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I don't want a hunk in his underwear.
I want the intelligent, off-limits man next to me.
No doubt some of the dancers are smart too, but the act doesn't exactly show off their brains. And, well, women aren't socialized as sexual subjects.
We're socialized to see ourselves as objects. Many women have little sense of seeing a man and thinkingI must have them. They feel desire when someone expresses a desire for them.
They may thinkdamnwhen they see a hot guy, but it's not until that hot guy shoots them bedroom eyes that they start to think about dropping their panties.
It's a common problem. Usually, it's considered one of socialization, though there is some biological basis. It takes longer for the pelvic muscles to relax enough for penetration than it does for blood to flow to an erection.
On average.
Right now—
Fuck, I really need to fuck someone.
And I really want to fuck Jackson.
There's no maybe. Not anymore.
I need to do it.
I will do it.
The show ends. I clap and follow the crew out of the theater. I steel myself so I'm ready to manage my lust for the next phase of the night.
Then Zack says, "Time to dance, huh? We better pick buddies. I call Kenji."
Kenji laughs and reaches for his husband-to-be. Even though Kenji is short, with dark hair and dark eyes, and Nathan is impossibly tall, with hair, eyes, and skin so light he glows like the moon, the guys look just right together. It's not their matching suits, either. It's something about them. Some sense they belong together.
Laurel nods. "You can't dance with your spouse at your bachelor party. I've got Nathan." She looks to Cassie and Damon. "Obviously, there's a pair. And, uh"—she motions to us—"that leaves you and Daphne."
And Rome.
But something tells me he won't be dancing alone for too long.
"Show her a good time, huh." Laurel winks.
Jackson offers his handshall we.
I take it.
We're dancing, but I already see the two of us grinding in a horizontal position.
Chapter Thirteen
Daphne
We go straight from the air-conditioned lobby to the stretch limo waiting at the valet. The car isn't all that different from the casino, really.
It attempts to project an aura of fun and sophistication, but it comes across as a teenager trying too hard to have a good time. Purple lights, throbbing music, expensive bottles of cheap sparkling wine.
It's too loud to hear myself think. Or to hear the conversation happening around the grooms.
Somehow, I end up next to Jackson, my bare thigh pressed against his slacks, the soft linen fabric the perfect friction against my skin.
Damon shoots me ago for itlook.
