Based on the way she’s moving, the songs are still upbeat, and I’m thanking the universe that she isn’t grinding against me. I want her to, god damn I want her to. I want her body all over me, but it’s a horrible idea. I’ll screw up and scare her away. I’ll lose any chance with her and my job. I need her. I need my job. I have to keep my shit together, but I’m already failing.
As if the DJ can hear my thoughts—and hates me—the tempo slows, and the music is heady and full of bass. Unexpectedly, her eyes open and I can’t stop looking between them and her lips. I want to taste her. All of her. Every fucking inch of her. Her hand slides over mine and suddenly there’s not enough oxygen to breathe. She smiles and my heart drums to the music that is her.
This is so not me. I’m way out of my element. I’m the wingman. I’m the one who tries to date the cute friend so his buddy can date the hot chick. I’m not even cool enough to be the last kid picked for kickball—I’m the shy kid who doesn’t get picked at all because I’m in the nurse’s office with a broken nose. But she’s done something to me.
I haven’t craved someone like this in a long time. Hell, I haven’t had sex in months. No, that’s wrong. It’s been over a year ago and I’m not even sure it counts as sex. Neither of us were in our right minds. I was working a freelance shoot in San Diego with a new client. A day at the beach, women in tiny bikinis, and too much weed later, and I found myself at a bar with some coworkers. Someone decided we should shoot some pool and I remember a blonde coming over and talking to me. Rubbing on me. We had shots, and we drank a few beers together. It was fun, until it wasn’t.
The next thing I know, I’m on a bench outside the bar, and she’s on top of me, moaning someone else’s name as she bounces up and down until we both get off. Romantic. A woman I knew from the shoot found us outside not long after we finished and when I could barely stand or say my own name, she ended up taking us both to the hospital.
Some dickhead spiked the blonde’s drinks…the ones I shared with her. And people wonder why I have trust issues. Her attitude toward the entire situation made me realize I’d dodged more than one bullet that night. She considered herself fortunate, fucking the nice guy while drugged instead of the wrong guy. At least I left her alive and felt like an absolute asshole. I’ve never gotten over that guilt or the shame. The police took our statements at the hospital while we had our stomachs pumped; the doctors discharged us, and we walked away. They never found the guy who dosed us. It could have been so much worse for both of us, but a year later, I still struggle with what happened.
We stayed in touch long enough to know we both tested negative and she wasn’t pregnant. I never told my dad. He just knew I wasn’t myself after that. I’d lock myself in the garage and paint for hours, only to cover the whole painting in black and throw the canvas away. It reminded him of when I first started painting to deal with my trauma.
I almost called her a few times in the last six months to see if I could fuck the pain away, maybe replace the shame with something good. Instead, I tried several women I didn’t know. One passed out as we got in the cab, so I made sure she got home safely and left. Another time was with this beautiful redhead. I made sure she got off like six times, but I kept having flashbacks to San Diego every time she touched me. I cried a lot and stayed in bed for a week after both encounters and then I gave up trying. I do that a lot, though. Depression is a never-ending cycle. It doesn’t give a fuck who you are. It consumes you, gives you a glimmer of hope, and pulls you back into the darkness over and over until you rot.
Lexi turns her back to me, and my mind snaps back to the here and now. I hold my breath as she moves her hips, pressing that beautiful backside up against me. I can’t stop the moan as my eyes roll back in my head, and I find myself praying that she can’t hear it over the music. She doesn’t move away, though. Rolling her perfect ass against me. She has to feel that. I take hold of her hips as she sways, and my head drops down until I’m nuzzling against her ear. The music is gone now. It’s just our breathing and our hearts beating.
Now that she’s standing, I can see the tattoos on her bare legs. I want to touch them, hell; I want to lick them. My fingers walk down her hips and graze against her bare skin next to the ink. One leg is full of comic book characters I recognize, the other has references to video games. Instead of running off the dance floor, she’s leaning her head back onto my shoulder and wrapping her arms around my neck.
That’s when I realize she doesn’t have on a bra—her tits are perfect. I gently nip at her hot skin and watch her pebbled nipples pressing against the tight fabric of her shirt. I’m practically drooling at how much I want her, but I close my eyes and try hard to get my head out of the gutter and her pants.
She smells like dessert. Cherries...no. Strawberries. I close my eyes and leave a trail of soft kisses up her neck when her hands start to play with my hair. I suck softly on her pulse point and I feel the vibration of her moan. One of her hands finds mine and leads it between her legs and my hips thrust involuntarily. She’s soaking wet and wants to make damn sure I know I’m not the only one turned on.
As if I’m in some kind of weird dream, she turns around to face me again, leaving her arms around my neck and leaning in close. She licks the shell of my ear and says just loud enough for me to hear her, “Let’s get out of here.”
I nod. I must look like a lovesick puppy as she weaves us through the crowd and down a hallway to the bathrooms. She pulls me into the women’s room and I am thanking whatever designer decided on the private stalls with full doors as it shuts behind me with a click.
My head is spinning, and the world is moving too fast when she pulls me to her, directing my head back to her neck. My hands want to touch all of her. Fuck, my heart is slamming and I’m trying hard to remember if I even have a condom with me. I fumble with the button on her shorts like an idiot, then I give up and slide my hand up her leg.
She purrs—fucking purrs—against me when my fingers slip under the silky panties and tease at her entrance. My other hand grabs her tit and I roll her hard nipple through her shirt. Her back arches when I find the sweet spot, and she starts riding my hand with a moan. The fire in me is raging now, and I push the long, flowery blouse off her shoulders and pull her top down, exposing her breasts to the cool air of the bathroom. I lean over and flick her nipple with my tongue before wrapping my lips around it.
“Oh fuck, just like that!” she coos.
I want to see her—no—I need to see her when she comes apart. I need to have that memory of her face in ecstasy so I can hold on to it forever. I want her to have my name in her mouth when she comes. I pull away from her breast and stare at her.
“Fuck, you’re?—”
“Don’t stop!” She grabs my vest and I’m tripping backward, my head slamming into the door behind me as a string of mumbled swears comes out of my mouth. That’s going to hurt later, but her hands are fumbling with my buckle as we both share a drunk laugh and hunt the release together. I tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, watching my own fingers slide along her lips. I want to kiss her.
“You’re—” I don’t even get to finish before her lips ghost mine. At this point, she could be sucking my soul out, and I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass. I pop the button on her jeans and shove my hand in for a better angle. My thumb rubs circles around her swollen clit and I slide two fingers into her; she’s so damn tight and fucking soaked. Her moan is angelic. Her breath tastes like whiskey and cherries. I think it’s my new favorite combination. I’m just about to kiss her when she gasps and throws her head back.
“James! Oh fuck, I’m gonna come.”
When her head rocks back and our eyes lock, my mind flashes to the blonde on the beach. Then to Sam telling me not to let my dick fuck this up. Shit.
“Lexi, I… this is…we can’t do this. I can’t do this.”
She lets out a whine and my dick is screaming at my brain as I pull my hand out of her shorts.
“Motherfucker, seriously?”
“Sweetheart, you’re—you’re fucking phenomenal. But?—”
“But?” she scoffs, then pulls her top back up. “Fine, I’ll finish it myself, asshole.”
“Wait!” I grab her as she reaches for the door. “It’s not you. You have no idea how badly I want this. I want you.”
“Yeah? But what?”
