kiss to the center of my palm.

  I feel the kiss to the center of my body, and for the first time in years I blush, as I realize the kiss has made me so wet I’m leaking through my thong and skirt. Only the screeching halt of the cab stops me from doing something stupid. Blindly, I take in him paying the cabbie and pulling me from the car. It’s embarrassing the way I lean on him, needing him to hold me up, I’m so shaky. My hands tremble as I open up the front door to gain access into the building. I’m on the third floor out of five. It’s a crummy building, and even though it has to be beneath him, he doesn’t so much as blink.

  “I do feel the need to ask, considering it seems as though you’ve done this before. How often have you done this and are you clean? The smell of your pussy is making me crazy, and I want to taste you very badly.” We’re in the elevator, and he has me up against the wall, I can’t stop my body melting into his.

  It’s a fair question, and it doesn’t bother me. “I’m clean. The last time I did this was almost eight months ago, and I’ve been tested since twice. I do this at least once a year, sometimes twice for the last four years. There’s only so far my vibrators and dildos get me. Then I need a man, a real man touching me, filling me up, and making me come.”

  The elevator opens on my floor and he follows me, his hands on my hips are pressing him into me. He hadn’t been exaggerating, he’s large, and the feel of him is so damn hot I think I could come without him being inside me. “How old are you?” He breathes into my ear as I struggle to open my door. It takes a second try before I succeed.

  “Twenty-eight.” I moan as he tugs my ear into his mouth and sucks hard.

  “That’s a relief. You looked about twenty-one in the darkness of the pub. I would have hated to call a halt to this.” His hands find their way to the edge of my shirt and push up.

  It’s what I want, but his talk of stopping sobers me for a moment. “How old are you?”

  “I’m thirty-seven, way too old to pick up a twenty-one-year-old.” His eyes gleam as he pulls off my shirt and takes in the black sheer bra hiding just enough to taunt but shows enough to please.

  My nipples are hard and tight, aching against the confines of the cups. He likes my breasts. All men like my breasts. It’s reassuring he isn’t different than any other man. A bitter laugh bubbles up. “I’ve had older.”

  He goes still at my words, and I wonder what he sees that makes him go so still. For a moment it’s hard to tell if he’s even breathing. Then he exhales, steps back from me, and begins to take off his suit jacket.

  “How come you haven’t asked me any questions about being clean, and sexual partners?” He tosses the jacket over the only piece of furniture besides my bed in the small, cramped studio apartment, a big chair with an ottoman, for me to read in.

  “Please.” I laugh. “I knew it all the moment I looked at you. From your suit cut just to fit you, to the two-hundred-dollar haircut, and down to your five-thousand-dollar hand-stitched shoes, you are very clean. You go to the doctor every year for a checkup, and even though you shrug off a cold, if it hurts bad enough you know enough not to be stupid and go into the doctor. For someone like you, an opening happens to be available the same day. The only question I would have is if you’re married, but no ring, and it was clear it was a family gathering you were at. You wouldn’t have made a move in front of everyone if you were married.”

  “So the only boxes a man needs to check to be with you are ‘not married’ and ‘they can go all night’?” He slides the knot of his tie down and then over his head.

  Ambivalence rises up inside me at his question. I need my orgasm badly, and my body needs it from him but all the questions are pissing me off. What does it matter to him? Why can’t he just give me what I need without the questions? Fighting the urge to yell at him, I step toward him and begin to unbutton his shirt. He catches my hands in his and stops me. Stung, I hit back at him, hard. “It’s actually a far cry from my standards in my teenage years. Basically, if you pulled out your dick and asked for it, I’d suck you till you came or pull off my panties for you. I once had five guys at once. It went on for hours. I was covered in come when they were done. I’ve had men and women. I wasn’t selective in the slightest.”

  He’ll leave now. Someone like him won’t want something as used as I am.

  Chapter Two

  His reaction is the last thing I expect. He takes a step forward and kisses me on my forehead, then a flutter of kisses run along the side of my face, inching slowly to my mouth. His lips are soft and full, and I remember wondering how they would feel on my body when he was beside me in the pub. I know now I didn’t even come close. A brush of them across my own has me opening to him with a gasp. The taste of him is more intoxicating than the shots I had at the bar. Greedily, I open wider for him and seek to take the kiss deeper, he won’t allow it. His hands slip up to hold my cheeks. Need has me clenching my pussy, and I can feel myself leaking down my inner thighs. Once again he’s in control. He’s gentle and tender, it makes me catch my breath, and my chest is clenching from an emotion I haven’t felt before.

  Terror has me pushing him away. “No, I don’t want kissing and holding hands. I want your cock inside me. Now, are you going to fuck me or not?”

  His jaw clenches, and I’m holding my breath until he motions to my queen-sized bed. “Lie down.”

  Moving around him, I lie down and then remember. Sitting up, I open the second drawer of my nightstand and pull out the magnums he’ll need. After setting them on the table, I begin to unfasten my bra.

  “No, I undress you. Lie down,” he orders, and finally begins to unbutton his shirt. I wasn’t wrong: his body is a work of art, muscle and sinew flexing below golden skin. “What put an end to your open-pussy policy?”

  With a sigh, I close my eyes. That’s it. I’m done. I don’t want to keep talking to him. He isn’t playing by the rules. I open my eyes to tell him to leave and find him in black silk boxers, my mouth goes dry. Okay, fine, whatever it takes to have his straining cock inside me. “I wou
nd up pregnant, which, considering how lax I was with birth control, wasn’t a surprise. I had a miscarriage at four months and it was hard. Everyone else around me was relieved. It shocked me out of what I was doing.”

  Coming down on the edge of the bed, he annoyingly still hasn’t taken off his boxers, and I’m dying to see him. A large hand captures my ankle, and the other unfastens the four-inch fuck-me heels I’m wearing. His hands are on me again, and his touch has me moaning. His skin is so hot and smooth against mine. He undoes my other shoe and rolls me over until he finds the zipper on my skirt and pulls it down. His hands linger over my skin as he slides my skirt it off. Finally, is all I can think, as a finger lingers over the thin string over my hips to my matching sheer black thong. He’s faster about skimming the thong off me, and I’m thankful. Seeing me, his smile is one of surprise and fascination. I know the style is to be bare there, I’m not. I keep it neat and tidy, and there is no hair covering the lips of my pussy, but my mound has a fine, thin patch of hair.

  Fingers, thick and nimble, stroke and play there then slowly edge their way along the seam of me. I’m so wet his fingers glide easily along me, toying with me. His voice is so light I barely hear him. “Who molested you?”

  Ice spills over me and I shiver. How could he know? Why does he care?

  “Your father, a mother’s boyfriend, or some other relative—a brother or uncle? Who hurt you?” His voice is soft yet demanding.

  No, I can’t do this. I try to roll away from him, but his hands move fast to my hips and hold me tight. There is no give. I close my eyes. I want this to all end, now. “Why are you doing this? Why are you asking these questions? Why can’t you just give me what I need?”

  “Who?” Hot air along my ear sends heat running through me all over again.

  Confusion is flooding me. How can I still want him when it feels like he’s tearing away my skin to see inside me? A soft kiss is pressed against my neck, his tongue slides out to taste me, and then strong teeth nip before he soothes the skin with another soft kiss. A moan slides out of me, and he asks again, and I can only answer without thinking, “My mother’s boyfriend.”