No Strings. Cara Lockwood
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Saturday
HE STOOD BEFORE HER, the curve of his bare chest an invitation as he stood in the moonlit hotel suite overlooking the glass high-rises of downtown Chicago. She ran her finger down the firm slope of his well-defined muscles, amazed at their taut perfection. He gently slid the bra strap down off her shoulder, the wisp of his touch setting her skin on fire, and all she could think was: I don’t even know his name. I’m going to let this man do whatever he wants to me, and I have no idea what to even call him.
She opened her mouth to ask, once more, but he covered her lips with his, and the question of the night evaporated in the heat of animal want. A moan escaped her, as he deftly undid the front clasp, setting her heavy breasts free. He dipped down, expertly flicking a tongue across one nipple, bringing it to attention. He then cupped the other in his strong hand, kneading it with intent.
His mouth is on me and I don’t know what he does for a living. I don’t even know if he has a dog. Or hell, a wife. I met this man one hour ago. A simple text exchange from an app on my phone. And now I’m here, half naked...
“I—I’ve never done this before...a stranger, I mean,” she murmured. He nibbled her nipple, the flick of teeth on the soft skin making her shiver. “This is... I mean, this is crazy. I don’t usually do this.”
He straightened, meeting her gaze with his unnervingly perfect hazel eyes. A lazy grin spread across his handsome face, warming up his squared-off jaw. “Even good girls should be bad, once in a while.”
She was a good girl. She never did this kind of thing. She’d only ever had sex with two other men her whole life, and both of them after a minimum of three months of dating first, but something about him made her feel reckless. Wild.
“I just can’t believe...” She wasn’t even sure how she’d gotten here this fast, how she’d met a man and within an hour, was letting him see her everything. To put his hands and his mouth on her body. “I just... I don’t know anything about you.”
“You having second thoughts?” He paused, hazel eyes fixing her in a locked stare.
“No,” she said. No, she wanted him. She did.
He pressed his hard, muscled chest against hers, dipping his face so close their noses nearly touched. “And all you need to know about me is this,” he promised. She felt heat rise in her very core. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. And, God, did she want him. She’d wanted this the moment they’d met in the hotel bar an hour ago. She’d decided then in that split second to let him do what he wanted. She was willing.
“You can tell me whatever you want me to do to you. I want you to tell me.” She sucked in a breath and her knees trembled slightly. She didn’t have to be a good girl. Not with him. She could be bad. Very, very bad. She could do whatever she wanted. She could let him do...whatever he wanted.
She could feel her want, soaking the thin fabric of the lace, the last thin barrier between her and this rash act she was about to commit, this terrible, inconceivably bad thing. Part of her wanted to say no, but her body was in control now. Her body wanted this, wanted it badly, and she became simply an animal in heat, overcome by desire and thousands of years of instinct. For this night, she would give in to her basest desires. There was no turning back now. She was going to give her everything to a man she didn’t know, to a perfect stranger. She was going to let him do things to her no man had before.
And she was going to like it.
The day before
EMMA ALLAIRE STARED at the newly downloaded Nost app on her phone and sighed. “You’re sure I need to do this?” she asked her best friend, Sarah, once more as they sat together at their favorite brunch place in Lincoln Square, the mild, not quite fall air of mid-September gliding across the open patio as people meandered past them on the busy city sidewalk. Nost, short for No Strings, was the latest hookup app that all of her friends were talking about, a place to meet men for casual sex. The app’s ominous black logo appeared on her phone and she double-tapped it.
“Em, just give it a shot, okay?” said her gorgeous redheaded friend with the perfect alabaster skin, the curves that didn’t quit and the string of musician boyfriends who paraded in and out of her life. “You never know until you try.”
“But this is what’s wrong with us,” Emma cried, holding up her phone, to show Nost’s loading page. It read, “No names. No strings. 100% fun.” She pushed up her black-framed, librarian glasses and scowled at her phone. “How is anyone going to find true love like this?” She showed Sarah a picture of a shirtless man making a kissing face at a mirror. The app implored her to “swipe right for a good time” or “nope, swipe left.”
“Honey, you know this isn’t about true love. It’s about getting off.” Sarah’s eyes gleamed.
Emma shrieked a laugh. “What are you even talking about?”
Sarah waved her fork in the air. “Wait, you do get off, don’t you?”
Emma felt her face flush red. “Um... Yes. I do.”
Just, you know, with only two guys. Ever. In her whole dating history, but Sarah didn’t need to know that right now.
Sarah pushed up her sunglasses on her nose and leaned back, lifting her face to the fall sunshine coating the small patio of the restaurant. “Good. I thought for a second you were one of those poor souls who’d never had an orgasm.”
Emma glanced around the restaurant, suddenly worried someone might overhear. Sarah just shook her head at her friend. “Orgasm!” she cried, louder, and a father of two glanced over at their table and frowned.
“Hush!” Emma commanded. Not that it would do any good. Sarah spoke her mind. Their server appeared then, placing delicious-looking plates of food in front of them. Sarah dug in, while Emma focused on the app.
“This is what is wrong with us. Anonymous one-nighters? I mean, you are seriously going to have sex with a man and all you know is his handle is...” Emma peered at her screen. “Hot4U?”
Sarah laughed a little. “Who cares about love when he’s got abs like that?” she said, pointing to the man’s six-pack.
“And enough tattoo ink on him to write War and Peace,” Emma pointed out. “He’s got two arm sleeve tattoos.”
“You just have to fuck him, not marry him,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes, as she forked a mouthful of spinach quiche into her mouth. “And bad boys are very good in bed. Live a little, Em. Seriously. You know you settle too fast for just about any guy who buys you a drink. Then you end up in a two-year relationship with them while they bore your friends to death.”
Emma knew she was talking about Devin, her last boyfriend with the less-than-sparkling personality. He’d been the only other guy she’d seriously dated other than her high school boyfriend.
“Not all of my exes are that way.”
“You need to date around. Hell, sleep around. Not just commit to the very first guy who shows up. You know I’m right.” Sarah studied her friend.
Emma twirled a loose tendril of hair around her finger and sighed. She glanced down at her flowy, flowered peasant top and her modest jeans and tried to imagine herself meeting up with Mr. Tattoo and taking all her clothes off. She simply couldn’t.
“I need romance,” Emma declared. “There’s no romance in this. This is what men want. It’s not what women want.”
Sarah