Strip for Me

by Coffman, Georgia

  “Anyway,” he gives me the side-eye like he’s jealous, and it makes him look innocent again, like the subtle freckles sprinkled on his cheeks, “he didn’t have a roommate, so I moved in with him within the week. We joined Naked Heat about a year later while we finished school right outside Vegas.”

  “You went to college?” I blurt, immediately worried he’ll take offense.

  “That’s what got your attention?” He shakes his head again and flashes a smile full of teeth, his beard short enough that it looks drawn on. “Yeah, I went to college. Graduated summa cum laude, thank you very much.” If I offended him, he doesn’t show it. Which relieves me.

  That’s what’s different about him—his smile and laugh. They’re both fun and charming. Why I can’t stop myself from snuggling closer to him rather than rolling away like I should.

  I watch the TV as Nancy enters Freddie’s world, cautiously crawling and waiting for him to attack. With screaming victims on low volume in the background, we turn to each other. He tells me more about his college experience, about how he majored in business and finance and that his old roommate continued to follow him the rest of that first semester, then stopped when Sebastian got a new schedule.

  The more he talks, the more I want to roll away. We’re treading into dangerous water for me when it comes to college.

  With a heavy heart, I keep the conversation going because I like listening to his deep voice. But I’m largely aware that he could turn the question around to me and ask what college was like for me—a sore subject. And I don’t mean sore like two days after leg day—more like the soreness after bashing my head through a wall.

  And that’s the first time that I’m slightly jealous of him. Of having a cool college experience when the little time I did go is marred by unhappy memories of screaming at my ex and binge-drinking right after to forget it all.

  Instead of dwelling on it, I smile at Sebastian, etching this night into my mind so I never forget the hot guy with an equally attractive personality who makes me feel alive.

  I’ve never been able to find a guy as hot as him who also makes me laugh and feel special.

  As we continue lying there, slowly drifting off to sleep as a new movie begins, I’m very aware of the minutes passing us by. The new day is right around the corner, and my heart sinks at the thought that I won’t ever find a guy like him again.

  What’s more terrifying, is that up until now, I didn’t even want to.

  As Sebastian’s light snores fill the room, I gently trace the tattoo on the right side of his chest. He doesn’t wake, but his nose twitches, the gesture making him seem younger, very unlike the man who tore me apart a short while ago.

  I study the tattoo, a rose with a stem made out of words. They’re in small cursive letters, and I have to squint to read them. In the dark, it’s hard to do so with the whole thing black, not a splash of color anywhere. I put my weight on my elbow and practically rest my chin on his chest. From this angle and with the help of the moonlight, I can read the words I am laid low in the dust.

  His nose twitches again, and I pull my hair back so the ends don’t tickle him, although I want to wake him up, to ask him what his tattoo means, then to ask him to do that thing with his tongue and fingers to make me jump off the cliff again.

  The pull toward him is strong and something I’ve never felt toward anyone, let alone a guy I just met.

  I can’t think clearly with him laid out like this, his mouth slightly parted, his dark muscles a sharp contrast from the white pillows and blankets around us.

  My mouth waters, and my fingers itch to keep touching him, to wake him up.

  But I let him sleep.

  I’m too scared to do otherwise.

  Too scared that I want to ask him for his number, address, and social security number so I know where to find him at all times.

  At first, it was a raw, physical attraction. But now that I know a little about him, it’s becoming more—too quickly.

  He makes me feel warm, with his bear-like build and gentle smile.

  I need to regain my control. I can’t let a one-night stand have this much power over me. I’m not so much an amateur when it comes to dirty liaisons that I get attached—it’s why I haven’t had a relationship that’s lasted longer than a Chick-Fil-A drive-thru line since college.

  Since Adam.

  I swing my legs carefully over the edge of the bed, watching his chest rise and fall in peaceful sleep. The sheet only covers his lower body, his V still visible—and delicious. To add, the slight bulge a few inches lower makes my body shiver.

  Control.

  I need control.

  With trembling hands, I crouch to the floor and search the pockets of Sebastian’s discarded jeans. From this position, if he woke up, it’d look like I was robbing him. I snort at the thought. I’m poor as fuck; I only came here because my parents paid my share of the hotel room and Lauren’s spa day tomorrow. Sure, I’m broke, but I’m not that desperate for cash to steal.

  I’m only desperate for one thing, which Sebastian already gave me.

  I silently thank him for that, and the box of cigarettes I find in his back pocket.

  When I stand back up, I’m facing the door on the opposite wall. The smart thing to do would be to sneak out, run away from him, and never look back.

  The smart thing would be to quit while I’m ahead before I do anything really stupid and ask to see him again. To know more about him. To let him know me.

  With deep breaths and eyelids heavy, I back away toward the large windows instead, unable to bring myself to leave. Something special exists in this room, and I want to hold on to it for as long as possible.

  I set the cigarettes on the table, then raid the mini-fridge. I fully intend to pay him back somehow, as I know how expensive these are, but right now I need a ten-dollar mini tequila bottle.

  Or five.

  I scoop them up in my hand and settle into the loveseat—also white, like everything else in this room—by the window. I unscrew the top of one and take a long swig before lighting a cigarette, the flame burning bright with the Vegas backdrop.

  I take a puff to calm my nerves, thankful Sebastian reserved a smoking room with a view. The city laid out in front of me calms me, like I’m in charge here with the world beneath me. That, along with the cigarette and the sound of Sebastian’s raspy snores, comforts me.

  The hum of the fridge and light footsteps outside our door add to the mix of the makeshift music. All I need is to add the erratic beating of my heart and a turntable to finish the remix of tonight’s one-night stand.

  One full of feelings and natural sounds that sounded unnatural coming from me for the first time in my life.

  I take another sip of tequila and take a pull from the cigarette, letting the smoke surround me like a lust-filled fog. Then I tear my gaze from the mesmerizing lights to watch him sleep.

  I long to join him. To have him make me feel alive again. To feel anything.

  But I don’t move. I watch the city breathe below me while I inhale the smoke from his cigarette.

  I breathe it all in and beg myself to retreat into my shell, to protect myself from feeling too much during a meaningless onetime thing.

  My heart beats faster as I listen to Sebastian’s snores, knowing deep down it was not meaningless. Not at all.

  But I have to convince myself it was because the last time I felt close to anything this strong, when I lost control of myself so quickly, my heart ended up broken and bruised.

  And I never really recovered.

  Chapter 11

  Sebastian

  With my eyes closed, I turn to my right and reach out to Kendall, but her side of the bed is empty and cold like she’s been up for a while.

  Or gone for a while.

  I gulp in silence. Thinking she left, I settle onto my back and stare at the ceiling while disappointment crushes me like a four-hundred-pound sumo wrestler.

  I touch my bottom lip, the one
she’d bitten earlier tonight, and smile.

  Movement to my right has me looking toward the window, and relief washes over me when I see Kendall’s silhouette, her perfect shape, against the Strip outstretched for us to admire.

  A perfect picture.

  She swipes a loose strand of hair from her forehead and tucks it behind her ear as a small puff of smoke surrounds her. Her gaze never leaves the window, even as she sips from a small bottle. Like she’s mesmerized with the world beyond the window.

  She doesn’t seem to be watching anything, yet she sees everything.

  Just behind the cage of her own existence.

  Even in private, she puts up walls, curling into herself like she is now on the loveseat, like she’s protecting herself from the world below. Her feet are tucked underneath her, one hand holding her toes while the other rests on top of her knee.

  She’s only wearing her tank and panties, the side of her thigh exposed.

  My breath hitches at her innocent, insanely feminine look.

  I want to know more about her, but this is a one-night stand, a casual hookup with a random, sexy-as-fuck girl I met in Vegas. One I’ll never see again.

  That’s how the story goes. That’s how all the stories go when they start with “Once upon a time in Vegas…” They aren’t supposed to end with “happily ever after.”

  I know that better than anyone.

  But I can’t stop myself from kicking my legs over the bed and slowly walking toward her, tugging my boxers on before I reach her.

  I don’t move her or say anything as I contemplate what I want because even if this was our third or thirty-third night together, I know a happy ending isn’t in the cards for me. But for now, I want to hold her while she tells me what has her so wound up, what keeps her from laughing.

  From not smiling freely.

  I could help. I also have those demons inside me, ones that cut deep from the lies, betrayals, and disgust from the ones I loved most.

  I want her to let me take care of her, to coax her to let go like I did with my mouth on her, when she moaned my name and went completely limp before I revived her, bringing her back to life like she was drowning.

  I want to do all these things, but I can’t bring myself to ask for her number or even her last name.

  If last year—the worst year of my life—taught me anything, it’s that happy endings don’t exist for someone like me.

  She isn’t startled when I gently touch her shoulder, just moves over for me to sit, but instead of scooting in beside her, I pull her onto my lap and hold her.

  “Where’d you go?” I whisper in her hair as we watch the cars racing below us, always on the run even at four in the morning.

  My heart races just the same as I continue holding her.

  “I’m right here,” she whispers against my bare chest, placing a kiss above my tattoo.

  It makes me smile, and I look down at her, waiting for her to continue.

  She leans back and hesitantly meets my stare. “You think you know me so well from a few hours together, huh?”

  My gaze is unwavering while hers darts back and forth between the view and me, like she can’t decide if talking to me, giving me her truth, is better than jumping out the window from the forty-fourth floor. “I know more than you think. I’m perceptive like that.” I wink.

  She smirks and rolls her eyes.

  “Talk to me,” I say, and because I can’t help myself, I dip my head and brush a kiss across her lips, encouraging her to let me in. “What’s your deepest, darkest secret?” When her eyes widen, I continue, “What’s the harm in telling a complete stranger who you’ll never see again?” I almost stumble over my words, not wanting to believe them, but I remain focused on her wide eyes and full lips.

  “If I told you, I’d have to…”

  “Kill me?”

  “See, you don’t know me at all. I was going to say ‘leave right now.’”

  She gives me a devilish smile and narrows her eyes. There’s a faint tequila smell surrounding us from the empty mini bottles, but her eyes seem clear, focused, if not a little hazed from lust as she watches my chest rise and fall.

  I reach around for a full bottle and take a sip, waiting for her to go on.

  “When I was seventeen, I stole a pair of panties from the dollar store.”

  “A dollar is too much to pay for panties.”

  She giggles and shrugs, taking the bottle from me for a drink. She doesn’t even flinch as she swallows, and the bold move gets me hard—something that was already inevitable since I’m very aware she’s sitting on me in almost nothing.

  I shift, and she looks down between us with a shy smile. I stop her, tilting her chin back up. “Don’t go getting shy on me now. I still want more.”

  Her hooded gaze meets mine again. “I can give you more.”

  I growl, wanting her again and again, but I also want to know the story behind the shoplifting. The story behind everything, including her cactus tattoo, her sister. Fuck, I even want to talk about her childhood and high school. Anything and everything.

  I want more than the physical.

  There are so many questions I want the answers to, and I’m scared I won’t get them. That she doesn’t want to share them—even when I shared my own past experiences from college, she didn’t share any of her own or if she went to college to begin with. I gave her an opening, and she didn’t take it.

  But instead of pushing her now, I try to soak up whatever she will give me.

  She lifts her hands above her head, and I pull her tank up, kissing between her round breasts, her hard nipples ready for me.

  I suck on each as she holds on, digging her nails into my shoulders and arching her back in pleasure.

  I run my hands along her back and fist her hair while she whimpers, hungry for my touch.

  I’m fighting with my self-control. With my urge to take it slow and savor every second, every inch of her skin, while my need for her wants to push her against the glass windows and fuck her from behind with Vegas as our audience.

  Her squirming grows more and more impatient, but I hold her in place as I pull her face to mine, stealing as many kisses as I can.

  Her plump lips are even more swollen when I move back, searing her with an intense gaze as I hold her up in order to remove my boxers.

  She slides her own panties down at the same time, and when we settle back down, she wastes no time sliding onto me. She does, however, take her time moving up and down, watching me with lust-filled eyes and her lips parted. I hold her close while I switch angles in order to find that spot that drives her wild.

  After a few moments and a little encouragement, she finds her release, slow yet earth-shattering as she goes limp in my arms. I follow closely behind but don’t let go of her.

  Her eyes flutter as I pull out, but I hold her in my lap while she whispers against my lips, “My deepest, darkest secret is my fear. My fear of caving in to my parents and their desire for me to settle down in our small hometown with a respectable man and have lots of babies.” She looks down as though she’s ashamed. “My fear is living an average life because I don’t have the balls to do what I really want.”

  I squeeze her tightly, at a loss for words.

  We both still, her secret hanging between us, bringing us closer.

  Her courage gives me the strength to speak my own truth. “I want to own a hotel. Build it from the ground up and run it myself.”

  Her eyes open in wonder, mirroring my own.

  I smile and say, “I found a lot right outside LA, close to where I used to hang around as a kid. With all the wrong crowds, of course. It would be a small boutique hotel, no more than thirty rooms. Just a getaway spot for both locals and tourists.”

  “Why don’t you?” she asks out of innocent curiosity, but it’s a question that plagues me every day.

  Instead of answering, I kiss her into a stupor, then wrap my arms around her waist, holding her close to me.

&
nbsp; With the Vegas lights against the dark sky to our side, we stay like this, savoring the warmth of each other’s heart beating, and I wonder if she feels sad.

  Sad that we’ll never be this close again, that we won’t share anymore secrets.

  Because I do.

  Chapter 12

  Sebastian

  I squint at the blinding sun, the curtains wide open from when we admired the city last night.

  When she straddled my lap and nipped at my lips before we fell over the edge.

  I reach for her, but she’s missing from her side again. I roll onto my back and catch her at the end of the bed with one pant leg on. I groan. “Come back to bed.”

  She stops but doesn’t turn around. Fighting with the second pant leg, she says, “I’m going to be late. And one of us needs to be sneaking out of here. It’s in the one-night stand handbook.” She takes one look at me with her hair tossed to the side. There are darker strands underneath the blond that are more visible at this angle and in the light. She smirks. “Clearly it’s not going to be your lazy ass.”

  “Ouch.” I pull myself up against the headboard and clutch my chest. Halfway joking in reaction to her jab, but also because she said it out loud. That this was a one-night stand. We both knew it—I implied it last night when I asked for her deepest secret—but it’s the first time I’m hearing it from her lips.

  Like I didn’t believe the words until I heard her say them.

  And I don’t like the way they sounded. They were too casual coming out of her mouth, and nothing about her mouth or our situation is casual.

  I wonder if there’s protocol in this handbook of hers for the turmoil happening inside me.

  “I feel used.”

  “Right, because you don’t look like you’re enjoying the view.” She tilts her head at me in sarcasm.

  She’s only in yoga pants and a sports bra—damn right, I’m enjoying the view.

  But her eyebrows are drawn as close together as they can possibly get as she searches the room for her tank, for her escape route.

  I eye her teal shirt crumpled in the corner by the nightstand and reach down for it, dangling it from my hand like I’m trying to hypnotize her. If I can get her to stare at its side-to-side motion long enough, maybe she’ll stay. “Looking for this?”