“I showered last night!”
Eyeing the ball of hair on my head, she chuckled, “I’m not working with that.”
“Fine, but I’m going home to shower,” I raised my chin defiantly.
She agreed, and I headed home to get clean and, in her words, “do something with that monstrosity.”
My hair wasn’t even a mess—she should have seen me when I woke up. Then she’d having something to complain about.
Once I was showered, shaved, and buffed until I shined, I figured it was safe to return to Daphne’s apartment.
“Took you long enough,” she muttered when I knocked on the door.
She dragged me into the bathroom, where she blew my hair dry so that it hung straight with a slight curl on the end. “Simple, but sexy,” she told my reflection.
When my hair was done, I was escorted to her room once more where I became her canvas.
“What are you doing to me?” I growled after ten minutes of her rubbing stuff on my face. I was terrified I’d end up looking like a clown, and clowns were not hot.
She stopped what she was doing, leveling me with a glare. “Patience.”
With that, she went back to work.
“I have on so much makeup it feels like my face weighs ten pounds,” I complained as she added another layer of foundation.
“Shush,” she scolded. “It’s not as much as you think. It’s buildable, so I keep going over your face in light layers,” she spoke slowly like I was too dumb to understand her words.
She finally laid the bottle aside and assessed me. Nodding, she went back to work, adding bronzer and blush to my face. Because of the dress, she added a shimmery gold color to the tops of my eyelids and heavy black eyeliner. After about fifty strokes of mascara over my lashes, she decided they were perfect. Last were my lips. She grabbed several tubes, twisting them out to assess the color. “No, not that one,” she muttered to herself. “Where is it? Ah! There it is!” She picked a magenta color. Holding my chin, she swiped the lipstick over my plump lips and then motioned for me to rub them together.
I mimicked her motion. “Now can I please see myself?” I begged.
“No,” she shook her head. “Dress first. You have to see the completed look.”
“I wonder why I’m friends with you,” I grumbled good-naturedly as I stood and swiped the dress off her bed.
I locked myself in the single bathroom and changed into the clingy dress. Thank God it fit, despite the fact that I was good six or more inches shorter than Daphne. The girl was a giant, and I was a shrimp.
I turned, assessing the dress and myself from all angles.
“Dang, I clean up good,” I chuckled.
I spent so much of my time in jeans and a t-shirt that I didn’t quite know what to make of the vixen reflected back at me. I was glad I had wanted to dress up this evening. It was nice to see yourself in different ways. The real me might have been a couch potato that lived in leggings and old shirts, but this me…she was capable of anything. And tonight was going to be all about having fun and being wild.
⌘⌘⌘
“This is the best night of my life!” Okay, it was safe to say that this was not, indeed, the best night of my life and it was just the alcohol talking, but I was willing to roll with it.
I stood on Cyrus’ coffee table that was pushed against one of the far walls to clear the area in the middle, shaking my ass to the beat of the song, and screaming the lyrics at the top of my lungs whenever there was actually a line that I knew.
The party had been raging for a good hour now, and more people were arriving all the time.
When the door opened and in walked a familiar figure, I let out a cry of joy. “Memphis! I love you!”
Memphis turned at the sound of my voice, sweeping his copper colored hair from his eyes. He smiled widely, and I crooked my finger in a come-hither gesture. Yes, I had basically lost all rational thought.
“Come dance with me!”
He stopped in front of me, our eyes level from where I stood on the coffee table.
“I will if you get down from there,” he chuckled like I was the funniest thing he had ever seen.
“I don’t wanna,” I pouted, still swaying to the beat of the song, my arms flailing above my head in what I hoped came across as an enticing gesture. I probably just looked like I was having an out of body experience, but it’s the thought that counts, right?
“How about I go get a drink, and when I come back then you get down?” He suggested, amusement sparkling in his eyes.
I pointed a finger at him, nails painted gold to match the dress per Daphne’s orders, and exclaimed, “Deal!”
With a shake of his head, he went in search of a drink.
I continued to move and shake my body. I felt the eyes of more than one man on me and God it felt good to be looked at. To be wanted. It had been far too long. And if I had my way, one lucky man would be accompanying me to my bed, because I seriously needed to get laid. It had been…I tried to count it up in my head, but it was futile. I was far too drunk and numbers were running together. Suffice to say, it had been a long time. Stupid, cheating, no good ex-boyfriend. After that experience, I was done with relationships. They only ended in disaster. No-Strings-Attached-Sex was exactly what I needed.
Somehow I found myself climbing off the coffee table and going in search of Memphis.
When I found him, he was surrounded by a group of guys, sipping on a beer.
“Hey!” I shouted when I found him.
He turned towards me, as did the rest of the guys.
“Let’s have sex!”
Memphis spit out his beer, spraying it all across the floor. Thankfully it missed me, but hit a few of the guys, who were currently laughing hysterically at my declaration. I didn’t see what was so funny. I was serious.
“Sutton,” he wiped his mouth, trying to catch his breath from nearly choking, “I think you’re drunk.”
“No, I’m not!” I declared with a pout. “I’m perfectly in control of all my faculties.”
“Uh-huh,” he muttered, looking at me in disbelief.
“I am!”
It looked like I was going to have to take matters into my own hands if this was to progress to more fun activities other than standing here discussing my current state of drunkenness—which I wasn’t, drunk that is.
I took his hand in mine, noting how his nearly swallowed mine whole and was rough with callouses.
Cyrus had all the furniture pushed against the walls, so the entire center of the apartment was cleared as a dance floor. I was surprised by how many people were packed into the small space. Well, it was larger than my apartment, a twin of Daphne and Frankie’s, but still not the biggest space in the world and there were between thirty and fifty people.
“What are you doing?” Memphis asked, a slight chuckle to his tone.
“We are going to dance. Did you know that dancing can be great foreplay?”
“Sutton,” he warned.
“I’m not drunk!” I hiccupped. “Okay, maybe a little. But let’s just dance.”
“Sure thing,” he smiled with amusement.
I listened to the song for a few seconds before I started to move my body.
My hips rolled against his and his body instantly responded by coming closer to mine. His large hands grasped me just below my breasts, pushing me into him. Our bodies moved in sync, even our breaths taking on the same rhythm.
“Think of grandma. Grandma. Grandma. Grandma.”
“Why the fuck are you muttering about your grandma for?” I questioned, my back to his front as I reached behind me to twine my hands around his neck. He felt so good, nice and muscular and warm. He smelled good too. Yummy.
His lips brushed against my ear, and he said, “I try to picture my grandma when I don’t want to get a boner and think with the wrong head, and end up taking advantage of drunk girls that have no idea what they’re doing.”
Smiling coyly, I licked my lip
s. His eyes zeroed in on my tongue. “Oh, I want you to take complete and utter advantage.”
“Grandma, grandma, grandma,” he went back to muttering.
I turned quickly in his arms so that we were face to face. I grasped the silky strands of his hair in my fingers, and bit my lip in what I hoped was a seductive manner. I probably looked like I was hungry and my lip was there for the taking. “Would you shut up?”
And then, I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him. His body was stiff beneath mine, but then relaxed. I was in control of this kiss, and it felt nice to be in charge and take what I wanted. The kiss was hot and demanding, a tornado of desire. His tongue lightly flicked against mine, his fingers digging into my waist. A soft purr sounded in the back of my throat. This kiss was nothing like the one I’d shared with Caelan, where he’d been trying to make a point. This kiss was thick with want. But it was probably a bad sign that my brain, even while drunk, had thought of Caelan while I was kissing another man. I was a serious head case. Pissed at myself for thinking of Caelan, I threw myself even more into the kiss, taking it to scorching levels. I think someone told us to get a room. Didn’t they know that was my plan? Duh.
When our lips broke apart, Memphis looked down at me with a small smile. “Well, that was something.”
“Yeah, it was,” I muttered, angry that when he looked at me I’d been hoping to see blond hair and blue eyes. “I need another drink.”
Several drinks later, I thought it would be a good idea to give Memphis a lap dance. Alcohol was a wicked witch and it did dangerous things to my thought process. I was going to end up regretting this later…if I remembered it, that is. Right now, I thought it was the greatest thing ever.
I pushed Memphis down on a chair, praying that I didn’t fall over my wobbly legs and that I could pull this off by looking sexy and alluring.
The crowd cheered me on, enjoying the show. Cyrus watched from the sidelines with a funny little smirk on his lips.
Swaying my hips to the latest Jason Derulo song, something about talking dirty, I lowered my hips so my ass grazed Memphis’ crotch. Air hissed out between his teeth. His hands reached up to cup my hips, but I slapped his arm.
“You can look, but you can’t touch,” I warned with a coy smile.
“Yes ma’am,” he grinned, letting his hands fall to his sides. His eyes were now glassy with intoxication.
I dipped low, and then back up. I ran my fingers through my hair, lifting it up and then letting it fall as I turned my head slightly to watch his reaction out of the corner of my eyes. His mouth was slightly open and he swallowed thickly as his eyes grazed my body. At least he was no longer muttering about his grandma. This might be easier than I thought.
I turned around so I faced him, doing a little shimmy before grasping the back of the chair he was sitting in. The position all but shoved my boobs in his face. Poor Memphis was a saint for obeying my command of no touching, because I was right there in front of him, his for the taking.
I trailed my finger down his shirtfront, basking in the hard ridges of his pecs and abdominals. Mmm, I wanted to rip that shirt off so damn bad. I deserved to be inducted into sainthood for resisting the urge to straddle him right here.
“I thought you said no touching,” he murmured, trying and failing, to keep his eyes away from the swell of my breasts.
“I said you couldn’t touch. I was not included in that statement,” I murmured, itching to kiss him again.
“Ah, I see.”
I turned around so that my back was to him once more.
I moved my hips in a tantalizing rhythm, lowering so that with each sway of my hips my ass brushed against the growing bulge in his pants. I smiled in satisfaction.
And that was when Caelan came storming in and disrupted everything.
⌘⌘⌘
Caelan
The painting in front of me was only half complete. The brush hovered an inch away from the surface, shaking with my anger. The music thumping out of Cyrus apartment had the whole fucking building vibrating.
I was working on a commission piece for some old lady and her five dogs. If I didn’t get this right, I didn’t get paid, and I needed the money. Cyrus was about to get a tooth knocked out for this. I hadn’t sobered up for the night to listen to this shit.
Dropping the brush in the cup of water, I stormed out and down the hall. I banged my fist against the door, hard enough that some of the detailing on the door cut the side of my hand.
No one answered.
Bastard.
He couldn’t fucking hear me knocking over the music.
Kicking the door roughly in my state of fury, I was shocked when it opened. Well, that was convenient. The idiot had left it unlocked. I guess that made sense, since he was throwing a party, but it did allow anyone, me included, to wander inside.
I was scanning the crowd—seriously, how did this many people fit in here?—for Cyrus, when I found Sutton instead.
I stopped in my tracks, stunned by what I saw.
I thought I needed to find a bottle of bleach for my eyes, stat.
She moved her body in a way that made it seem like she was dry-humping the guy she was giving a lap dance. Her eyes were glassed over with lust and drunkenness. He tried to touch her, but she slapped his hand away. Lifting her hair, she exposed her slender neck and gave the man a demure look. I was riveted—disgusted but unable to look away from the show playing out before me.
God, I wished I wasn’t sober. Every sway of her hips had my mind reeling.
When she lowered and grinded herself against his dick, I lost my mind.
I stomped forward—a man on a mission.
I shoved people out of my way as I desperately tried to reach Sutton. I wasn’t sure what had come over me. A latent hero complex? Maybe, but doubtful.
When I reached her, her eyes were closed so she didn’t see me.
She was a tiny little thing—short but with hips my hands desperately wanted to rest on and her breasts weren’t bad either, where I could see them swelling at the top of the dress.
Not giving myself another moment of thought, I wrapped my arm around her middle, and hauled her over my shoulder. She let out a high-pitched shriek that had people wincing.
“What the fuck?” The man in the chair looked at me.
He didn’t deserve a response, and before he could react, I shifted my weight so that I didn’t drop Sutton, and kicked that fucker right out of the chair.
I turned sharply, head held high. “Cyrus, turn the music down, or it won’t be your nose I break.” I said the words calmly, my show having caused all the eyes in the room to turn to me, so there was no need for shouting…unless I felt like it.
“Put me down!” Sutton shrieked, beating my back with her mighty little fists.
I admired her spunk. Normally, it would irritate me, but not with this woman. No, it made me tick in an entirely different way.
“Not happening sweetheart,” I grinned, my step bouncing so that her stomach smacked against my shoulder.
“Ow,” she moaned. “Don’t do that.”
Opening the door to my apartment, I carried her inside, flopping her like a rag doll on the couch.
She instantly rolled off, the whole front of her body pressed to the ground.
“Hello floor,” she mumbled, waving her arms and legs like one would when making a snow angel. “I love you floor. You’re cold.”
I couldn’t contain my snicker.
“You brought me home, you can leave now fucktard,” she lifted one hand in the air, waving around her pointed middle finger.
I squatted beside her, my chuckle permeating the air. I hadn’t been this amused in a long time. “Well, I would, but you’re in my apartment. So that would make my leaving silly, wouldn’t it?”
“Fuuuuck,” she tried to push herself up on shaky arms but collapsed on the floor once more. “Take me home.”
“Not happening,” I shook my head. “If I did that, then that asshole yo
u were grinding your ass against like you’re a fucking pornstar would try to fuck you and that’s not happening on my watch.”
“Jealous?” She tilted her head to the side so she could look up at me through long thick lashes. I swallowed thickly. She was beautiful—in a natural way, where she didn’t need makeup and fancy clothes, both of which she was wearing in abundance at the moment.
“No. I may be a bad man, Sutton, but I still don’t condone rape.”
“I can assure you, it would’ve been consensual. I didn’t need you to be my black knight,” she groaned. “I really love this floor.”
My lips quirked up in a small smile. “Black knight?”
“You’re sure as hell not a white knight. I don’t see you helping any old ladies across the street,” she mumbled and—what the hell? She was kissing the floor.
It was official. Sutton was the most entertaining drunk I had ever met.
“I’m sorry I haven’t helped any old ladies recently.”
I took a seat on the couch, wondering if I should leave her there, or what.
“You’re mean. Always so grumpy. ‘Turn your music down,’” she mimed my voice poorly. “And always so cryptic. You—” Her words stuttered to a stop as she jolted into a sitting position. “I’m going to be sick,” she clapped a hand over her mouth. Coming to her feet, she ran around like a chicken with its head cut off as she searched for the bathroom.
I grabbed her by the wrist and led her there.
As soon as she saw the porcelain throne, she collapsed to her knees, emptying the contents of her stomach. Her small body heaved, and I reached down to pull her hair back. I was surprised by its silky texture. It was smooth between my fingertips and smelled of coconuts. In fact, she always smelled like coconut. It must have been her favorite scent.
“Whoa,” I cried when she fell to the side.
Her eyes were closed, and she’d clearly lost the battle of staying awake. Most people didn’t have a tolerance for alcohol like I did.
“All right, Sleeping Beauty,” I groaned, lifting her into my arms once more. I cradled her against me like you would a child. She buried her face into my shirt, inhaling the scent.
Beauty in the Ashes Page 9