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"Yes."
He pulled me closer as someone jostled me, and I moaned.
"Fuck, Isha. You make me so hard for you." His hands were on my ass, cupping me and holding me up so he could rest his erection against the notch in between my legs.
"Rowan, let me go," I hissed. This was blatantly sexual and was completely out of my wheelhouse.
He grabbed my hand and took me outside the bar, where people were sitting around smoking in coolness the summer night.
He pulled me to the side of the bar, in the dark, where there was no one. I leaned against a wall, and his body covered me, head to toe.
He leaned his forehead against mine.
"I want you."
"I…I…." I don't know how to handle this, how to handle you.
He moved his hips against mine, thrusting his hardness against my softness. I was wet for him. I could feel the dampness through my jeans.
"You want me?" he asked, his voice a husky rumble.
I wanted to say yes, so badly, but he was making my alarm bells go off, the same ones that had protected me my whole life.
"Say you want me," he insisted, his hand streaking up my body to cup my breast over the black camisole blouse I wore.
"Rowan," I moaned when he squeezed.
"Fuck, you're a handful."
I had kissed boys. They'd even touched me. But…this was beyond my experience. This madness of the body was scary.
His lips moved over my face, brushing against my skin, making me tremble.
My hands, which I had been holding at my side, rose of their own volition, and were on his chest, holding onto his soft T-shirt. He moved his thigh between my legs, and he lifted me a little.
"Ride me," he ordered.
I didn't know how to. I wanted to tell him. I'd had orgasms, sure, but they were rare. I didn't know my own body. I didn't know how to find my own release.
But it appeared my body knew what to do. My hips moved over his thigh, the friction making my nerve endings quake.
"Yeah, baby, drive us both a little crazy." He put his hands on my buttocks, and moved me up and down over his thigh.
"I can feel how hot you are," he muttered, his lips setting my face on fire.
I was unraveling, and I didn't know what I was doing. I held onto him, whimpering. He didn't stop; he kept pushing me up and down on him. The friction was too much, and suddenly, on a small cry, I fell apart, and my head sank onto his chest.
I felt his hand between us, unzipping his jeans. I heard him unbuckle his belt.
"When was the last time you fucked my brother?" he demanded, his hands cupping me through my jeans.
It was a bucket of cold water thrown at me.
I froze.
He felt it instantly, and his hand stilled.
My hands on his chest were now pushing him away, not holding on to him. I couldn't believe he'd just asked me that question.
