He’s telling me he couldn’t leave me alone, and there’s nothing else I’m going to believe.
I whimper uncontrollably when his fingers run over my collarbone. It’s the softest sound, but by the way his lips part and his eyes drop to my mouth, I know he hears it. My bones become heavy and I drop my head back against the booth, giving him better access as he works slowly back up my neck. He’s barely touching me, just the back of his hand grazing, testing out the feel of my skin, but I’m burning up from the inside out.
My thoughts are all over the place. I imagine his hands kneading my flesh until it’s raw. His mouth clamping down on my skin. Teeth, and lips, and tongues.
Dirty, filthy thoughts.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, causing me to blink him into focus. “I’m not a decent guy. I have no problem bending you over this table right now, but I’d rather not do it in front of your family. And the way you’re looking at me, like you want me to take it that far,” he pauses, shaking his head and dropping his hand back to the table. He lets out a slow breath before continuing, “You have no idea what that’s doing to me.”
My mouth goes dry, but luckily, the image he just put into my head makes me salivate instantly.
Me.
Bent over this table.
Him.
Doing the bending.
My chest shudders on an exhale.
“How was I looking at you?” I ask, sounding breathless.
His eyes darken, and now, he doesn’t even need to answer. I know exactly how I was looking at him while I was envisioning what all we could do together. I think I’m probably staring at that exact look right now.
Commotion comes from the front of the bar near the entrance, gaining his attention before he can reply.
I watch his profile tense considerably.
It’s instant, his reaction. His entire body goes rigid, jaw ticking at the sharp angle of it, and his breathing becomes heavy, uneven with panic.
I follow his eyes through the bar and land on a leggy blonde by the jukebox, her eyes scanning the crowd as if she’s looking for someone.
I know who she is to him. At least, I think I have a pretty good guess. You only react one way when you see someone you never want to see again. Someone who’s burned you. Someone you once loved.
I look back at the man next to me. The one who made me laugh minutes ago. The one who made me smile bigger than I’ve probably ever smiled. I don’t really know him, not at all, but I hate thinking he was hurt by this woman, because that’s the vibe I’m getting. He looks ready to bolt, or pass out, or throw up, and I really hope it isn’t option three. Especially with what I have planned. He’s made me feel special, and I want to do something for him in return.
I wait for the perfect moment, the one I need to confirm she is who I think she is to him. It only takes a few more seconds before her eyes find us, focus on him with that same ‘deer in headlights look,’ and that’s when I do what could possibly be the second dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.
I grab his face with both hands, turn his head, and form my mouth against his.
I’m expecting fireworks. Stars bursting between our lips. That fuck yes feeling you get when you first kiss someone.
I don’t get that. I don’t get anything close to that.
He’s frozen against me, paralyzed with confusion, or fear. I can’t tell which. He was tense before, but somehow, I’ve escalated his panic. He doesn’t pull away, but he isn’t giving me anything either, and he needs to. For this to look believable, he needs to work with me.
“Kiss me.” I press the words against his lips as my one eye peeks at the woman staring at us. “Kiss me, she’s looking. Come on.”
I force his head to tilt, sealing our mouths together. He gives, leaning against me, dropping his hand to my waist. He understands this game now, and becomes the willing participant I need him to be. His touch becomes firmer, hungry, and desperate. The second my teeth sink into his bottom lip, he opens his mouth with a moan and welcomes my eager tongue.
Now, this is a fucking kiss.
He’s all over me, kissing like a man who isn’t practiced with this. It’s wild and messy, and so unbelievably perfect. He can’t decide whether he wants to suck on my tongue or bite it. His sounds are unreal, low and throaty, vibrating against my lips. I’m practically in his lap, swallowing him alive. I don’t care how inappropriate I look right now. I don’t care if this building goes up in flames. I’m going to continue kissing . . .
My mind draws a blank.
Oh, nice Beth. Way to completely forget to ask the man’s name before you find out if he has any fillings.