by Lexi Whitlow
“You can guess, huh? That means you’ve been thinking about what I can do for you.” He leans closer, eyes sparkling. He leans in close and whispers. “I’d like to see you come, Skye Williams. On my fingers. On my tongue. On my cock. Not necessarily in that order. I do take requests.”
I almost faint. “Did you—this is a little fast. Did my friend say something to you?” The alcohol rocks through my body. I’m bold. I feel like I should. Heat is pooling between my legs. I feel my body in a different way than I have before.
“No,” he says. “You looked out of place when you walked into this bar.” Liam looks at his watch. I imagine getting in bed with him, letting it happen, never seeing him again. It’s appealing. The next sip of my drink makes it even more appealing. “And I’m sick of the girls around here.” He puts a finger to my chin, tilts my head up like men do to women in the movies. “Maybe I need a little forgetting to. An escape. A release. A fix.”
“I don’t do this sort of thing.”
“That’s exactly why you should.” He leans in, kisses me. Strong and warm. Rhiannon waves at me and gives me a big grin.
I melt. And I follow him upstairs.
CHAPTER THREE
When I take Skye upstairs, that feeling stays with me. Like this is something singular, something good. I’m not exactly planning on sharing it with her, so I keep it in my mind, hidden. A secret.
We reach the top of the stairs, and I look back at her. She looks like she’s about to bolt. Like a terrified wild animal, caught in a trap. Except I’m the one standing by the door, and she’s behind me, with the freedom to run if she wants to. She looks back down the stairs, like she just might.
“You look skeptical. Trust me—I won’t bite.” I pause. Skye is chewing her lip again, and something about it turns me on. My cock stiffens against the fabric of my jeans. An aching need I’m about to fill. Unless she runs off. And I can’t have that. She’s now a part of my long term plan—whether she likes it or not. “Unless you want me to.”
“It’s not that I don’t.” She’s still chewing her lip. “Trust you, I mean. It’s that—like I said—I’ve never done this before.”
“No worries.” I take her hand before she can start thinking about it anymore. I’ve had a lot of girls tell me that they never “do this kind of thing,” that they’re “not into one-night stands.” It always turns out that they’re secret freaks. And that’s exactly what I predict is going on here. “I’ve done it lots.”
I pull her inside and bring her body to mine. She trembles beneath my hands, which is something I haven’t experienced in a girl before. I have to say that I like it, her whole helpless, nerd-girl type of thing. It goes against the body that the good lord gave her, and it’s fucking hot as hell. I bet she has a closet full of cardigans at home. And white, lacy bras. Little cotton bikini panties with bows on the center. The thought of those little panties makes me grab her ass to see what I’m working with.
She yelps in surprise. “Hey, what are you doing back there?”
“Nothing. Just checking for—” I run my thumbs between the waist of her skirt and her hot, smooth skin. There it is. “A thong.” I bring my lips to her neck. Beneath my lips and fingers, her skin turns to gooseflesh. Even in the dim light, I can see that her skin has turned the best shade of pink. I bet it’s spread all the way to her nipples, the tops of her breasts. And holy shit, I bet those are good. One hand searches them out, and a breath catches in her throat.
“I didn’t know things would move so fast.” Her voice trails off, and I take the opportunity to kiss her, my tongue finding hers. Skye’s lips melt into mine, and tentatively, she brings her arms around my neck. I like how her body moves, the way her hair smells, the heat and heft of her body. I could imagine waking up to this, or at least indulging again from time to time. “But I guess that’s good,” she mumbles when I pull away. “Get it over with.”
“Get what over with?” An alarm goes up in my head. That’s a weird fucking thing to say.
“But maybe we should go into the bedroom, where there’s less light.” Her voice is distant, her body still shivering like it was when I brought her in here. My cock throbs, straining now, aching for her. God I bet she’s tight. Hot. Sweet.
But I refocus. “Sure,” I say, my voice wary. I’ve dealt with enough drunk people at Dougherty’s. And unfortunately Skye is either at the drunk stage of saying weird shit—or she’s saying some legitimately weird shit. “I’ll get right on that. Maybe we’ll sit down first.”
She nods, and I pull her over to the sofa. She’s stiffer than she should be. Nervous. But when I sit down next to her, she automatically straddles me, her skirt hiked up, showing off the expanses of her creamy, white thighs.
She’s fine, I think. Just tipsy. Just out of her element.
Without thinking further, I bring my hands beneath her shirt and unclasp her bra, burying my face between her breasts. My mouth travels to one nipple and then the other, pulling them into my mouth through the soft, clingy fabric. She lets out a series of little moans. Her hips start to rock against me, the heat of her sex pressing into my hard cock.
That tightness comes back to my center—it’s the longing to lose myself in someone, to forget my job, my bills, the courts, all the people and shit swirling around me. And with her, it might be the sweetest release. Innocent, pure. She shimmies out of her shirt and tosses her bra aside, revealing a set of impossibly perfect breasts. Nipples dark pink, and stiff, atop full, round orbs. My fingers find them again, and she moans, this time louder.
“Oh my God,” she sighs. “This is better than I thought.”
I bring my mouth to one breast, tasting her skin this time. Her fingers come to my hair, and her nails trail over my scalp. My spine tingles. Everything does. I want to bury myself, lose myself inside of her. With my tongue flicking over her nipple, I bring my hands to my jeans, unbuckling myself and then bringing the zipper down to release my cock. I want to be inside of this girl now. I can fuck her first and focus on getting her to come later. But the need is overwhelming. I’m fast, moving her back slightly so that I can stroke myself.
“You’re so fucking sexy. I wanted you from the first moment I saw you. So prim, so pure.” I’m rambling now, stroking my cock with this beautiful girl straddling me. She moans, and she throws her head back like I imagined. I think about wrapping my fingers around that perfect neck while I fuck her from behind. I might get to do that, too. If she sticks around like I’m planning for her to. Skye is shaking like she was before, and she gasps when she looks down at my cock.
“Oh my,” she murmurs. “That’s… impressive.”
Something about the way she says it makes me look up at her face. I see trepidation. No, more than that. Fear.
“It won’t hurt. I’ll make sure of it.”
“It’s just that—” She stops and rolls away from me so she’s sitting next to me on the sofa. “It’s just that I haven’t done this before.”
“You said that. You don’t go home with guys like me. That kind of thing.” I’m immediately feeling a lot more sober, and there’s something slightly off about her tone. More than slightly off, if I’m being perfectly honest. I’m still as hard as I’ve ever been. Still want her. But I zip up my jeans, going on instinct more than anything else. I gently place a blanket over Skye’s shoulders. She still looks afraid, but embarrassment is starting to creep in on her exquisite face. Her eyes are as wide as saucers, her lips pursed.
“I mean—I haven’t done this at all before.”
I nod, like I understand. But what she’s telling me is so surreal I can barely comprehend it. I haven’t been with a virgin since before I graduated from high school. That can’t be real. It can’t be. “You mean you haven’t been to a guy’s apartment who works in a bar?” I crack a smile.
She shakes her head, pulling the blanket close around her. “I haven’t been with anyone. Not ever.”
“You’re what—twenty? You were just waiting—�
�� I try to search around for the right words, but I’m shit at this sort of thing. That’s why girls don’t stay put, why I don’t want them to. It makes me think too much about Tabitha and all the ways I failed with her. And all the ways I’m failing now with Brie.
“I’m twenty-three. I was waiting. For a guy I thought loved me. But he said—” She groans and lies back on the sofa.
I want this girl. I want her more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time—more than the rotating door of women, parading in and out of this apartment. Ceaseless, tireless. All the same.
I’m still hard, aching. Tight. The animal part of my brain wants to take her, throw her body back on top of mine, and watch as she lowers herself onto my cock. But as I look at her, half dressed on my couch, dazed and nervous like a deer in headlights, I feel a wave of protectiveness.
“This isn’t the time then,” I say. I lean closer to her and brush a lock of silky dark hair behind her ear. It falls over her face again.
She looks at me, pupils dilated, skin flushed. She still wants it. Good God. I imagine how it would feel to take her for the first time, pushing all the way into her tight, virgin—
“I should probably go,” she mutters. She looks around for her shirt and bra. I watch as she picks them up and holds them protectively to her chest. Her fingers are long, the fingers of an artist. Delicate.
I’ve kicked women out for less. Set up a ride on Uber while they were in the bathroom.
Skye gathers her things, embarrassed. Humiliated might be a better word. Since I’m an asshole, I just watch her for several seconds before speaking. But something in my character cracks, breaks inside, maybe for just a second. I wouldn’t fucking tell Finn about this kind of thinking, but I want to erase the pain off of this girl’s face. When she’s pulling on her bra over those perfect, round breasts, I stand and catch her again, pulling her to me by her waist.
“It’s late. Stay the night. I’ll make it worth your time. There’s plenty we can do without—” It feels strange to say the words, so I don’t. Without taking your virginity. The mere thought of it makes my brain and body nearly explode. It takes every ounce of strength I have to contain myself. “Without, you know.”
“That doesn’t sound like a great idea, Liam.” She doesn’t sound convinced when she says it. “I think maybe we should just leave this whole thing alone.” She chuckles for a second and looks up at me. “Maybe I’ll just hire a male escort to get this whole thing over with. Then I can come back next year.”
I grin. “You want to get this whole thing over with? That was your goal, huh?”
“Yeah. I think I ought to go for it before I’m twenty-four.” She chews on her lip like she did in the bar. And she laughs again, light and airy. I tilt her face to mine and kiss her again, this time slower and deeper, my hands finding her breasts again. She shudders and lets out a low, throaty moan, like it’s throwing her into ecstasy just to be touched. My fingers find her nipple again, rolling it beneath her shirt.
“Just how inexperienced are you, Skye? Tell me.”
She swallows before she speaks, looking nervous. “I had a boyfriend in high school and college. We fooled around sometimes. But nothing more than—more than what we’ve done just now.”
A man has never touched her like that. Never made her come.
“Really?” I chuckle, then laugh louder, still holding her tight. “That’s crazy. I mean—really fucking nuts. How does that even happen?”
“It’s not really that funny. Or crazy.” She pulls away, pushing her hand against my chest. “I should go, like I said. I’m better off figuring this out myself without you being an asshole and acting like I’m a circus freak show.”
“Hey, I’m an asshole for sure.” I keep hold of her arm, gentle but firm. “But I wasn’t laughing at you. I’m laughing at the idiot guys who passed up a gorgeous girl like you. They’re the real assholes here. Am I right? Especially that piece of shit boyfriend. He was weird as hell if he wasn’t fucking you every single day he had you at his fingertips.” I flash her a grin, and for a second, she just stands there, looking at me with her eyebrows knitted. “Wasn’t he? Fucking idiot.”
She just pauses, like she’s thinking. “He was.”
“Personally,” I lean in to her. She’s still letting me hold her arm, even though it feels like she might bolt for the door at any moment. “I’d fuck you every day.”
That makes her blush, which I like. Very much. It’s sexy as hell.
“Yeah? I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should. I’m up to the task.” I pull her back into me, and she doesn’t resist. She’s like a blank canvas, a sweet little girl I can teach while everyone around me thinks I’ve got some kind of dedicated girlfriend. Even fucking Marta. It’s better than I thought.
“Up to what task?” She raises an eyebrow.
“Making you—” I kiss her on the cheek and trail my lips along the length of her neck, down to her collarbone. “Come. Teaching you what you need to do to—” I let my hands move lower, cupping her ass and then lifting her skirt. The smooth ripeness of her hips gives me the sudden image of her bent over, taking me to the hilt. This whole plan suddenly seems very enticing. “Please me. Please any man.”
“What makes you think I want that?”
“The fact that you came up here tonight. That you even took a chance on a guy like me. I think we’ve established that I’m not exactly the type you would usually go for.”
She gives me an indecipherable look. “Okay, yeah. I wanted to get it over with and leave in the morning. I’m not looking for a long term… anything. Nothing long term.”
I shrug. “I think that’s what you need. Just for a while. Friends with benefits. You get the benefit of someone teaching you. I get to have fun while I do it.” She smiles at that.
And you can play the part of my girlfriend. Fiancée. Wife if we need to.
Something about that makes me excited. Even though a man like me shouldn’t be.
“Okay.”
“Yeah?” I pull her in closer and kiss her again. It feels good, kissing her. Like I should be doing it every day. I wonder if I ought to inform her about what she’s about to sign up for. But I’ve never told any other girl about my daughter, my ex. About the custody battle. Anything like that. The words sit on the tip of my tongue, but they don’t come now.
Instead of letting them out, I lift her up into my arms, and I carry to the bedroom.
To show her what it feels like to give in.
CHAPTER FOUR
He carries me into the bedroom, throws me down onto the bed. My heart is racing, and I taste salt and metal at the back of my throat. I used to feel that way when I was little and I woke up in the middle of the night. I’d look into the dark, gaping mouth of my closet, just waiting for a sound, or a small movement. A monster hiding inside. Or worse, a man come to abduct me and take me away. Later, that feeling was mixed with fantasy, mixed up with the Harlequin novels I’d read. The sinful priest. The pirate with an appetite for virgins.
It’s been a long time since I had that feeling. Fear, mixed with deep, forbidden excitement. When I look up at Liam, I feel that now. He could do anything. Tie me to his bed. Keep me here forever. The heat between my legs only intensifies, magnified by fear. His strength. The things he’s not telling me—the tattoos, scars. His family.
He sits down next to me on the bed, and I prop myself up on my elbows, body vulnerable. Exposed. I’m suddenly very aware that I’m not wearing a bra and that I have on a thong. I think of the comfortable things I usually wear—briefs, sports bras. Nice long shirts and jeans made soft by washing and drying many, many times. These clothes—this whole mask—it makes me awkward, my body out of place. There’s something terrifying about it. Something thrilling.
Liam is silent as he takes off his shirt. There are other tattoos, faded ones, interlaced with old scars. But otherwise, his body is a fierce work of art. His abs are chiseled, leading down t
o the deep V of his pelvis. The sensual, long lines of his forearms and biceps hypnotize. And I’m sure he’s set it all up that way, made it so that he’s irresistible to any stupid woman who walks into his bar.
And you, Skye, are one of those stupid women. It’s a Saturday night, and I’m usually curled up with a book. Pride and Prejudice. Jane Eyre. Or one of the soft, well-loved Harlequins my mom left for me when she died. The pages are worn, like petals. Those romances feel safe.
They’re not hot, or strong. Not simmering and physical, like this man. The sex isn’t even mentioned. And if I had to guess, the real Mr. Darcy didn’t look anything like this man.
He slips off his jeans again, and I can see the faint bulge of his cock. A shock goes through me. Does he plan to use that on me tonight? My breath hitches in my throat.
“Take a picture,” he says, smiling. “It’ll last longer.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were. I don’t blame you. It’s a pretty fucking impressive instrument. But it’s not happening now. You’ll have to wait.”
I chew the inside of my cheek. I want to wait forever. And I want it now.
“Then why am I here?”
“Because I say you should be. If you’re in this deal with me—I’m calling the shots.”
I sit up straight. “I didn’t agree to that.” I think of all the time I spent trying to stand up for myself in college, in my own family. And here I am, letting a stranger tell me what to do. For the sake of losing my virginity. It doesn’t make a bit of fucking sense. But when I look at him, I feel something deep and animal, drawing me to him. Making me want to give in. Stay at least one night. See what he does.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t go.” He stands at the edge of the bed. My eyes are drawn to his muscled legs and the curve of his ass. “You can. But you won’t find someone else who will make you feel as good as I can.”
