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“There are two flaws in that argument. First off, there is nothing childlike about you. Second, if I were a nice guy, I definitely wouldn’t be hitting on someone else’s girlfriend.”
I jerk my gaze to his, sucking in a breath. Surely he doesn’t mean …
“Is that’s what’s happening here?” My words sound as breathless as I feel.
He doesn’t answer but just looks at me, and I feel myself getting lost in those inky dark eyes of his. Eyes so dark it feels like they have their own gravitational pull. Or maybe it’s just him that has gravitational pull. Maybe that’s why my life seems to orbit his. Why every time we meet, I feel closer to crashing into him. Maybe it’s inevitable.
I set down the drink that I’ve barely touched and crawl across the pillow-strewn floor to where he’s sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him. I take the tumbler from his hand and set it on the floor and then climb onto his lap, straddling his hips.
His hands grip my hips, the splay of his fingers making me aware of just how big his hands are. How much bigger he is than me.
Everything about the moment seems distorted, from the odd intimacy of his closet, so surrounded by the scent of him, to the languid pace we’re both moving at. It’s like we’re caught in some kind of sensory time warp.
He pulls my hips down so that my center presses against the hard line of his dick. I rotate my hips so that my clit rubs against him. It’s a jolt straight to my core that makes my eyelids flutter. I bite down on my lip to keep from groaning out loud.
I run my hands up his chest, which feels unexpectedly muscular beneath his shirt. I cup his jaw, relishing the prickle of his stubble against my palms, as I lean down to press my lips against his.
It’s barely a kiss, tentative and soft. He tastes like gin and mint and lemon, which I’m pretty sure is my new favorite combination of flavors. I want more. More of him. More of the taste of him in my mouth and more of the feel of him beneath my palms. I want to explore his mouth and find out what he tastes like under the gin and lemon. To feel his skin under the buttery cotton of his henley.
But before I can deepen the kiss, he stops me, moving one of his hands to my jaw, nudging me back until my eyes flutter open and I meet his gaze.
“I don’t think this is what you want.”
I open my mouth to protest, but his thumb slips up to press my lips closed.
“You have a boyfriend and?—”
I shake my head, opening my mouth to suck his thumb between my lips and nip at the pad of his thumb. His eyes darken, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s caught my lie or because his thumb is in my mouth. Now that I have the taste of him in my mouth, I want even more. I want to run my tongue along the column of his neck. I want to sink my teeth into his trapezoid. I want to suck his cock into my mouth and taste his come on my tongue.
His gaze narrows. “No? No, this is what you want?”
He pulls his thumb from my mouth, and I release it with a pop. “No. I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“You just have a guy in your phone who you ask for favors, who also calls you ‘babe’?”
“Trent is my ex. Ish. We were friends with benefits. Barely. We’re not close, but, yeah, if I need a ride, sometimes I call him.”
Martin’s expression hardens, making him look simultaneously dangerous and hungry.
I already want him. I’m already wet. Wet enough that I’m trying to gauge whether or not he can feel it through the layers of clothing separating us. And exactly how long it would take to peel away all those layers and just sink down onto his dick.
It’s odd to be thinking of any man in these terms. This doesn’t feel like me. I don’t have one-night stands or flings. I know myself too well to pretend that kind of fleeting thing will satisfy me. I’m not used to attraction hitting this hard and fast. I’m not used to thinking of a man in such carnal terms.
But Martin is different. Everything has always been different about him. From the very beginning it has been.
I try to kiss him again, but again he stops me.
“You don’t really want this,” he says. “You’ve had a stressful day. And you’ve been drinking.”
“I had one drink and that was hours ago. I barely touched the other one. You’ve had more to drink than I have.” I still, pulling back a little, as horror washes over me. “Oh God. Are you stopping me because this isn’t what you want?”
He laughs, pulling my hips down again to rub my cunt against his erection. “Does this feel like I don’t want you?”
My words pour out in a rush. “Consent matters for men just as much as it does for women. And just because your body is having a biological reaction to mine, it doesn’t mean that you actually want me. And?—”
Before I can even finish the thought, he’s picked me up like I weigh nothing and flipped me onto to my back, following me down to the floor. One hand is still splayed on my hip; the other is by my shoulder, holding his weight off me while his mouth devours mine.
It’s exactly the kiss I needed. Dark and deep and full of barely controlled need.
