by J. Daniels
I no longer give a damn about the chicks line dancing, or any other woman in this bar.
Hattie bends down and plants a kiss to the top of her head, obviously knowing the young woman. The two of them exchange a few words, and then Hattie comes back behind the bar.
I wave her over, setting my glass down.
“Who’s that you were just talking to?”
Her smile softens and her eyes grow distant, as if she’s thinking of a fond memory. “That’s my niece. She’s just the sweetest thing,” she answers, glancing over at the woman in the booth. “Didn’t even know I had her until yesterday. She just moved in with Danny and me.”
“Huh.” I follow Hattie’s eyes, wishing the woman was sitting on the other side so I could see all of her face. But I’m not going to lie. What I have seen has got me way the hell interested.
“No.”
I turn back to Hattie, confused by her response. “No, what?”
That gentle smile of hers is gone, replaced with lips tightly pursed together. She wipes the counter down with a white rag but keeps her eyes on me. “Don’t even think about it, Reed. I know how you operate, and that girl over there is off limits. Find someone else to take home tonight.”
I tilt my head with interest, unable to contain my grin. “Hattie, darlin.’” I flatten my hand against my chest. “Keeper of my heart. Don’t you know making someone forbidden to me only fuels my need to walk over there and talk to her? I can’t stop myself now.”
Her hand stills on the rag. “Reed,” she warns as I stand from my stool and drop some cash on the bar for the beer I won’t be drinking.
“This is all your fault,” I call out behind me, making sure Hattie sees the smile on my face before I focus all my attention on the woman I’m walking toward.
This isn’t Hattie’s fault. Not at all. I’d be walking over here no matter what she just told me.
So much for throwing back a few beers.
Beth
HIS LARGE HAND GRABS MY thigh and hooks it around his waist, anchoring us together. We’re both panting and we haven’t done anything more than kiss each other a little, but this is Ryan Miller. The Ryan Miller. I start having difficulty breathing the second he walks into the room. If he looks at me, I’m digging into my back pocket for the pair of spare panties I keep on me when we work shifts together. And if he talks to me, I never know what the hell he’s saying because I’m too busy staring obsessively at his full, gorgeous mouth. It’s my body’s natural reaction to his, so there’s no helping me right now.
“What do you want, Jodi?” he asks, so close to my mouth I inhale his air to keep myself from passing out. “Jodi.” He moves closer, nipping at my bottom lip. “Give me something, babe. Tell me where all I can touch you.”
“Are you reading porn?”
The low voice in my ear has me pulling my Kindle so hard against my chest, I fear I may crack the screen. I drop my chin, inspecting the front for any signs of damage while the man behind me breathes an amused laugh.
No cracks. Oh, thank God.
I settle my nerves before replying blindly, “I don’t think you can read porn. You watch porn.”
I turn my head as the man who just startled me moves to stand next to the booth. Given my position in reference to his, my eyes land on his body first, and stay on his body. I know I should do the polite thing and lift my gaze to his face, but my eyes don’t want to be polite right now.
Besides, he almost made me break my favorite thing in the entire world. The least he can do is stand there and let me gawk for a moment.
He’s dressed in a light T-shirt and distressed jeans, looking casual and comfortable, which I’d find sexy even if I couldn’t see the outline of muscles through his shirt. The material stretches to fit him, forming to his chest, his shoulders. Oh God, he’s got that build I love, long and lean, not bulky like some ‘roided up gym rat. His one hand rests on the back of the booth, the muscles in his forearm tense, and I know I stare for a good fifteen seconds at a body part I never paid too much attention to before on men. I mean, who cares about forearms?
I do. Now, I definitely do.
I decide not to make my new obsession so painfully obvious and slowly lift my head. When my eyes finally reach his jaw, his lips, his eyes, I do what might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.
I smile. Really, obnoxiously big. Like a kid on Christmas day kind of smile.
Oh man. This guy wearing nothing but a bow would be exactly what I’d ask Santa for.
I don’t know why I’m reacting this way. I’ve been around hot guys before, and usually I can keep my cool long enough to at least get through introductions. Maybe it’s because this guy caught me reading smut in public, and I’m smiling to hide my embarrassment, or maybe it’s because he’s the first guy who’s paid any attention to me since Rocco. I don’t know. But I’m grinning like a full-blown idiot over here, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
My reaction throws him off. I see it, the way his mouth relaxes, forgetting whatever it was he had locked and loaded on the tip of his tongue. I’m sure it was something witty. He looks witty, but now he seems unsure of how to approach me. He blinks several times, his eyes shifting across my features, and I take his silence as my chance to really study him. But not before I relax my face a bit.
Let’s not scare him off, Beth.
His blonde hair is messy, long enough to fall into his eyes and tuck behind his ear. His eyebrows are thick, a shade darker than his hair, and his cheekbones sit high on his face, etched into skin that’s seen the sun. He reminds me of a surfer, or someone who should be modeling surfboards, but he’s got this rugged thing going on that toughens up his features. There’s nothing pretty about him, but in the same breath, I know I’d use that word if someone asked me to describe him.
He looks down at my mouth, and his lips twist into a stunning smile. One that makes my heart shudder against my ribs. His eyes reach mine, a crystal shade of blue, so light they appear translucent.
“Hi,” he says, breaking the silence between us. His voice is low, and smooth. “Mind if I join you?”
I shake my head and set my Kindle down next to my plate. “No, not at all.”
I’m expecting him to move to the seat across from me and claim that side of the booth. I’m prepared for that. What I’m not ready for is him sliding in to join me on my side, but that’s exactly what he does.
I shift over a few inches to put some space between us, to give us both a little room, but he just slides closer until his leg touches mine.
He doesn’t want space. I have a feeling if I keep backing away from him, he’ll just move with me. Like we’re tied to the same rope, forced to mirror each other. I won’t test that theory, because I don’t want to back away. There’s something about this man that has me leaning closer, pressing my weight against his, wanting his contact. He keeps one arm behind me on the back of the booth and brings his other hand up to rest on the table, keeping his body angled toward me.
His eyes drop to my mouth, stay there for several seconds, then meet mine with a heat I feel spike the temperature in my blood.
“So,” he begins, a dangerously wicked smile playing on his lips. “Where all does he touch her?”
“Uh . . . what? Who?” Confusion pinches my eyebrows together, until he nods at the Kindle on the table in front of me. I look back into his eyes. “No idea. I’ve never read this story before, and someone interrupted me before I got to any of the touching.”
“You could read it now. Out loud, preferably.”
“You want me to read you a sweet love story?” I ask.
He points a finger at my Kindle. “If that’s your idea of a sweet love story then hell, yes I do. I fucking insist you read it out loud.”
I grab the cherry floating in my drink and pop it into my mouth, keeping hold of the stem. I chew before saying, “It is a love story. Jodi’s crazy about this guy, Ryan, and he’s slowly falling for her. Just bec
ause there’s a bunch of filthy sex in it, doesn’t make it any less sweet.” I drop my stem onto the side of my plate of fries. “Stories should feel real. Wanting something wild and romantic at the same time feels real to me. I think relationships need both. And it’s not porn.” Our eyes meet. “Porn doesn’t make me cry.”
He leans closer, dropping his head next to mine. “I could disagree with you on that. There are people out there who are into some really fucked up shit. I’ve almost cried watching some of it.”
I fall into a laugh, letting my head tilt back against the booth. “Oh my God, I know what you mean. I accidentally stumbled on this video one time . . .”
“You accidentally stumbled on it?” he interrupts, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You mean, you were searching for porn, which is extremely hot to hear, and you came across a certain video.”
“I was not searching for porn.”
“That might be true, but if you don’t mind, I’m just going to keep imagining you were. I like that version of this story.” He lifts his hand off the table, sweeping it in front of him. “Please continue. I’m dying to hear all about your porn preferences.”
I shake my head through a laugh. “I’ve never searched for porn. Ever. If Google decides to throw in a few websites based on what I’m looking for, that’s not my fault. And I usually don’t click on them, but this one had a catchy title.”
“What was it?”
“Edward Penis Hands.”
He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “What the hell were you searching for that gave you that as a result?”
I shrug. “I heard they were remaking that movie, and I wanted to see if they had already started casting people. My search was very innocent. And in case you’re interested, the actor who played in that version was Johnny Dildo.” I smile. “I think it got the same ratings as the original movie.”
He laughs, low and soft in my ear. It’s husky, and deep, and so purely male.
I don’t know when he slid closer, but his entire side is formed against mine now. I don’t object to it. It feels good being with him like this. Hard versus soft.
I’m the soft one. In case there was any confusion.
The tight ridges of his stomach are pressing against my arm, while his toned leg keeps firm contact with mine. He smells fresh, a light clean scent that I’m thinking must be the soap he uses. He’s not wearing any cologne, and I love that. This is him. His natural smell mixed with the slightest fragrance. It’s not overpowering or offensive. If anything, I want to rub him all over me and absorb him into my skin.
‘Cause that wouldn’t be weird at all.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks, and my cheeks burn up at the sentiment. I almost don’t want to tell him my name just so he’ll call me that instead. But I’m curious what my name sounds like coming out of that mouth. Really curious.
“Beth.”
“Beth,” he echoes, his tongue lingering on the th sound.
My God. This should be his job. Just saying words that end in th.
He runs his tongue along his lips, wetting them, as if he’s tasting the trace my name left on his mouth. I suddenly feel drugged at the idea of him doing just that. Savoring me.
His tongue. My skin.
“Beth Davis, right?”
Confusion creases my brow. I’m snapped out of my lustful thoughts with his question. “How do you know that?”
“I know Hattie. She told me you were her niece.” He smirks. “Right before she told me to stay away from you.”
I stare up at his face, a bit shocked.
Stay away from me? Why would she tell him that? This guy seems harmless. Dangerously charming, but harmless. Maybe she said it because of all the stuff I endured with Rocco. Maybe what I told Hattie this afternoon painted me as a victim, broken and beaten down, and she doesn’t think I’m ready, or strong enough for anything with another man. Not even innocent flirting. But I’m not broken. I’ve never believed the things Rocco said to me. He tried to crush my spirit, but he failed. Hattie doesn’t need to protect me. I’m ready. I’m more than ready for this.
The man lifts his hand off the table and uses it to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture has me sucking in a breath, but I stop breathing all together when he trails the back of his hand intimately down the side of my neck. Caressing me. Stroking me.
“I couldn’t leave you alone,” he confesses, his eyes following his hand. “I couldn’t sit at the bar, watching you, and only wonder what you felt like against me. I think I would’ve gone a little mad just staring at you.” His eyes meet mine. “You see that, right? You see that I had to come over here.”
I nod because I want to believe him. I want to believe he couldn’t stop himself from doing this.
There’s a good number of women in this bar, most of them dressed in tight, skimpy outfits, while I’m wearing tattered jeans and a T-shirt I cut up to fit me better. I’ve never had low self-esteem, but I am realistic. I know how I measure up next to the women in this bar. I’m a plain kind of pretty, while they shine in bold, vibrant colors. I’d normally go unnoticed in this crowd, or any crowd, but he notices me. This guy notices me.
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 s
he 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.
He doesn’t. Sweet Mother, even his teeth are perfect.