Just One Night

“Don’t even think about it,” Doreen warned, following Rachel’s gaze to the table in the corner of their favorite sidewalk café.

But it was too late. Not only was Rachel thinking about it—about him—but her panties were uncomfortably moist.

She was revisiting an earlier idea that God had made Danny Cole, over at that table, for one purpose, that being the satisfaction and sanctification of women. He might even be an angel of fornication, sent to teach the finer arts of lovemaking. The bearer of earthly delights.

The tight black T-shirt tucked into his perfectly faded jeans clung to his chest in a way Rachel wanted to. His leather jacket, slung over the back of his chair, looked well worn and suited his outgoing personality. Dare-devil. Devil-may-care.

Hot.

Rachel knew the jacket would smell good. The little flicker of a storm brewing beneath her baby blue undies told her so. She loved leather. Loved the sight of Danny Cole in leather. The scent of that jacket was like catnip, like frosting on a big, dense, chocolate birthday cake.

Nothing could rival the scent of leather on a man.

Leather held within it a flagrant hint of sexuality, imminent virility, and cock-sure manliness. Woven into the smell was a reminder of days when men wielded the reins of wild horses and wore boots to their knees. When lords of the manor caught the skirts of housemaids in dim hallways and screwed them for sport.

Fantasy. Pure fantasy. Her fantasy. Dark and secret. Intimately personal. In her dreams and visions, she was one of those women caught by such a man. A lord. A master. In a dim hallway lit with flickering candles and the sheen of polished wood floors, he and she would meet. They’d engage in a dangerous moment that left her breathless, wet and begging for a replay.

The hallways varied. Time periods changed, their clothing changed, adding to the challenge, but the man was always the same. Dressed in hose, breeches or charcoal gray slacks, Danny Cole would fuck her senseless, using every option open to him—his fingers, his tongue, his raging engorged cock. Inside of her. Over and over again. Never enough. Not even close to being enough.

“Are you listening?” Doreen bristled, sounding miffed about the lengthening silence.

“I’m listening,” Rachel said, her eyes longingly caressing Danny, just ten steps away. She licked her candy-apple red lips, spreading the cinnamon flavor of the gloss toward her taste buds, dreaming of running her mouth over his.

Danny was laughing, perhaps over something the blonde sitting with him had said. He tossed his mane of thick, slightly wavy hair out of his face with a motion reminiscent of a stallion giving some damned mare the come-hither.

Worked for Rachel. She crossed her legs at the knees and squeezed them tight, wanting to run over there, sit in his lap, and stroke those chiseled pecs. Desiring to rub her backside against whatever lay nestled in those jeans at the moment, she wondered whether Danny had been aroused by the statuesque blonde’s witty repartee... and if blondes were capable of witty repartee.

“Out of our league,” Doreen added, lifting her mug of green tea, then setting it down again without drinking. “Hell, he’s out of our universe.”

“I beg to differ. Danny Cole isn’t inhuman. No alien life form. He errors on the side of being too human, as a matter of fact. And in particular, all too male.”

Danny’s tall, lithe body was just her style. He moved with the grace of a tiger, living up to his reputation as a predator. Each move he made was a visual delight, sending ripples of glee through her body—as well as the bodies of every other female in Minneapolis. Danny was the metaphysical equivalent of a hot flash.

“Surefire way to end up in trouble,” Doreen said.

“For sure,” Rachel agreed. Cole was all male—front, back and sides. Top of his head to his boots. Everything in between the head and the boots was ripped to perfection, buff, fully cooked, and Adonis-like.

And, according to Doreen, futile. Rachel smiled wistfully. Doreen smiled wistfully. Unspoken thoughts traveled between them. “I know where he lives,” Rachel finally said.