A Moment of Weakness

by Brooklyn Skye

  She inhaled a quick breath. Jesus, he felt so good. His hand plunged into the loosened cup and around her breast, taking it fully in his palm. He hadn’t touched her like that since he’d had his way with her on the counter. The memory of his mouth between her legs, his tongue licking and swirling her into a lust coma, suddenly had her knees threatening to buckle.

  His other hand swooped around her belly and pulled her closer, guiding her directly into his erection. “Or like this?”

  Another weak breath. Was the room shrinking on her? The ceiling falling? Was she even standing anymore? She closed her eyes and imagined herself facedown on his bed, the weight of his body pinning her firmly into the mattress as he sank his—

  On the counter, her phone buzzed. She reached for it, releasing a long, frustrated sigh but careful not to disrupt the connection his hand had with her boob.

  “My sister and her impeccable timing,” he whispered into her ear, eyeing the text message on her phone as she read it. Leaving now.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have invited her.”

  “Or maybe,” he said, reaching for the phone, “we could tell her to wait because her big brother would like to stick his—”

  “No!” As fast as she could, she twirled and snatched the phone, laughing. “You wouldn’t say that to her.”

  One dark eyebrow arched, and he cocked his head to the side. “I wouldn’t?”

  “Not unless you want a swift ass kicking by the girl who knows Tae Kwon Do.”

  He chuckled. “My sister told you she knows Tae Kwon Do?”

  Laurel shook her head. “Not me. A guy who was hitting on her in a bar a few months ago. I think her exact words were ‘If you call me sweetie one more time, I’m going to Tae Kwon Do your ass until the only word you can say is douchebag.’”

  “That’s tactful.”

  “At least we don’t ever have to worry about her being taken advantage of.” Laurel quickly responded to April’s text, telling her that they too were leaving, then tucked her phone into her purse. “Shall we go?”

  The Alibi had been completely transformed with a dance floor in the center where tables and chairs usually sat, blue lights lining the bar’s edge and wrapping up the existing pillars, and a disco ball that sent a kaleidoscope of colors along the floor. The place was packed with people, mostly college-aged kids, all standing belly up to the bar or lingering near pedestal tables along the room’s edges. Music filled the space, but not one person was dancing.

  “It’s like a middle school dance gone bad,” Micah said, clutching Laurel’s hand. “Ryan’s probably shitting his boxers right now. Let’s go find him.” He led her across the empty dance floor, the sound of her wedged heels on the glossy wood falling silent to the bump of the music.

  In college she’d never much enjoyed the club scene—strangers rubbing their crotches and backsides up against her? Sweat mixing and hands groping? Laurel shook off a shiver. At least I’m here with someone I know.

  And wouldn’t mind if his hands did a little groping.

  They found Ryan perched in the hallway near the bathroom, his fingers tapping vigorously on the screen of his phone, a divot the size of the Grand Canyon sprawled between his brows. “Motherfucking bathroom just took a shit.” He pointed to the closed door of the men’s restroom. “Something with the toilet, or the plumbing, or, fuck, I have no idea. Management’s not answering, either. Don’t they have someone who works after hours for this kind of thing?” His long beard, as he talked, held stiff.

  “Did you try a plunger? Maybe it’s just clogged.”

  “Bro, I tried a plunger, a tree branch… Whatever is in there is like a goddamn serpent.” He hit send on the message he was typing and shoved his phone into his pocket. “This is so not the night for this.” Then he looked at Laurel, like he’d just noticed she was standing there, then to the hand of hers that was entwined with Micah’s. He smiled kindly at her and said, “Thanks for coming,” before sliding his gaze to Micah. Funny, even with the thick, dark hair covering the entire bottom half of Ryan’s face, she could still tell that when he directed his smile at Micah there was some sort of knowing to it. “Potato, po-tah-to,” he said and laughed.

  Micah stiffened and jerked his hand from Laurel’s. “So what do you want us to do?”

  Just then, April—dressed in a tight red skirt and flashy gold heels—exited the women’s bathroom and squealed when she saw Laurel.

  “Yay for dirty dancing nights at the bar!” Her vibrant smile warmed Laurel, and her arms encased her, squeezing tight. Really tight. Laurel eased back and poked the slender lines of toned muscles that stretched from her shoulder to elbow.

  “Umm…Tae Kwon Do?” Laurel asked with a grin.

  April’s eyes brightened. “Nope. Crossfit. You’d never guess how good-looking the guys are in there. You should come with me sometime.” For a moment, she scrunched her nose, the light smattering of freckles jumping together. “I doubt your scrawny arms would be able to lift a forty-five pound bar, but what better way to meet a guy?” She lifted her hand to her mouth, fingers outstretched like a prim and proper woman from the olden days. “Oh, dear, this pole is much too heavy—”

  Micah cleared his throat, and April scowled at him.

  “What’s got your panties in a wad, big brother?” She reached out to poke his chest, and he swatted her hand away like a big brother would.

  “Are you done playing fantasy over here?”

  Laurel wasn’t sure if the other two had heard it too, but there had unquestionably been a hint of irritation in those words. Because of the suggestion Laurel go out and meet other men? Did that mean he was jealous?

  Why was she worrying about that anyway?

  Ryan ran his hand down his beard. “Guess we’ll just have a coed bathroom and hope no one has to unload a big one. Lisa’s making me signs right now.” He nodded over Laurel’s shoulder to the dance floor. “Maybe you two could do something about that?”

  Micah nodded, his features crinkled like he was thinking hard about something. “What’s wrong with the dance floor?”

  “Well, fucker, this is a dance club, and it’s totally vacant. The night is still young, which means this is the make-or-break moment when people either start dancing or start leaving. I just need someone to put the idea in their heads about which is the better choice.”

  “You want us to dance?”

  “Unless you have another way to get people out there. Organize a chicken dance? A goddamn flash mob? I don’t even care, but the dance floor needs its cherry popped, and it’s not like people want to see me out there by myself.”

  “Ryan, you know I don’t dance.” Micah didn’t sound angry, just simple and matter of fact, as if he were telling the time.

  “Fine, then.” Ryan reached for Laurel’s hand. “You can stand watch to make sure no one goes in there and worsens this situation while I go show off my moves with your girlfriend.”

  “Um,” Laurel sputtered at that last word at the same time Micah snatched her hand and tugged her away from Ryan.

  “You’re not going anywhere near her.”

  Ryan’s eyes glinted and he stepped back. “Option number three is you dance with your sister.”

  “Eww,” April said in a hurry, dragging the scooped neck of her black tank a little lower to show off the generous mounds God had graced her with. “Never happening.” She winked at Ryan. “I’ll dance with you, though. It’d be a good excuse to finally run my fingers through that beard.”

  Micah stiffened. “You’re not dancing with him, either.”

  “Good.” Ryan faced Micah, sounding content as ever. “I see we finally feel the same. Have fun out there, you two. And please don’t dance like twelve-year-olds. Touching is allowed at The Experience.”

  Micah let out a groan and spun Laurel toward the center of the room, saying to Ryan, “You’re going to owe me.”

  “By letting you handle the next time this building takes a shit?” Ryan spread his arms wide. �
�It’s all yours, amigo.”

  “My eyes will fall off if I watch this,” April teased and turned in the direction of the bar. “Come find me when you’re done, Laur.”

  “You really must not like dancing,” Laurel said once enough distance sat between them and the other two, resisting the urge to smooth her fingers over the tight purse of Micah’s lips. “Either that or…it’s me you don’t want to dance with?”

  God that sounded pathetic. Would it really matter if he didn’t? But then why would he have invited her?

  Her mind seriously needed to stop acting like a love-struck teenager. Sure, she was attracted to Micah. And sure, she was letting him satisfy her in ways she hadn’t let a man in…who knows how long?

  “The hottest woman in the room? I’d be stupid to not want to dance with her.” No physical touch with the admission, but still Laurel let out a tiny breath. The hottest in the room? Did he really think that? “Suffice it to say,” Micah continued, “I don’t exactly have a Dancing with the Stars body type. Can you imagine me swinging and gyrating my hips?”

  He had a point. But then again— I can think of plenty the rest of his body might be good at. Starting with the appendage just below those hips… “Well,” she said, stepping onto the slightly raised dance floor, “if my two left feet can do it, then I’m sure you’ll have no problem.”

  Micah laughed. “The uncoordinated bar owner and clumsy nanny. We might turn into free entertainment for all these people. Ryan would love that.”

  “Only if it keeps people from leaving.” Laurel stopped in the middle of the dance floor and stood, her hands hanging to her sides. Should she reach for him? Start dancing alone? The thought of how awkward this would be hadn’t dawned on her until then, but…yeah, it was. “My guess is we’d scare everyone away.”

  Slowly, carefully, Micah stepped in close and fit his palms over her hips. He smiled and leaned his mouth to her ear. “The place to ourselves?” he said in a low, husky voice. “Now that sounds like a party.” His hips started swaying to the beat of the music, his hands guiding Laurel’s to match the movement, and too soon she forgot all about the people clustered at the outskirts of the room, at the bar, and now in line for the single coed bathroom.

  Even with her heels, she had to tilt her head to look up at him. A few inches of added height, yet she still felt so small next to him. Vulnerable. Exposed. Especially with the direct access he had to her bared neck.

  His stubble brushed against her cheek. Soft lips pressed into the skin just below her ear, and the torrent of chills rushing across her skin was enough to start that low burning in her belly. His hands slid up her sides, the tips of his thumbs brushing lightly against the edges of her breasts, and in unison he positioned one leg between hers, his knee firm and tight against her center.

  Fire erupted. Her knees weakened. The trail of his hands continued around her ribcage and down her back, throwing her into a dream-like trance—one where her breath was hard to find and tendrils of sensual pleasure warred with the primal compulsion to rip off his clothes.

  The closer she moved to him, the harder his leg pressed into that heated spot, and thank god the music was bumping hard and people were starting to venture out onto the dance floor because it was the only way she could disguise the fact that she was practically dry humping his leg.

  Not that he seemed to care.

  Growing more insistent, his hands traveled over the waistband of her shorts. Yes, she wanted his hands there. She wanted his hands everywhere.

  He pulled her in close, every inch of her body pressed against his, and growled into her ear with a teasing chuckle. “This watch of mine. I bet you didn’t know it’s magic.”

  She tilted her head away, his warm breath and husky voice threatening to make her insides combust. But she laughed, because she’d never seen him let loose and joke before. “A magic watch?”

  His eyes met hers, searching. Piercing. “Yep.”

  “And what does this magic watch say?”

  He grinned slyly, running his hands down her back and over the waistline of her shorts. “It says you aren’t wearing any panties.”

  She rolled her eyes playfully. “I think your watch must be broken.” Of course she had underwear on.

  He shrugged. “Hm, maybe it’s an hour fast then.” The intensity of his gaze could’ve dropped her panties right there in the middle of the dance floor. And suddenly words were spilling out of her mouth without her control.

  “Or maybe it’s only five minutes fast…” The room seemed to stop. And so did Micah’s breathing. It was this very moment that she realized she didn’t care who was in the room, or who saw her with Micah. This craving she had for him was much too powerful. She stood on her tiptoes and nipped his bottom lip with her teeth, breaking the intense spell her words had put him into.

  “Come with me,” was all he said and towed her off the dance floor. Heavy bass beats thumped around them then faded to a murmur as they stalked down the hall, past the broken bathroom, and into Micah’s small office.

  The door slammed.

  Her backside hit the wall.

  And his mouth was on hers quicker than she could say holy shit, this is hot.

  His tongue swept in. His hands jerked down the thin straps of her tank then bra, and in only seconds she was completely consumed with him. He was everywhere—palming her breasts, filling her mouth, pinning her to the wall.

  This was what she wanted. This was where she wanted to be.

  With his massive arms, he gripped below her rear and easily lifted her to his waist, guiding her legs to encircle him. Not that she needed the support—his body was solid as a brick wall—but she wound her arms around his neck to close the space between them. Every inch of her body screamed to be touching him. Soaking him in. Savoring him.

  Fire. Was this how it felt to be burning from the inside out?

  It wasn’t the type of kiss she could get lost in. No, this kiss—exacting and demanding—drew her mind into herself. Pointing to all the places it was affecting.

  The tips of her fingers. Here.

  At the base of her throat. And here.

  The very place their two bodies connected. Definitely here.

  “Micah,” she broke away from him and said, gasping for breath at the same time. “Please take off my clothes.”

  His lips grated up her neck. “No.”

  “No?” She eased back and met his eyes—so dark and greedy. If she didn’t know him, it would have scared her. “But I thought—”

  “Oh, we’re absolutely doing that. But this isn’t the time for school-girl manners.” His lips returned to her neck and then his teeth, grazing along the sensitive line he’d just devoured. “If you want your clothes off, you’ll have to demand it.”

  Demand it? Was he serious? “Okay,” she said, suddenly unsure. She chewed on her lip for a moment, trying to find the words. They were right there, handed over by him, but she’d never before said anything like that to a man. And it was unnerving. Finally she took a breath and spit them out. “Take off my clothes.”

  A low chuckle echoed in her ear. “That was hardly convincing, if you ask me.”

  Her insides were about to explode. Her body about to crumble. She scowled at him. “I didn’t ask you.”

  “It’s a shame,” he said, raising his hands into the air. The weight of her body caught on his waist and braced harder against the wall. “I was really looking forward to…” He shook his head, a teasing grin pushing at his lips. “Guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  Ugh, this was maddening! Fine, if he wanted demanding, she’d give him demanding. She took his face in her hands, gripping tight and forcing him to look straight into her eyes. “Micah Crane, take my fucking clothes off.” It came out more as a growl. Better than screaming it for all to hear.

  The smile of his that followed—devilish and full of gluttony—sparked something dark inside Laurel. Right or wrong, proper or not, the glint in his eyes smeared those lines un
til it was all a jumbled mess and there wasn’t any distinct box to fall into.

  Freeing. That feeling was completely and utterly freeing.

  His hands slipped beneath the edge of her shorts and gripped her rear firmly. “As you wish.” He swung her around, crossed the room, and propped her at the edge of the desk. Her shirt was over her head before she knew he had even reached for it, her bra shortly following, and then he nudged her shoulders until she was lying back, the glossy wood cool against her skin.

  Her shorts were next, her silky thong trailing after that. Only a minute to strip her bare, yet it had felt like an eternity. She looked up at him, at the way his massive body silhouetted in the ceiling lights. To anyone else, he might’ve looked terrifying—the daunting type a girl certainly wouldn’t want to find hovering over her naked body. But to Laurel, Micah’s broad shoulders and all-encompassing stature enfolded her like a protective blanket.

  “Fuck, Laurel. Why do you have to be so goddamn stunning?”

  She giggled and reached for his belt. No man had ever talked to her that way—in fact, no man had ever wanted to screw her in the back of a bar, either—and it sparked a wicked rush through her.

  He caressed her thighs, running his hands roughly up the front of them, then wrapped his fingers around her waist and tugged her closer to him. He lifted her legs and draped them over his shoulders, her weight braced on the upper half of her back and her opening tingling at the thought of him being so close to it.

  He grinned mischievously, sliding one finger slowly along her folds. The barely there pressure stole her breath, and when he did it again, her mind went with it.

  “You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this beautiful pussy of yours. How I’ve wanted to do this”—he braced his hands on her inner thighs to spread them wider, dipped forward, and licked her clit—“again.”

  Hot breath stroked along her skin, little white stars swimming in her vision. Suddenly, she was unsure if she could endure another mind-blowing session of his tongue on her in that way. One measly lick and she was already seeing spots.