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“You understand what this is, right?” Callie asks him as she toes off her shoes and shrugs her jacket over her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
Mark Sloan, aka McSteamy, sits down on the bed. He makes himself at home and smiles at her. “I’m hoping that it’s the best night of my life.”
“That’s just it. It’s *one* night.”
“Let me guess,” he says, cocking his head to one side and studying her with an intensity that makes her shift uncomfortably. “Someone did you wrong and it’s payback time.”
“I’m damn good.” Standing, he moves across the room and runs the palms of his hands up her bare arms. “One night. And tomorrow we pretend it didn’t happen?”
“Something like that.”
He nods, almost imperceptibly, and captures her mouth with his. The intensity of the kiss leaves her breathless and he wastes no time turning her, leading her backwards toward the bed. She falls against it and he’s there, kissing her neck, her jawline, moving his hands under her shirt. With a moan she yanks his shirt from his waistband and traces the sculpted muscle of his back, feeling him ripple beneath her shaking hands.
“You smell good,” he says against her ear, nipping gently on her lobe. He twines a long, dark lock of her hair around his finger and tilts her face up. “You’re like midnight. Dark and sexy, fitting into the witching hour. I think you’ve bewitched me, Dr. Torres.”
She can form no reply. Her minds flits to George and she shakes her head, forcing the image away. George doesn’t want her. He probably never did and tonight, for a while at least, she’ll pretend that she is with someone who does. She tugs him down, kissing him again as he works the buttons of his jeans. He stands up and she watches as he yanks his shirt over his head and pushes his jeans away. His body is chiseled and she feels her breath catch in her chest. This isn’t the type of man she usually finds attractive, but the way he pulls back one side of his mouth, as if to confirm that he knows he’s breathtaking, causes her entire body to come alive with need.
Sitting up, she discards her own shirt and reaches for the front clasp of her bra, but he stills her hand and does it himself. With his mouth. Moaning with radiating desire, she holds his head in place as he latches onto one of her distended nipples and tugs with his teeth. “Now who’s being bewitched?” she asks, breathlessly.
He simply lets his fingers walk down her ribcage and unsnaps the button on her jeans. She lifts her hips to help as he slides the denim over her tingling flesh. She hears them land in the floor and grins as he runs his fingers through the satin black curls between her legs. “Just like midnight...” he mumbles, before dipping his head between her legs. “And you taste like rain.”
She blushes. She actually blushes and it’s so foreign for her to find herself shy that she gasps. He takes that as a signal that he’s doing a fine job and doubles up his efforts. It works and within minutes the blush on Callie’s cheeks has been replaced with a flush of heat and completion. She rides the waves of her orgasm, her fingers tugging at his hair, and then he’s crawling up her body, trailing hot, wet kisses along her womanly curves.
Her eyes widen when he enters her, shocked at how ready she actually is. She clings to him, her nails digging against his shoulders, his back, lower on his buttocks. He throws one leg over his shoulder and changes his angle and she’s done. Thrashing wildly beneath him, she comes again and surges upward, slamming her pelvis against his. It seems to last an eternity and they are both panting when they fall apart, completely sated.
Unlike previous lovers that she has had, he keeps an arm thrown possessively over her stomach. He leans against her shoulder and says, “Do I leave or stay?”
“What do you want to do?”
“The night isn’t half over. You said I got one night. Those were your words.”
“Then you stay.”
Callie scratched her forehead and studied the chart in her hand. It was hard to concentrate. She had been carefully peering around corners before walking down the hallways of the hospital. She was avoiding George. And Mark, who wasn’t like any one night stand she had ever had. And she’d had a couple. When she awoke that morning there had been a room service cart and a black rose in her room. The black rose was a little ominous. But it had made her smile.
Now, however, she was unsure of how to handle what could potentially be an awkward situation. She rolled her eyes when George came around the corner, laughing as he helped Meredith walk in the hallway. The way he doted on her, you would think that she had just undergone a heart transplant and not a routing appendectomy. She closed her chart as they approached, trying to appear fascinated by the surgical board.
“Hey, midnight,” Mark said, sidling up to her.
She stiffened a little as he leaned down and kissed her cheek, aware that George was just a few feet away. “Dr. Sloane, what a nice greeting.”
“I thought our greeting this morning was a little nicer. Or the one before that. Or the one before that. Or maybe the greeting in the bar was the real winner.” He wrapped one of her curls around his finger again, and tugged her forward, kissing her softly. “No, definitely *this* greeting is the nicest.”
She pursed her lips. “What exactly are you doing?”
“What am *I* doing? You’re seducing *me*!” He kissed her again. “Yeah, I’m definitely seduced.”
“What part of one night stand did you get confused by?” she whispered.
“Hmm,” he replied, loudly. “Just a ‘one night stand’? We did it every way *but* standing. I think I need an encore.”
There were several audible gasps around them and she closed her eyes. “You actually just said that out loud.”
“You’re in my system, midnight.” He let her hair go, then cupped her cheek. “You’re like a beautiful, black rose.”
“Black roses mean death,” she replied.
“What a way to go.” He took a step back, watching her. “I’ll pick you up at seven tonight.”
“Don’t worry. I’m a sure thing.”