by Genna Rulon
Any other time I would have voted for girls’ night in, but the clock was ticking and in a couple of months, all I would have left were the memories I made now. Plus, we would be safer at The Stop than anywhere else in the state should Jay’s prediction prove overly optimistic. Griffin was a behemoth, and God save anyone who dared to threaten Sam. She was a survivor and had already overcome more than even the most overdramatized Lifetime Movie heroine. It was Griffin’s lifelong mission to ensure nothing even remotely unpleasant ever touched her again.
Their love was epic, and I envied them without jealousy. Alone in the dark, I sometimes wondered if being witness to the depth of love Huntleigh and GriffLo shared was my penance for the choices I’ve made. Observing loves so pure and connections so deep, knowing I could never have the same but with only myself to blame, was a cruel punishment. Yep, the universe was meting out some wicked poetic justice. It was almost laughable…most people settled for quasi-happiness because they desired a family and companionship, never fully believing in the existence of the type of love and passion I was surrounded by daily. I had to wonder if those same people would have waited to find their other halves had they known such love existed—or would their impatience and doubt have gotten the better of them?
“Earth to Meg? Come back to us…tell the extraterrestrials to stop their kinky experiments. Unless, of course, you’re enjoying all that probing, then feel free to finish up first,” Sam interrupted my musings, finishing with a sassy wink.
“Sorry, I got lost in my head for a second. And, ewww, alien sex. That’s just nasty,” I teased, shaking my head in disapproval but secretly enjoying every second of the vivacious craziness that was Sam. “Let’s go to The Stop. I haven’t seen Griffin the last few days and it’s Thursday, which means live music.”
I adored music. It was one of the subjects that Griffin and I bonded about when we first met. Having spent so many years unable to express my own feelings—and barely understanding them anyway—the emotion that music and lyrics evoked was addictive and captivating. The right song at the right time could communicate the multitude of turbulent and complex emotions swirling inside me far better than I ever could. Music was like therapy to me, and searching and finding the perfect song was a ritual that allowed me to process and compartmentalize my frequently riotous thoughts. It was evocative, penetrating, and restorative.
“Sheesh, your spacey today. Get dressed—no yoga pants or leggings,” Sam added, accompanied by her sternest, no-nonsense look.
Something told me that tonight was going to be good night—I hoped my gut was right.
"For women the best aphrodisiacs are words. The G-spot is in the ears. He who looks for it below there is wasting his time." -Isabel Allende
Westly
“Why did I agree to this?” I groaned to Ry. Despite my desperate need for distraction from window-stalking Meg and countless failed attempts at formulating a sure-fire seduction strategy, this was pathetic beyond words.
“Sorry for disturbing your plans to obsessively pine after your neighbor,” Ry accurately assessed my alternate plans for the evening.
“We’re surrounded by college undergrads. I feel like a lecher,” I complained.
“Man, you’re twenty-seven, not sixty. You know everyone is over twenty-one, which hardly makes you the creepy old guy. Stop your whining—we’re here for Paris. It’s her first big,” he said while making air quotes, “show and as her brother I’m obligated to attend. As my friend, it’s your duty to keep me company and applaud if she chokes.”
“Where are the rest of clan Mesina? I would’ve expected them to be here in full force, holding up signs and chanting Paris’ name.”
“Bingo! She didn’t want anyone here because she was convinced we would embarrass her,” he rolled his eyes as if her concerns were ridiculous, which they totally weren’t. “The only way she was able to dissuade the rest from coming was to allow one representative from the family to attend…and she chose me. The girl’s always had good taste.”
His modesty aside, I was glad Ry was here to support Paris. Regardless of her claims, she would be glad to have a friendly face in the audience as she performed, and a guaranteed round of applause when she finished wouldn’t hurt either. Granted, if all seven of the Mesinas showed up, it would have been sensory overload, but Ry’s mellow support would be welcome. Not that she really had a choice—there was no way her brothers or father would let her come to a bar alone, twenty-three-year-old woman or not.
I glanced to the right and my eyes clashed with the blond giant behind the bar—Griffin. I’d warned Ry that there was a distinct possibility I would be unceremoniously ejected from the bar before Paris ever sang her first note, which he thought was hilarious—of course he did. After explaining the complicated past I shared with The Stop’s owner, as well as the connection to Meg, Ry begged me to come, going so far as to promise me free ink in order to witness my discomfort. He was a twisted bastard.
However, the inevitable threats and expulsion never came. Griffin studied me for a moment before offering a curt nod and then breaking eye contact.
Hmm. That was unexpected—and strange.
Ry nudged me, forcing my attention away from the odd exchange and toward the stage where Paris now stood, looking entirely too close to losing her dinner for my comfort. Uh-oh, this was not a good sign.
She reached to adjust the mic, sending shrill feedback throughout the room and I winced, as uncomfortable for her as I was from the sound. Her nervous chuckle carried over the mic, followed by a labored breath.
“You got this, girl,” a familiar voice called from behind me.
I looked over my shoulder to see Sam sitting at the bar with Meg by her side. I leaned toward Ry and whispered, “I could kiss you right now.”
“Dude, love is love and all that, but I’m just not that into you. I know I’m difficult to resist, but you’ve got to make the effort.”
“Meg’s here,” I said, ignoring his inflammatory comments.
Before Ry had a chance to look, Paris spoke, redirecting his attention back to the stage.
“Not quite the greeting I intended, but at least I know you’re awake. My name is Paris—like the city. And don’t worry, it can only get better from here on out…it couldn’t get worse,” she mumbled to herself but the words were captured by the mic, causing the patrons to laugh. The tension broke and with a small smile, Paris began to finger pick the opening chords of a chipper, quirky song. Thankfully, her voice was mesmerizingly clear and her awkward, off-beat stage presence, appealing. As she played, an unassuming confidence took root and the music seemed to flow through her.
I’d like to say I paid attention to my friend’s sister. I tried—honestly I did—but I was too busy assessing Meg, who was too busy watching Paris to notice. By the time Paris’ first set was finished, I was itching to make my approach. In a silent show of support, Ry patted my shoulder as I rose from my stool and made my way toward Meg.
Sam saw my approach and offered a smile that nearly caused me to stumble. First, Griffin, now Sam. These people hated me, didn’t they? When had we transitioned from threats of bodily injury to smiles and nods?
I reached my destination, standing beside Meg’s stool, where she was carefully avoiding my gaze while sending Sam a warning look.
“Hello, Wes—may I call you Wes? Of course I can…you’re trying to get under the denim of my girl so being rude to me—again—wouldn’t be strategically sound,” Sam said, asking and answering her own question. “I’m glad we got that straightened out. How the heck are you? Actually, don’t answer that. We have far more important ground to cover first.” We do?
“By all means, question away—provided I get a turn,” I allowed, pleased with my change in luck. Although I had no clue why, it seemed I had an unlikely ally in Sam.
“Griffin,” Meg suddenly called out across the bar, “Sam is about to put her life in jeopardy. You may want to do that cool jump-over-the-bar-to-save-the-day
move you’ve perfected. She needs rescuing.”
Having quickly assessed the situation and satisfied Sam was in no real danger, Griffin shrugged nonchalantly. “Hunter’s been teaching her self-defense moves. She can take him.”
“He’s not the one who’s going to throttle her,” Meg replied earnestly, but Griffin had already returned his attention to the paying customer.
“Last time I take a bullet for you,” Meg whisper-shouted at Sam, who was clearly undeterred by her friend’s objections.
“Pssht! No more bullets or knives for me. I’ve reached my quota of life-threatening situations. Now, where were we—ah, yes, Q&A time. So, Wes, let’s be honest here. What are your intentions with the beautiful Megalicious?”
“Once she agrees, I intend to take her out to dinner, then have her for dessert,” I answered honestly, following Ry’s suggestion.
“I approve,” Sam offered, almost too easily, “if—” There it was, I knew there was a contingency. “If you can guarantee a certain level of—how should I say this?—satisfaction. Do you have a satisfaction-guaranteed policy, Wes?”
“I do,” I said simply.
“Are you sure you’re up to the challenge? She doesn’t need a ‘me man,’ we’re looking for a ‘she man.’ Hmm…that sounds a little tranny, but you get my drift. Meg needs a man who is willing to make her his sole focus for as long as it takes to wear her out. You strike me as a selfish asshole, if I’m being honest, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have the skills to get the job done. Actually, I think you may be the perfect man for the position. I don’t think your ego could handle failure, which virtually guarantees success. What do you say…do you have the equipment and endurance to give my girl what she needs?” she finished with a pointed look at my groin.
As if she had X-ray vision, my package retreated in fear under her keen examination. Hell, at least she was only requiring verbal confirmation and not actual proof. Even Meg seemed to be eyeing my goods surreptitiously, which thankfully brought my boys out of hiding.
“As flattering as I find your character assessment,” I began wryly, “you’re off base…at least partially. I concede to being an asshole, but I’m not selfish—in or out of bed. When Meg gives in to the inevitable, she won’t ever regret it.”
Sam nodded, then shoved Meg with enough force to knock her body into mine.
“Megikins, he’s the one. It’s taken a year, but I’ve finally found the right candidate—mission accomplished. He’ll rock your world with no demands or expectations afterward. Go forth and discover the life-changing capabilities of the big O with my blessing.”
Sam leaned toward me, suddenly serious, “If you hurt her—in any way—they will never find your body.” After her dramatic pronouncement, she turned on her heel and headed to Griffin at the opposite end of the bar, leaving me alone with Meg. Finally!
“Is there anything I could say that would wipe the last five minutes from your memory? Someone in here must have a roofie or training as a hypnotist,” Meg rambled.
“No chance in hell. Even drugged, that exchange couldn’t be forgotten.”
“I was afraid of that,” she sighed, adorably discouraged. “Look…Sam is ever-so-slightly insane. It may be a new form of Tourette’s, but I’m waiting to hear back from the Psych department for confirmation. Despite her best intentions, she has an astounding propensity to embarrass me. You are just one in a series of cringeworthy moments so don’t think you’re anything special, and whatever you do, don’t read too much into anything she said. Nothing is going to happen between us.”
She was so certain, I almost believed her—almost.
I grabbed the edges of her stool and spun until we were face-to-face, the change of position creating the illusion of privacy and removing the deliberate need for her to speak to me over her shoulder. I expected a protest but was pleasantly surprised when the only reaction I received was a raised brow.
“That’s better. Now, was Sam telling the truth? Are you interested in a no strings…friendship? Because I promise, I am a very accommodating friend. And you won’t find anyone less capable of strings than me,” I finished with a salacious smile full of carnal promise.
She leaned into me, her body already buying what I was selling. It was a moment of weakness I needed to capitalize on.
Splitting the distance between us, I locked my eyes onto hers, my mouth mere inches from her pouty lips. It was my last chance and I damn well knew it. Time for the most persuasive closing argument of my life.
“There aren’t many things I’m truly exceptional at. I’ll never be husband material. I’m a shit friend most of the time. I believe the ends usually justify the means. My moral fiber is questionable, at best. I will never be the person you call when you’re in a bind or need a shoulder to lean on. I don’t express my feelings, mostly because I don’t have any that aren’t shallow. I don’t like animals as a general rule, and children—no, just no,” I paused, asking myself what the hell I was saying as the same question echoed in her eyes. Too late now—in for a penny, in for a pound. “The only steadfast rule I have is I do not sleep with someone else’s woman—ever. Other than that one display of principles, I have few redeeming qualities. There are two areas I excel, the law and sex—and when I say I excel, I mean I’m a fucking god. You will forget your own name because all you’ll be able to do is scream mine…over and over again. You want no-strings, mind-blowing sex? There is no one better qualified.”
Her eyes were wide as saucers and her mouth slightly open, which I took as an invitation. I closed the gap between us, brushing my lips against her silky pink ones. I took advantage of her shock and slid my tongue inside, tasting and teasing. It was a kiss meant to entice, not conquer—that would come later. I gently nipped her plump lower lip with my teeth and was rewarded with a sharp inhale of desire. She was so close to surrender, I could taste it—sweet and hot, with a hint of vanilla and cranberry.
Her resistance collapsed, marked by the alluring breasts suddenly pressed against my chest—victory. I grasped her hips, pulling until she was pressed firmly against me and undoubtedly able to feel the steely effect of her kiss. As I subtly rocked my hips against her core, warm fingers twined through my hair, tugging me closer, causing a groan of pained pleasure to escape from my mouth into hers.
Unwilling to continue my exploration with a bar full of witnesses, I attempted to pull away—an attempt met with unintelligible protests. I couldn’t risk giving her an opportunity for second thoughts, so I did what any sane man would do. I slid my hands down to cup her lush ass, lifting until her legs wrapped around my waist, and without breaking the kiss, I carried her out of the bar. Perhaps I was more of a gentleman than I’d given myself credit for.
"Sex pleasure in woman is a kind of magic spell; it demands complete abandon; if words or movements oppose the magic of caresses, the spell is broken." -Simone de Beauvoir
Meg
A fire consumed every nerve in my body until I felt I would fall to the floor as ash. What was this intense and all-encompassing white-hot desire? I’d fully intended to deny him yet again, but his unorthodox monologue entranced me. As he laid his countless flaws and character defects at my feet, the uninhibited honesty gave weight to his promises of pleasure. Why lie about the few skills he claimed to possess when he’d already given me every excuse to turn him away? It was truth, pure and simple. Every word was immediately verified with a kiss that brought me closer to orgasm than any sex I’d ever had, limited though it may be.
He continued to prove himself to be exactly what he claimed—not all of it good, but with Wes I knew precisely what I was getting myself into. And for me, nothing was more essential. There was no hidden agenda or ulterior motives, no skeletons lurking about. He was in your face, this is me, take it or fuck off…and I reveled in it.
With little time remaining in New York and a dismally uncertain future, I wanted this experience…this passion. There may never be another opportunity that could rival his no
-strings promises. I wanted this one small indulgence in my life of never-ending denial and restraint. One memory I could turn to through the rest of my solitary life that proved I had lived—just once, I had truly and completely lost my past and escaped my future to live in the moment. Wes was offering me that freedom on a silver platter and I was seizing the chance with both hands, holding on for dear life until the ride ended.
I found myself deposited in the front seat of a posh sports car and watched as he virtually sprinted to the driver’s side. Someone was worried I would change my mind. He needn’t be—this was happening if I had to club him over the head and drag him back to my cave. He’d awakened my inner cavewoman and the primitive sheanderthal would not be denied.
When he entered the car, it was clear the club would not be necessary. The desire was palpable, an electricity surging until sparks of anticipation and need danced across my skin. Without warning, Wes’ hands grasped the back of my head, tugging my mouth against his in a kiss so suggestive it should require protection. As suddenly as it began, it ended, his urgency evident in a reverse-drive maneuver that would make any stuntman proud.
We drove in silence, the only sound our heavy breaths punctuated by the occasional rev as the automatic transmission shifted. While on the verge of screaming, desperate to reach our destination as time dragged endlessly, Wes taught me a valuable lesson: life can become infinitely worse and better in tandem, offering the sweetest torture.
Eyes never leaving the road, he reached over to run the tips of his fingers along the inside of my denim-clad thigh, leisurely climbing closer to the part of me beckoning for attention. Her Royal Horniness decreed he come to her and prove his fealty with a display of skills.
When he reached the apex of my thighs, he continued stroking me with a barely perceivable touch that unraveled what was left of my tattered sanity. The teasing caress slowly transitioned into a purposeful combination of rotating and kneading until my hips arched against his hand, following his tempo but seeking more pressure. My muscles clenched as I reached for my approaching climax, unconcerned with the sounds of demand flowing from my mouth. Almost there…a few more seconds and—
