by T. K. Leigh
It’s a stark contrast to most men I’ve had the unfortunate displeasure of dating. Men who felt the need to impress me with so much bravado, constantly talking themselves up, not once asking me a single question. I didn’t think it bothered me. I don’t like talking about myself, especially considering the normal questions most people ask on a date — What do you like to do? What’s your family like? How many brothers and sisters? The instant I tell someone I’m adopted, things change. There’s a look of sympathy on their faces. I hate that.
The next few hours pass in a mixture of laughter, increasing sexual tension, and consumption of more beers than we should, but what choice do we have? The power is out, so those beers will only go bad. We’re simply doing our civic duty of saving the beers from meeting an unfortunate demise.
At first, I was unsure how everyone would react to this game. To my surprise, it’s gone over well, so much so that even when Lincoln is the first to cross the finish line, we continue, throwing the die and going around the circle, drinking if we’ve done whatever is on the card. We’ve even reverted to some of the original rules from when we played in college, requiring others to drink if they’ve done whatever was said, even if it’s not their turn.
Once our laughter dies down after Lincoln told everyone how his ex cockblocked him by using her cat to curse him, I look at the coffee table, frowning. “We’re out of cards.”
I hate the idea of our game ending. While there’s still some tension between Asher and me, the constant push and pull has evaporated. Like he’s decided to just let go, allow the night to take us where it’s meant to. We’ve returned to the way things have always been. Easy conversation. Laughing at ridiculous stories. Not wanting the night to end. Of course, the things we’ve talked about have been much more personal, but that’s the nature of the game. And something I was hoping for anyway.
“Maybe it’s time we go off-script,” Chloe suggests. I whip my eyes toward her, a single brow cocked. “We stopped with the board game part of this a while back.” She gestures at the discarded board. “Maybe it’s time to make things more interesting and ask different kinds of questions.”
“What kinds of questions did you have in mind?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Something deeper. A little more…personal.”
“Therapist personal or sexy personal?”
“Therapist personal.” She holds her head high, then shifts her eyes to Lincoln before adding, “And sexy personal.”
In a heartbeat, a charge is sparked. It’s no longer an easygoing, albeit slightly risqué game among friends, both old and new. We don’t have to share our thoughts with one another to know we’re all thinking the same thing — this has the possibility to change everything.
“I’m okay with that,” Asher states. “We’re all adults. Not much makes me uncomfortable.” His demeanor is calm, maybe even a little intrigued. He’s not pulling away like I thought he would.
“We are all adults, aren’t we?” I muse.
“What’s going through that brain of yours?” Chloe asks, able to sense the wheels spinning in my head.
I look into the distance where the skyline of Las Vegas should be illuminated, but it’s not, the entire world shrouding us in relative darkness, as if we’re in a bubble where the events of tonight won’t matter when the lights come back on. Where we can give in to our deepest desires with no consequences.
I grab a flashlight off the table and proceed into the house without saying a single word. Chloe wants to take our game to the next level. Well, we still need a pair of dice.
Making my way to my room, I open the bachelorette goody bag Bernadette put together, which contained mostly inappropriate items, including a vibrator. Apparently marrying the guy who knocked you up in college doesn’t always equal sexual satisfaction, as was evident by her constant flirting with anything with a pulse. I toss butt plugs, eye masks, and body paint into my suitcase, finally finding what I’m looking for. Wrapping my fingers around them, I hurry down the stairs and return to the patio, three sets of expectant eyes meeting mine.
“What’s going on?” Chloe asks.
“Like Asher said…” I hold my head high, despite the small ball of doubt forming in my stomach at the possibility no one will want to go along with this. But if we can’t throw caution to the wind, can’t take a risk during a blackout in Sin City, when can we? “We’re all adults, correct?”
“Yes…,” everyone answers, their voices laced with curiosity.
“I’m declaring a circle of trust…a bubble, so to speak.” I wave my arms in a circle, drawing an invisible dome around us. “I submit for your consideration a new take on Never Have I Ever.”
“I’m not sure I want to know what this new take is.” Asher’s voice is playful as he crosses his arms in front of his broad chest.
“You probably don’t, considering it’s how I met your brother…” The second I see his face blanch, I regret saying that. We hadn’t brought up Jessie all evening. It’s been as if there never was a Jessie. Regardless, I continue, recovering quickly. “But circle of trust.” I waver on my legs, thanks to all the beers I consumed throughout the afternoon and evening.
When I’m met with more blank stares, I explain the rules. “We’ll go around in a circle, saying something we’ve never done. If someone says they’ve never done something and you have, you drink. The changed rules apply to the person speaking. For example, if I say ‘Never have I ever shot Abraham Lincoln’, obviously no one here will drink. In that case, we go to the penalty round.”
I extend my hand, revealing a pair of dice. But they’re not your traditional dice. Considering our goody bags were filled with nothing but sex toys, these dice are sexy, too, one die containing an action, the other a body part.
Chloe looks at the dice in my hands. “How do we know whose thigh we have to bite?”
I swipe my nearly empty beer off the table, finishing it. “That’s what this is for. Whoever the bottle lands on is the lucky, or perhaps unlucky, winner…”
“I am not biting Asher’s thigh,” Lincoln bellows, his voice deep.
“And I am not…” Asher grabs the dice and rolls them, “sucking his finger.”
With an over-exaggerated sigh, I fall back onto the couch beside Asher. “Men. This game is much more fun with only girls. They don’t care about this shit. We have no problem licking each other’s tongues.”
Asher and Lincoln simultaneously dart their wide eyes to mine, their bodies growing rigid at the mention of two women kissing. Just as I suspected would happen. Boys will always be boys.
“But fine,” I continue, doing my best not to pay attention to Asher as he adjusts his shorts. “How about this? Everyone gets one free pass. Of course, just say something you know at least one other person sitting here has already done and you won’t have to worry about spinning the bottle. Unless you want to…” I retrieve the dice and roll them, “blow on someone’s neck.” Lifting my bottle, I glance around our circle expectantly. “Are you all in?”
“Blackout Club,” Chloe mutters.
“What?” I tilt my head.
“The first rule of Blackout Club…”
“You don’t talk about Blackout Club,” the guys finish in unison, and the lightbulb goes off over my head. Every guy knows a Fight Club reference when they hear one. They’d probably get their man card revoked if they didn’t.
“Exactly.” Chloe floats her eyes back to mine, raising her own beer. “Like you said, this is a bubble. We’re all consenting adults… Single consenting adults. I’m in.”
“Me, too.” When Asher lifts his bottle, I exhale a tiny breath. I wouldn’t have put money on him agreeing to this. I just worry when the see-saw he’s riding hits the ground, it will be with so much force and velocity everything will come crumbling down.
We shift our attention to Lincoln. He raises his beer and we all clink bottles, sealing the deal. “Let the games begin.”
Chapter Eleven
“
What are you doing? Contemplating the meaning of life?” Lincoln quips as Asher stares into the distance, brows scrunched in deep concentration.
The evening took a curious turn once we started playing our own version of Never Have I Ever. While there’s no rule we say something personal or risqué, it didn’t matter. It was assumed we’d go in that direction. Add in all the alcohol we’ve consumed, and it’s become increasingly difficult to think of things we’re certain someone else has done. My only saving grace has been the fact that Chloe and I are childhood friends. We have an advantage over everyone else. Correction… I have an advantage over everyone else, considering I also know Asher pretty well.
“I’m thinking,” he answers. “Everything I come up with has been said.”
“At the rate you’re going, my buzz will be gone by the time you finally say something,” I joke, taking another sip of my beer. “Hell, I may even have gray hair by then.”
“I thought you already did,” Chloe jabs. “Pretty sure I saw one the other day when I was helping you curl your hair. You are less than a year away from turning thirty.”
“Oh, hush. It was merely sun-kissed.” I wink.
“That’s the story you’re sticking with?”
“Damn straight it is.”
Our laugher echoes in the stillness of the night as we turn our attention back to Asher, who’s tapping a finger against his bottom lip.
“Okay, that’s it.” I grab the dice and shove them at him. “New rule. If you fail to say anything in the time allotted…say, a minute…it’s an automatic roll of the dice and spin of the bottle. So let ‘em roll, Ash.”
“That’s not fair.” He glances toward Lincoln. “Isn’t it unconstitutional or illegal for laws to be applied retroactively?”
“Generally speaking, yes.”
“See.” He smirks, crossing his arms in front of his chest, an air of superiority about him. “So that rule doesn’t apply to me.”
“Although, due to the grievous nature of your offense, I’d be inclined to agree with Izzy in this instance,” Lincoln continues.
I smile at him. “Thank you. I knew there was something I liked about you.”
“You bet.”
“Traitor,” Asher quips.
“Can you blame me?” Lincoln shoots back. “You’re messing with the flow of the game. And like Izzy pointed out…” He lifts his beer. “I’m also losing my buzz. There should be some sort of punishment for that.”
I face Asher, grinning. “You definitely deserve to be punished.”
He twists toward me, his hungry eyes skating over my chest before meeting my gaze. “Is that right?”
My voice is husky as I lean closer, my breath dancing against his mouth. “Oh, that’s right.”
His jaw clenches so hard I’m confident it’ll lock in place. I edge closer still, his body growing more and more rigid with each painful second that passes. When I’m a whisper away from his lips, I pause. All it would take would be a flick of the tongue and I’d have my first taste. But as much as I want that, I want this more. The knowledge that I drive this man to the brink of all reason.
Abruptly pulling back, I extend my hand toward him, grinning. “Better roll the dice.”
His eyes are a pool of desire and lust as they bore holes into the fiber of my being. He’s never looked at me with such unabashed desperation. Such primal craving. It’s the way every woman wants a man to look at her. Like he can’t go another minute without crushing my body to his, our souls intertwining, never to separate again.
“Very well.” Not looking anywhere else, he slowly reaches toward my outstretched hand. His fingers tease the flesh of my palm, tracing a light circle against it before scooping up the dice.
I exhale the breath I was holding, my teeth chattering as I sink back into the couch, needing it to support me. Then he abruptly erases the distance between us. My heart catches in my throat, swallowing my gasp.
“But if this bottle lands on you, I’d be hard-pressed to call that a punishment.” He’s shameless as he drinks me in, starting with my dark eyes, along my lips, down my neck, settling for several long beats on my chest. “More like a reward.” I grow lightheaded as he nears, breath by excruciating breath. “A very…” He brings his finger up to my mouth, and I plump out my bottom lip. “Very…” His touch skims my jawline and toward my ear, pushing my hair over one shoulder.
When he dips toward me, his heat skates along my neck and I fist the cushion below me, needing something, anything, to keep me grounded when I’m certain I’m about to blast off into oblivion. I don’t even care that Chloe and Lincoln are witnessing this very public, very erotic exchange. We’re in a bubble. There are no rules. No tomorrow. Just right now. And right now, I want more of Asher’s words.
“Welcome reward,” he finishes, pausing before retreating. I shoot my wide eyes to his, my chest heaving in labored pants like I’d just run a marathon in under two hours, setting a world record. “Two can play this game, Izzy.”
Acting as unaffected as always, he refocuses his attention on the game, shifting empty beer bottles off the coffee table to make room for the dice. I attempt to fight the blush warming my cheeks, but I fear, even in the relative darkness, it’s obvious. Chloe catches my eye, grinning slyly. I return her raised brow with one of my own, the two of us holding an entire conversation without saying a single word.
When Asher rolls, I turn my attention to him, unusually invested in the outcome. A part of me wants the dice to land on KISS and LIPS, then the bottle to stop on me so he can finish what he started. But I have a feeling even a kiss won’t be enough to extinguish the fire burning inside me. Seeing him last night sparked the embers that had been crackling for years. Not even the most skilled of firefighters could extinguish this flame.
The dice come to a stop, and we all lean forward to peer in the darkness, cheers and whistles erupting when we see BITE and EAR displayed prominently.
“I bet Asher really knows how to bite an ear.” Chloe playfully nudges Lincoln.
Maintaining his air of mystery, his expression remains even as he curves toward her. He brushes her hair behind her ear and whispers something. What I wouldn’t give to be a fly circling them. But the raw electricity coming off their bodies would zap it in a heartbeat.
I can’t quite figure out what it is about him that has Chloe turning into putty when she’s spent the past decade remaining detached from every man who showed even a modicum of interest. All I know about him is he’s a lawyer, and surprisingly also lives in Manhattan. Oh, and that a cat put a cockblocking curse on him.
But the fact that she knows so little about him doesn’t seem to matter to her. Maybe all that stuff is inconsequential. Maybe the past doesn’t matter. Maybe all that does is the connection. The chemistry. The electricity. Like I told Asher earlier.
“Well, let’s see who the winner is.” Asher swipes the bottle off the table and spins. It slides and skitters before slowing, our eyes following its journey until it finally comes to a stop.
On me.
I stare at the bottle, trying to silence my libido, who’s shaking her pom-poms and doing a victory lap around the field.
“Well then. I guess it’s time I serve my sentence.”
Heat blooms on my cheeks as I slowly face him. “I guess it is.” I pick at the label on my beer bottle, failing miserably at keeping my cool now that I’m seconds away from feeling Asher’s mouth on my skin in something much more intimate than a chaste kiss on my forehead.
“I’ll take that.” The throaty timbre of his voice causes my stomach to clench, my thighs involuntarily squeezing together. A puppet to whatever he commands, I allow him to take the bottle from me and place it on the table. “Now, where were we?”
When he curves toward me, every muscle tightens, my body turning to stone. I can’t remember how to breathe, the promise of this man nibbling on my ear sending lust shooting through my veins. I try to tell myself it’s due to the lack of intimacy in my life
lately. Or the beers I’ve consumed. Or because we’re stuck in a blackout in a city notorious for encouraging people to sin. But deep down, those things are completely inconsequential. I’d be this desperate for Asher regardless of the circumstances. I’ve been this desperate for Asher since the first time I heard his raspy voice come over the speakers at a club in Boston.
“Oh yes. I believe I was about to serve my sentence.” His breath tickles my skin, every excruciatingly long second torturing me even more. I’m so on edge. So delirious. So hungry. “But can it really be considered a punishment when I’m getting so much pleasure out of this?”
Before I can utter a response, his teeth lightly clamp onto my earlobe. Sparks shoot through me and I arch my back. I do everything to fight back a moan, losing the battle the second he swipes his tongue along my flesh. If this is how I react to a slight nibble of my ear, I fear what his kiss would do to me.
Then again, I have a feeling I already know that answer.
His kiss will ruin me in all the ways I want to be ruined.
And in all the ways I’m scared of, too.
Chapter Twelve
Maybe instituting a time limit wasn’t as great an idea as I originally thought. With our heads becoming foggy…apart from Chloe, who’s only had a couple of beers over the course of the afternoon and evening…it’s been increasingly difficult to come up with something no one’s said in the time allotted. Which has resulted in more throwing of the dice and spinning of the bottle.
“Never have I ever gotten so drunk I had to be carried out of a bar,” Asher announces, shooting me a sly glance. It was only a matter of time before he used this little nugget. He was probably waiting until he had a little more to drink, considering the story behind it.
With a smirk, I bring the beer to my lips, indicating I have, in fact, been carried out of a bar.