by Alex Lucian
But she was awake, staring at the handle of the door like she didn’t know how to work it. With a sigh, I walked around the hood of her car, then pulled the door open for her, careful to make sure she didn’t spill out onto the driveway. But instead, she pulled herself up and stood in the opening like a queen or some shit, her red hair spilling over her shoulders and her dark eyes looking almost black given the late hour. And her lips…
Nope. No. Not looking at her lips.
Scarlet walked past me, so close that I felt her brush up against my back where I still held the door open like a jackass.
“Aren’t you coming in?” she asked from behind me. I shut the door with a soft click and then turned to face her.
With a nod toward the house, I smirked a little, knowing it would probably piss her off. “Why? Afraid of the dark?”
“No.”
I waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. She just stood there on the walkway leading to her front door, looking very much like the soberest drunk person I’d ever met. Then she swayed a little in place, so I walked toward her, making sure she wasn’t going to bite it on the pavement. She steadied herself, holding her hands out like there was something she could grab onto. Then she smiled again at me, and something stabbed me in the heart. But like, a little stab. Nothing to freak out about.
“Come on, let’s get you inside.”
“Let’s get us inside.”
“Uh-huh, let’s do that,” I said gently, rifling through the set of keys that I still had, trying a couple before finding the one that unlocked the front door. The slight haze of alcohol that lingered in my head from earlier was screaming like a bitch that I probably shouldn’t go in with her. If Pastor Jennings found me bringing his shit-faced daughter inside, he’d probably drown my ass in holy water with a smile on his face.
But the house was silent as a tomb when we walked in, not a single light on as far as I could tell.
“Scarlet,” I whispered to her back as she beelined it to the kitchen and flicked on every light on her way. The hallway light was so damn bright, and so jarring after being in the darkened car and house that I squinted. With a worried glance up the stairs, I followed after her when she started slamming cupboard doors and giggling.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I said when I turned into the kitchen. Scarlet was standing, standing on the kitchen counter, her tight ass in those dark jeans swaying like she was listening to music. Then she shook out her hair and it messed up her rhythm so she had to brace herself on the upper cabinet doors. “Scarlet, what the hell are you doing? Get down from there.”
She laughed, carefully moving her feet so she could turn and face me. Her facial expression was all unpracticed vixen, the way she was biting her lip and narrowing her eyes was almost enough to make me laugh. But I wanted to get her down before she fell and died or something.
“I’m breaking into the stash,” she said far too loudly to make me comfortable.
I reached my hands up, trying to grab around her hips and pull her down, but she swatted them away.
“Quit hitting my hands. You’ve done that enough today, okay? Let’s just get you down.”
“Nooooooo,” she wailed, pushing out her bottom lip in a ridiculous pout that should not have been cute. “Lemme just get this one bottle in the back. Real quick.”
“Scarlet, lean down and let me help you.”
She propped her hands on her hips. “I want to keep drinking.”
“No problem, but let’s just do this quietly; I don’t want to wake up your parents.”
Then she tipped her head back and laughed, a light tinkling sort of sound. But any fascination I may have had at hearing it was abruptly halted when her laughter made her sway to the side. I clamped my hands on her waist, feeling the press of her hip bones against my palm. I gripped tighter, clamping my teeth at the same time, because this was so fucking inconvenient.
“Quit laughing and let me help you get down.”
“Fine. Party pooper.”
“Well, that’s a first for me. Now come on.”
Her hands slid up my forearms and stopped on my biceps, the action making her lean forward, her hair falling over her shoulders in one long slide. When I swallowed, it was noisy as fuck, but she didn’t seem to notice, her eyes locked on my shoulders and chest. Her breathing picked up when I slid my hands up her side to brace under her arms. The sides of her breasts were hot against my skin. Scarlet bent at the knees and stepped down from the counter, holding me so tightly I knew I’d have marks from her fingernails.
Once her feet finally touched the floor, she looked up at me and grinned. Then grabbed my ass. “Thanks, champ. You’re so handy to have around.” I jumped back from her, looking around like I was waiting for her dad to walk in shooting flaming arrows at me. Holy fire flaming arrows. She pointed up at the top cupboard. “Snap to it. It’s the blue bottle in the back.”
I rubbed a hand on my ass and narrowed my eyes at her. “I don’t think we should do this.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I don’t think your parents will appreciate us getting smashed in the house while they’re asleep.”
Scarlet kept staring at me, eyes never leaving my face. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes just a little bit glassy, but they were so dark and direct that I stood a little bit straighter.
“They’re not here.” When I nodded and opened my mouth to respond, she moved forward and slapped a hand over my lips. “They’re not here for six weeks.”
“Oooomph,” I mumbled from behind her hand, then plucked it away from me. “Ouch. What is it with you? You either slap my hands or cover my mouth. It’s not fucking cool.” Then I narrowed my eyes at her. “Where are they?”
She leaned a hip on the counter behind her and shrugged. “My dad takes a sabbatical every summer to study and pray and plan out sermons. I’ll probably meet up with them the last week so we can vacation together.” She wetted her lips, not in a way that was practiced or even meant to be seductive, but my cock stiffened anyway.
I had two choices: I could leave, make her chug some water, take some Advil and go to bed; or I could open that fucking cupboard, pull down the vodka and get wasted with the preacher’s daughter on a night when she didn’t want to castrate me.
Naturally, I made a sharp pivot and yanked the door open. Lifting my eyebrows briefly at the size of the bottle, because you didn’t buy that shit if you were a casual drinker, I set it down on the counter with a thunk.
“Shot glasses?” I asked, looking at her over my shoulder.
She’d hopped up on the island and crossed her legs. Without speaking, she pointed at the cupboard next to the one that I’d just opened. I pulled down a stack of six, because naturally they had that many. When I pulled two from the top and went to put the rest back up, Scarlet jumped off the counter and stilled my hand. With efficient movements that belied the amount of alcohol coursing through her veins, she lined up all six shot glasses, then leaned past me to grab the vodka. Her hair fell across my arm and I stiffened, fisting my hands.
Completely oblivious of my discomfort, or at least I thought she was, Scarlet straightened and uncapped the bottle, tilting it to the side so she could pour straight across the line of shot glasses. Clear liquid spilled between them, pooling on the dark granite, but she didn’t stop until the last one was filled.
“So,” she said once she was done, pushing three shot glasses toward me. “These are yours.”
“No, no, no.” I grabbed two from her pile and slid them next to the three she’d given me. She pouted again, so I used my finger to tilt her chin up toward me. “You’re already drunk. Don’t you want me to catch up?”
“An excellent point.”
“I make them on occasion.” She rolled her eyes and it made me laugh. Her gaze zeroed in on my mouth, and I had the sudden urge to kiss the absolute shit out of her, which made me slam two shots in quick succession. The vodka was smooth, but it was still vodka. I winced, but Scarle
t started coughing once she’d finished hers. I grabbed a lemon from the fruit basket and a knife from the block next to the sink. Slicing off the end, I cut a generous size piece and handed it to her. Her face was still pinched from the shot, so she took it gratefully, sucking it between her lips with a moan.
I turned and started washing the lemon off my hands, partially because … well, I just had to. She was the most unintentionally sexy woman I’d ever met. And somehow that made it even sexier. While I was wiping my hands on the towel, she poured some more vodka in her empty glass.
“No way,” I said, snatching the bottle from her and setting it back up in the cupboard.
“Well then hurry up with your shots, Madsen. I’m sick of being the fun one in this duo.”
I gave her a long look which made her giggle again, and when I took the next two shots, I did it with a smile on my face. When I sucked in a breath, she leaned forward and grabbed one of the extra slices of lemon and held it up to me. We stared at each other for a few pulsing seconds, but instead of taking it from her, I held her eyes and grabbed the last of my shots, taking it in one long swallow. The empty glass hit the counter with a sharp click, and her breathing stuttered, making her chest heave.
I opened my mouth and moved forward, clamping down on the lemon with my teeth, catching the tender skin of her fingertips while I did it. Her mouth dropped open, only a tiny bit, but it was enough to take me to a full, raging erection.
I wanted to fuck that mouth.
But not when I was drunk. Definitely not when she was drunk. So I pulled back, sucking the rest of the lemon and then tossing it in the sink. I took a second before facing her again, because my head was spinning from a hell of a lot more than the alcohol. Suddenly this thing with Scarlet felt like I could grab it with both hands. Like it would have form and shape and texture—texture that would probably feel like her skin and her hair. And I’d never want to let it go. Not ever.
“I, uhh, I’ll be right back,” I said, giving her a quick glance over my shoulder before fleeing like a fucking coward. But all she did was nod, looking at me like she already knew what I looked like naked, like she already knew the stuff I could do to her. Because, holy hell, could I do some stuff to her. I saw it in that look. It was not because she was drunk.
Scarlet Jennings wanted to fuck me. The alcohol was just the vehicle that was allowing her to show it to me.
So naturally, I walked pretty quickly to the bathroom off the kitchen and shut the door with a relieved breath. After thunking my forehead against the dark wood a few times, I turned to sit on the closed toilet lid.
“What the hell am I going to do now?” I whispered into the small room. I could not, under any circumstance, do anything with Scarlet tonight. She’d hate me in the morning and probably accuse me of taking advantage of her. And with the rapidly approaching fog of five vodka shots creeping over my body, I’d probably hate myself in the morning too if she gave me a look of disgust and horror.
Five shots. What an idiot. I’d be lucky if I could sneak into my house unscathed, because it wouldn’t help my dad’s little life lesson with my car if I came inside like this on a weeknight. I sank my head in my hands, already feeling my head swim a little from the vodka.
Which meant Scarlet was probably two minutes from passing the hell out. That was it! Just wait her out. Perfect. I pulled my phone out from my back pocket and starting scrolling through Facebook. I moved on to Twitter when nothing held my interest. Then Instagram. For a moment, I thought about posting a picture of my shoes against the dark wood floor of the Jennings’ half bath. But my brain was too fuzzy to think of some clever caption, like Holy wood floors. Or The Pulpit. I snickered, then kept scrolling. Somehow I managed to kill about twenty minutes on my phone.
Yeah, she would definitely be passed out by now. I’d set some water next to where she was sleeping, leave her a note to make sure she knew I’d done something nice for her. I stretched when I stood, then gripped the edge of the counter.
“Holy shit,” I said, blinking a few times at my reflection. There was still only one of me in the mirror, but even I wasn’t used to downing so many shots so quickly. Especially not when I was in the middle of summer workouts. As much as I took football seriously, and I did, there was something fucking awesome about the feeling of being drunk and weightless. And with that fucking deep thought, I left the bathroom and closed the door with a click. It was louder than I’d hoped, and I cringed, hoping it wouldn’t wake up Scarlet.
When I turned, I froze.
It did not wake Scarlet. Because she was still very much not passed out. And that’s because she was waiting for me, waiting like one of those plants. You know. The plant that eats men. A Venus Fly Trap. Those things ate men, right?
That was Scarlet. She’d already taken off her pants. And when our eyes met and held, she gripped the bottom of her light gray shirt and peeled it up over her head, leaving her in a white bra and matching white underwear. Tiny, tiny underwear.
My brain short-circuited. Straight-up crashed.
“Whaaaaaaaaaat are you doing?” I couldn’t look away. I didn’t even want to.
“What the hell does it look like?” And she reached behind herself to unhook her bra. “I’m getting naked for you.”
Fuck. Me.
Chapter Eight
Scarlet moved closer, one slow step at a time, and I was still frozen like a chump with the bathroom door behind me. Her bra fell away from her shoulders, catching on the tips of her nipples. I swallowed, desperately searching for the resolve that I’d found behind the closed door. But that promptly went to hell when the cups fell away from her, down her arms and then to the floor. Did my eyes follow the bra? Not exactly.
They didn’t move from her holy hell I couldn’t believe they were that perfect perfect tits. With each step, they bounced a little. And the bounce made me so fucking hard. She paused to shimmy the underwear over her slender hips and down her legs.
But even they couldn’t tear my gaze from her breasts. Probably the most ideal set I’d ever seen in my life. They weren’t huge, but they were high and firm with small pink nipples. They’d fill my hands easily and were full enough that I’d love pushing them around my cock and fucking them. I’d never done that. But I could with Scarlet.
“Scarlet,” I whispered. “We can’t.”
There was no way she heard me, because she stepped up in front of me, lifting her hands to touch me. I darted sideways, almost tripped and fell over my own feet, but righted myself with one hand on the wall. The smile on her face slayed me. Fucking slayed me. Because she looked so pleasantly surprised that I’d almost tripped because of her nakedness.
Not thinking, I grabbed the back of my shirt and ripped it over my head. The exultant look on her face was short lived, partially because I blocked my view of her face when I pulled my shirt over her head, tugging it in short jerks over her shoulders.
“Arms in,” I instructed her. She shook her head, red hair shimmering under the bright lights over us. “Now, Scarlet.”
Surprisingly, she listened. But with slow movements that didn’t help me in the slightest, because it just showed the shift and stretch of her tits underneath the dark cotton of my shirt. I blinked slowly, trying to break whatever magic spell was doing this—putting this seductress in front of me, smelling so good and looking so good that it seemed impossible that I wouldn’t touch her.
When the shirt fell over her stomach, I got a glimpse of the short, trimmed red hair above the v between her legs. Stupid fucking mouth, it watered. I wanted to run my tongue up the seam of her pussy and suck her clit in my mouth.
I pinched my eyes shut, breathing hard through my nose. My head swam. Between the shots and her scent, I felt like I’d been shoved onto a tilt-a-whirl and I wanted off. I mean, I kinda did. She smelled so good. And looked so good. I kept thinking good, because she was.
Pulling in one last breath, I steeled myself to force her to drink some water and … and, I don’t k
now what I was going to do, because she laid a cool hand on my abs.
“Oh,” she said in a hushed voice. “These are … really nice.”
Her fingers moved down, tracing the lines of muscles and I curled my fingers into tight fists, aching to grab her and pull her to me. She pushed her hand up over my stomach, stopping to trace the line underneath my pecs, and I started shaking my head.
I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t be this guy.
“Scarlet,” I warned, but it sounded weak, even to my drunk-ass ears.
“Hmm?”
“You don’t want to do this.”
“No?”
My eyes were still closed, the only weapon I had left in my arsenal. When she swiped her thumb over my right nipple, my dick jumped and my hands shot out to grab her, shove her away from me. They landed somewhere around her hips. Of fucking course. I tightened to push, bunching the cotton in my hands, when she went up on tip-toe and licked a long line up the side of my neck, stopping at my jaw.
Good. Yes. It was really, really good. She moaned and sucked on a small spot of skin when she’d licked as far as she could reach. I dug my fingers into her hips and held her in place, not pushing, not pulling. Just holding. Gripping.
“I do want this, Leo.” Her voice sounded so lucid, so sure, that my eyes popped open without me giving them permission to. Her gaze was piercing in a way that I couldn’t breathe for a second. I wanted her to mean it. I wanted her to remember it, and remember me, and remember what I could make her feel.
“Have you,” I swallowed, tugging her an inch closer, still leaving space between us, “have you done this before?”
“Are you asking if I’m a virgin?”
I nodded, fully prepared to say no if she was. But the smile on her face made me exhale in relief. I didn’t want to say no anymore. We’d just be drunk and fuck, and if we regretted it in the morning, then it was on both of us. Her smile faded though while she dragged her hands down my chest, down my abs until she cupped my dick through my jeans. I pushed my hips against the pressure, but it was nowhere close to what I needed.