Bad Boys After Dark: Mick
Bad BOYS
—Mick—
Everything’s naughtier after dark…
Book One
After Dark Series
Melissa Foster
This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.
BAD BOYS AFTER DARK: MICK
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2016 Melissa Foster
V1.0
This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Cover Design: Elizabeth Mackey Designs
WORLD LITERARY PRESS
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
A Note to Readers
The After Dark series is written in the same raw, emotional voice as my other romance series, with naughtier language and amped-up heat levels.
If this is your first Melissa Foster book, you have a whole series of loyal, sexy, and wickedly naughty heroes and sexy, sassy heroines to catch up on with my Love in Bloom series (Snow Sisters, The Bradens, The Remingtons, Seaside Summers, The Ryders, and Harborside Nights). The characters from each series make appearances in future books.
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For my readers
Table of Contents
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
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Are you ready for Dylan Bad?
Fall in love with Trish & Boone
Meet Grayson Lacroux
BOOK LIST
~Many Thanks~
Meet Melissa
Chapter One
LURED BY THE pulse of sex and anonymity, Amanda Jenner moved through the dusky bar, brushing against silk, satin, cotton, and flesh, each graze feeding the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Blue lights misted over sweaty strangers lost in the seductive bump and grind of foreplay and hoping for a night of erotic pleasure. If Amanda tried hard enough, she could smell tomorrow’s scent du jour—regret. Tonight she had no room for the confidence-crushing worry of what tomorrow would bring. She scanned the crowd, as she had in the previous three bars, immediately dismissing anyone who wasn’t in costume. Her world was full of boring men who excelled at wining, dining, and boring her to sleep. Ten years of romance novels and movies had led her astray, sending her on a search for the elusive needle in a haystack. She’d led herself astray, always the careful thinker, careful dresser. Or as her younger sister, Ally, would say, Careful kisser, careful lover. Ally, however, had taken charge of her sex life—and she’d found the perfect man.
Now it’s my turn.
Amanda was on the prowl, in search of a man who could wine and dine her, make her laugh, think, and feel—for one night. A man who not only knew how to get a woman off, but enjoyed doing it many times before taking his fill. If not for Ally, she wouldn’t have known guys like that existed in real life. But now that she did, she wanted one, and the masquerade bar crawl was the perfect venue for her solo coming-out party.
Her eyes caught on the dark figure of a man, big and powerful, standing a few inches above the crowd. He leaned toward a woman wearing a slinky little black dress and a mask that covered her from nose to forehead, like Amanda’s. Amanda’s pulse quickened—for the broad, strapping, masked man, not for her competition. Like any good paralegal, she’d done her research, trading romance novels for The Handbook: Release Your Inner Temptress and stalking Internet sites for tips on flirting and taking charge of her sexuality. Then she’d practiced.
Excessively.
She’d spent weeks mentally role-playing her new vixen persona, using her boss, and secret crush of three years, as her prey. He was sex and sin all wrapped up in Armani and blessed with a beautifully smart brain—and off-limits. He never mixed business with pleasure, which made him the perfect fantasy playmate.
The masked man turned, giving Amanda a better view of his wide chest and shoulders, draped in black leather. I’d like to be draped in you. A shiver chased the thought. Was she really doing this? She inhaled a shaky breath and took in the silver mask dipping low on his cheeks, hiding some of his thick, sexy dark scruff, and riding up over his nose to his hairline. His gaze shifted, catching her staring. Her nipples tightened with awareness. The unfamiliar sensation startled her, momentarily shaking her confidence again. She averted her eyes to catch her breath, reminding herself this was what she was here for—a flash of fire, a forbidden fuck.
Pushing past the frightening thunder inside her chest, she curled her fingers around the hem of her treacherously short skirt. She couldn’t chicken out. Not after weeks of research and pep talks. Especially not after finally finding the courage to get waxed from head to toe, including all the painful parts in between, which was easily as scary as standing in a crowd of strangers searching for someone to have meaningless sex with.
Oh God, am I really going to do this?
She chanced another peek at Leatherman, now casually leaning against a pillar and brazenly watching her. A dizzying mix of thrill and fear soared through her. She wasn’t a quitter. Careful Amanda fought hard, but vixen Amanda thrust her aside. She was doing this. She was doing him.
If she could stop shaking like a frigging leaf. She lowered her chin, holding Leatherman’s steady gaze. One, two…I can’t breathe…Three, four…She tore her eyes away. Damn it. The book said to count to seven.
She’d build up. Practice on a few unsuspecting men before going in for the kill.
Kill? Really? That’s awful.
Stop overthinking!
Inhaling a calming breath, she drew upon what she’d read. Chapter Fourteen, Conquering the Man of Your Dreams, and knew what she had to do. Staring out at the sea of masked and painted faces, she conjured up her boss’s handsome face and envisioned her tall, dark fantasy man moving across the dance floor, his attention trained on her.
He would never go to a bar crawl.
She sighed. Not helpful.
Her boss represented some of the wealthiest and most beautiful entertainers in the world. His female clients were always hitting on him or trying to set him up with their friends and sisters. That thought made her knees wobble even though it was known around the office that he never mixed business with pleasure, and she stumbled in her sky-high boots. She probably shouldn’t have had two drinks at the last bar, but the liquid courage was necessary. Another masked man turned a predatory stare on her, his arm swooping around her waist as she tried to regain her footing.
His eyes slid over her face with little interest and dropped to the ample cleavage spilling out the top of her rib-crushing costume. Perfect. She swallowed
hard to steady her mounting panic. I can do this. The Handbook claimed once the first seduction was under her belt, the rest would be easy. She wished she could skip the seduction part and go straight to the easy stage. Her brain told her to walk away. She didn’t know this guy, or who he’d been with, or anything. But wasn’t that exactly what tonight was about? Finding her sexual freedom? Owning it? She’d chosen the sexy black velvet dress with the tight bodice she could hardly breathe in and satin and lace trim that barely covered her ass specifically to throw off I’m-all-in vibes. And just in case that didn’t say it all, she’d bought the lace-up fuck-me boots Cosmo suggested and the blond wig Bagyourman.com raved about—because everyone knew blondes had more fun.
Drawing from the flirtation tips she’d studied, she fingered the blond wig and drew in a deep breath, arched her back, and thrust her breasts forward.
The stranger licked his lips, and his eyes flicked up to hers long enough for him to say, “’Sup?” then slid south again.
Really? ’Sup? ’Sup wasn’t a word. It wasn’t even a greeting. It was a noise some lazy, uneducated person came up with because they couldn’t put enough real words together to form a sentence. I wore the outfit. I’m owning my sexuality. And this is who’s attracted to me? She could get this type of guy with hairy legs, flip-flops, and no makeup.
Ally’s voice whispered through her mind. You’re doing it again. Her sister claimed she limited her dating options by being overly judgmental. But Amanda didn’t believe she was overly judgmental. She was smart. Period. Was it too much to expect intelligent conversation?
Her answer came in a recollection from The Handbook.
Chapter Three: Don’t talk. Touch.
Right.
I can do without intelligent conversation for one night. Tonight she was uncorking her body and releasing her inner temptress. Acutely aware of the blazing bead Leatherman had on her from across the room, she flashed him her most seductive smile and turned the inferno he stoked on the numskull beside her.
“Hey.” The word lingered on her tongue for a few extra beats.
Genius took a swig of his beer, arm still fastened around her waist. “You’re hot. What’s your name?”
She wanted primal, and the only thing primal about this guy was his stench. Forcing herself to see him as foreplay for the main event, she said, “Lola,” with practiced casualness. “You?”
“Rick.” He nodded a few times, laughing under his breath.
She needed more alcohol for this. A lot more. “Buy me a drink?”
He peered over his shoulder at the crowded bar, giving Amanda an opportunity to scan the crowd for a different man to practice on, but Leatherman’s gaze was too powerful to ignore, and it reeled her back in.
“Too long of a line,” the man beside her said, and handed her his beer.
“Thanks, I’m good.” She shook her head to tear her attention from the man she wanted and tried to slip back into character.
He tugged her closer with a lecherous grin. “I’m counting on you being better than good.”
She closed her eyes briefly, trying like hell to bring on the fantasy so she could forget this guy was a stinky loser, but no matter how hard she tried to conjure up her boss’s handsome face he refused to appear. Leatherman’s stare drew her in like a slave. Adrenaline surged through her veins, a carnal ache growing low in her belly, filling her with pulsing heat.
This is primal. Her senses careened, and she fought the urge to jump up and down and scream, I feel primal! Frantically searching her mind for an escape from the man who had her in his grasp, she remembered chapter eighteen, Gracefully Bowing Out, and ran her fingers down Rick’s arm, eyes still locked on Mr. You’ll Do Perfectly for Tonight.
“Oh, I’m better than good,” she promised. “But my friends are getting antsy. I’d better head over.”
**
MICK BAD STRODE across the dance floor, sizing up the asshole gripping the blonde’s arm. He’d come to the bar crawl hoping to get lost in a good fuck, and the blonde was sending the same greedy vibes, with an alluring hint of cat and mouse. He wasn’t about to let this twentysomething shadow of a man get in his way. Mick had been that guy once, cocky and stupid, taking what he wanted despite the consequences. He’d carried the anger of losing his younger sister like a calling card for vengeance, but he’d outgrown that reckless troublemaking stage. Whoever said wisdom came with age was right. There were better ways to handle idiots like him. Unfortunately for this asshole, the anniversary of Mick’s sister’s death always brought him closer to the reckless edge, and if the guy pushed, he just might make an exception.
He stepped between the blonde and the man holding her captive, his six-three frame forcing enough space that the guy had to reach around him to keep hold of her.
“What the fuck, dude?”
Ignoring him, Mick put a hand on the blonde’s elbow, and in his best disappointed-husband voice, he said, “Honey, I leave for a few minutes and you pick up another guy?”
“Wha…?” She turned from him to the jerk, who was spewing bullshit Mick also chose to ignore, and silenced as understanding dawned on her.
Mick gave her a reassuring nod, then turned to the guy. “Sorry, man.” He draped an arm around the curvy blonde and strode away. She felt heavenly against him, well worth the moment of irritation.
“I was handling him,” she said with a slight quiver in her voice.
“Thought I’d speed up the process. I can think of better ways to expend your energies.”
“You can?” she said breathlessly. Her mouth snapped shut and she cleared her throat. “Can you?” she said in a more provocative tone.
Why he found that momentary innocence incredibly sexy was beyond him. He didn’t usually go for women who were easily flustered, but he’d spotted her in the hotter-than-hell dress with the hint of white lace peeking out from beneath when he’d first arrived. Her attempts to hold his stare were impressive, and the enticing way she moved conflicted drastically with the nervous way she tugged at the hem of her skirt when she thought no one was watching. An alluring combination of naughty and nice.
Pressing his hand to her lower back, he brought her tight against his arousal.
“Absolutely,” he promised. “Besides, you’ve been eye-fucking me all night.”
She sucked in a ragged breath. “I…”
“Hey, no complaints here, and no pressure.”
She reached up and touched his whiskers. It was a tender touch, not the rough stroke of a woman out to get laid, but behind her mask her eyes darkened. He lowered his face to hers and pressed a kiss to her cheek, testing the waters. He’d just taken her from the arms of an asshole. He shouldn’t be thinking about all the dirty things he’d like to do to her so soon, but he couldn’t deny the imploring look she was giving him, or ignore the feel of her soft, willing body. She spoke heady and low, talking under the noise of the bar instead of over it, and he wanted to hear more of it.
Unable to resist, he took her chin between his finger and thumb and angled her head up. “Let’s take a test ride, see how we like it.”
His mouth came coaxingly down over hers. She kissed tentatively, revealing inexperience that baffled him given her efforts at seduction. From across the room he’d been ready to bend her over the bar. Now he had the strange desire to keep kissing her. Chasing the unfamiliar and uncomfortable thought from his head, he intensified the kiss, taking her rougher and greedier. She returned his efforts with fervor, as if he’d untethered her. She moaned into his mouth, and it vibrated all the way to his cock. Holy hell. Had he been played? Was her tentativeness only a lure? Her hands locked around his neck, nails digging into his skin. He smiled against her mouth, happy to be her catch of the night.
Her body trembled as they feasted on each other’s mouths, their bodies rocking and grinding to their own urgent beat. He maneuvered their entangled bodies to the edge of the dance floor, then into the darkness beyond, until her back met the wall.
Did she think he was a fool? No way was he stopping. He claimed her in another greedy kiss, eating up the sweet, sexy sounds leaving her lungs. He drew back, trapping her lower lip between his teeth and giving it a gentle tug as he mentally picked through their options. He was thirty-four years old and not exactly into having sex in a bar restroom, but his throbbing cock wasn’t as picky. Behind her mask, her eyes were closed. He brushed his mouth over hers, placing a kiss to the swell of her upper lip.
“Don’t stop,” she repeated, stronger this time.
The hell with his distaste for bathrooms. He took her hand and pulled her down the narrow hallway toward the restrooms. She stumbled in her fuck-me boots. He gathered her against him and pushed through the men’s room door.
“Out,” he commanded to a guy who was washing his hands, and locked the door behind him.
He backed her up against the wall, kissing her hard and deep, exactly like he wanted to fuck her. Lifting her leg at the knee, he hitched it around his waist and rocked his cock against her. She tasted sweet, hot, and like the perfect remedy for his ghost-ridden week. Desperate to push past the painful memories, he shoved his other hand beneath her dress and tore her thong from her body, dropping the shredded material to the floor.
“Tell me to stop,” he growled, hoping to hell she wouldn’t.
She pressed her lips together and shook her head. The fluorescent bathroom lights sparkled off her mask and the glittery makeup caking her cheeks.
“I’m taking that as a green light. Is it a green light?” The attorney in him knew better than to assume.
She nodded.
“Thank fucking God.”