McSexy and His Pheromones

"Maybe you should slow down a little."

The warning comes from my best friend, my ride-or-die bestie, my partner in crime (even if no crimes were committed). Penelope de Lucien, bartender and super-secret owner of the only bar I frequent—The Enchanted Tankard.

It's a dumb name, but it's a popular supernatural hangout.

I grimace at the glass of Fae wine in front of me. "This isn't even touching my sobriety level. You know I can't get drunk."

"Still affects you in the morning, and you're going to work, right? Do you really want to face off with your ex with bloodshot eyes and a raging headache?" Penelope slides a glass of water over from her side of the bar and whispers, "Don't look now, but tall, dark, and McSexy has been staring at you for at least the last half hour."

Of course, I look.

But the crowd of people just makes my head hurt. "Who? Where?"

"I said don't—forget it. He's at the corner booth, the one with the curtains for privacy."

Oh.

Yeah, I see why she calls him McSexy.

He's a suit, but I can see the muscles from here. Can't tell if his hair is dark or if it's the dim lighting, but there's stubble on his jaw. Whatever color his eyes are, it doesn't detract from the brooding gaze in my direction. Probably dark, too.

Normally, I'm not a fan of instant attraction mixed with alcohol. Today?

Today, Nicole d'Armand is wild, free, and ready for a revenge fuck.

"Human or supernatural?" Penelope wonders.

Sliding my tongue over my canines, I let my gaze wander down to his muscular thighs. Even in the subdued overly yellow light of the bar, I can see them flexing as he stands and walks our way.

"Supernatural," I say, noticing how his eyebrow quirks. "Shifter, probably. He can hear us."

"Vamps can, too," Penelope points out. "Though he's a bit tan for that."

Vampires are usually pale enough to practically glow under the yellow lighting.

Grabbing the Fae wine and ignoring the water, I wink at Penelope. "I'm going in. Hopefully I won't see you later."

She waggles her eyebrows at me. "Get it, girl."

* * *

Hear me out.

I wouldn't normally advocate for sex in the bathroom of a bar—especially a bar owned by your best friend—but there are exceptions, okay?

Like when the guy you're eye-fucking across the room comes to you and for the first time you can remember, you're actually hit with his pheromones.

Raw. Primal.

The way my entire body combusted right fucking there in the middle of the room? I have no words.

None.

I might have been the one to grab his wrist and drag him down the hall for an intense make-out session against the wall, delighting in how his fingers dug into my hips, leaving bruises against my skin.

The way his lips devour mine, like I'm ambrosia for a man starved.

Sex with Scott wasn't bad, exactly. He was a little too aggressive and didn't spend enough time on foreplay, but I enjoyed our sessions most of the time.

But this?

This is electric.

We haven't even shared hellos, and now I'm throwing caution to the wind.

When he yanks my leg around his hip, I loop my arm around his neck to keep my balance, groaning as his hand slides between my thighs, doing a magic little dance down there that does naughty, naughty things to my insides.

I should push him away. I'm in a basic wireless bra and faded cotton panties that have seen better days. Nothing sexy here.

But I just urge him closer by arching my hips and throwing my head back, loving the feel of his lips against my throat, how he bites and nibbles in a way that sends all kinds of dirty feelings down below.

I am not this kind of girl.

Not really a one-night stand kind of person.

But I guess I am today.

His lips crash against mine once again, hungry and demanding. My back presses against the wall, the coolness a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body. To the heat burning inside of me.

His hands continue to play, leaving electric thrills of desire in their wake. I arch into him, craving more.

"Hotel," he growls between kisses. "My place."

Fuck. Even his voice is sexy. Deep and rough and with the slightest hint of a southern drawl that has my vagina clenching hard.

I'm so pherofucked.

"Too far," I pant, reluctant to break contact even for a moment.

He nips at my lower lip, drawing a gasp from me. "Worth the trip."

My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him closer. "Can't wait that long."

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, vibrating against me. His hand slides down to my thigh, hitching it higher around his waist. The new angle sends sparks of pleasure coursing through me, and—is that a breeze?

It is.

He tore my panties off.

That's hot. How did I not notice that?

Footsteps echo down the hallway, accompanied by laughter and hushed giggles. The sound jolts me back to awareness of our surroundings. Public hallway. Not ideal.

I grab his wrist, my eyes darting to a door nearby. "This way."

Dragging him towards the family restroom, I fumble with the handle. It gives way, and we stumble inside. Slamming the door shut, I twist the lock with shaky fingers.

The click of the lock is deafening in the sudden quiet. For a heartbeat, we stand there, chests heaving, eyes locked. There's almost no light—just the soft glow of a nightlight by the sink.

Probably for the better. Bathrooms aren't very conducive to hot sexy time.

Then he's on me again, pressing me against the door, his mouth hot and insistent.

My hands roam over his shoulders, down his chest, marveling at the solid muscle beneath my fingertips. He groans, the sound sending a shiver down my spine.

"You sure about this?" he murmurs against my neck, his breath tickling my skin.

Am I sure? Hell no. But for once, I don't want to think. Don't want to analyze. I just want to feel.

"Absolutely," I breathe, pulling him closer.

His lips curve into a smile against my skin. "Good."

And then there are no more words, just sensation. Hands exploring, lips tasting, bodies moving in a frenzied dance. The world narrows down to this moment, this man, this feeling.

For now, that's enough.