Overnight Wife

By: Penny Wylder


“What’s your name?” I call into his ear. Unless I’m mistaken, he flinches for a second, as though hesitating.

“John,” he calls back. Okay. No last names. I can dig it. We are, after all, in Vegas. The land of anonymity. That’s fair enough.

“I’m Mara.” I stick out my hand, which seems hilariously formal and awkward after I do it, making another blush bloom across my cheeks. But John just places my drink into my hand and leans in until his lips graze my ear.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mara.”

I swear, if a guy could make you come with his voice alone, John is the one who would do it. Deep and baritone, it vibrates all the way through my body, making my thighs tighten and my belly clench. I shift a little closer to him as I take my a sip of my drink.

Wow. I never really thought of well drinks as that much different from the better versions, but after a night of crappy tequila and mixed vodka drinks, the difference is stark, even to my already-tipsy senses. This tastes miles better than any vodka cran or vodka and lime drink I concocted back in my dorm room with the cheapy bottles I could afford back then .

I raise my glass to toast John, and as they clink together, I grin at him. “So. Two hardworking non-partiers meet at a club… that sounds like the start of a joke.”

“Or the start of a very promising evening,” he murmurs, which makes me inhale, tense again, for all the right reasons.

Without waiting for me to finish the drink, John takes my free hand and leads me toward the dance floor. “I thought you didn’t club,” I call to him.

He smirks. “No. But that doesn’t mean I can’t dance.” With that, he shifts his arm to my waist, pinning me against him. I drape my arms around his shoulders, my drink still in hand, the cool glass pressed against his back. He does the same, and his cold glass chills the nape of my neck, making me shiver again—but also offering a welcome respite from the heat beginning to build in this club tonight.

I lean in close to him, and he shifts his hips against mine. I follow his rhythm, swaying with him. He wasn’t wrong. He’s a good dancer, which for some reason surprises me. But I follow, and he holds me closer, and I try to ignore the way I can feel him growing hard, his erection stiffening through the tight fabric of his pants. His cock is pressed right against my belly, digging into me hard enough that I can practically measure the length.

Huge.

I sway with him, and neither of us says a word about how aroused we’re getting, even though I know if I checked my panties right now, they’d already be soaked, and he’s barely even touched me.

John spins me around so my back is to him, and I move against him, getting into the rhythm. I take another sip from my vodka, and glance out across the floor, catching Lea’s eye. She flashes me a thumbs-up and raises an eyebrow, the universal girl code for “you all good?” I flash one back and grin so she knows my dance is 100% consensual and much enjoyed.

She winks and goes back to her own partner, the same cute guy I noticed her dancing with earlier.

The song fades and another one starts. Next thing I know, I’ve finished my drink. I lean back against him, going up on tiptoes to shout in his ear. “Another one?” I ask.

“Are you sure?” His gaze dances over to me, more amused than anything else. “You seem a little loose on your feet already.”

I narrow my eyes. “I am a grown woman, thank you very much. And I would like more of that delicious top shelf vodka of yours. Unless you’re going to make me go back to well…”

He laughs and catches my hand, pulling it to his lips. He kisses the back of my knuckles, then leans down to kiss my jawline, just below my ear. “I wouldn’t dare,” he whispers, his breath hot on my skin, tickling all over.

Then he weaves back through the club toward the bar, and right around there is where my night grows fuzzy…



There were other clubs. I remember that much. There’s a flash of a pub, with Lea and her boy in tow. Another club, this one with flashing strobe lights. I remember dancing with John again, his lips meeting mine for the first time, hard and insistent. He tasted just like the top shelf vodka—like the kind of quality kiss I’d never tasted before.

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