Drunk on You

by Teri Anne Stanley

  “You’re chicken,” she taunted, stepping out of his arms.

  “After that”—he aimed his thumb over his shoulder toward the bathhouse—“you’re on. Start working on those dippy eggs now.”

  “Cock-a-doodle-doo.” She watched him make his way toward the facilities. Her whole body tingled with a sense of unreality.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Justin looked at himself in the speckled mirror in the men’s restroom as he washed his hands. He splashed water on his face and used half a roll of the world’s most nonabsorbent paper towels to dry himself.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” he said to the foggy reflection.

  “Why, I’m letting my dick do my thinking,” he answered himself.

  “Well, that’s just as well. Your dick has the same number of brain cells as your skull.”

  A toilet flushed, and a skinny kid about twelve came out of the stall.

  “Oh, hell, sorry, bud.” Justin said, stepping away from the counter. “Here, you can have the sink.”

  Eyes wide and hands up, the boy skirted Justin. “That’s okay, sir. My mom’s got plenty of hand sanitizer back at the tent.”

  Justin waited a few seconds after the outer door slammed behind the kid before leaving, so the youngster wouldn’t have any additional reason to alert his parents that there was a perv on the premises.

  He couldn’t stay in the can forever, though. He had to face Allie. There was no more pretending that he didn’t want to be with her—that boat was long gone from the marina. But no matter how much he wanted her—and how much she thought she wanted him—he couldn’t do it.

  The imaginary Ghost of Dave arrived and said, “Just because I asked you to look out for her, doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t treat her like a woman. Jesus, dude, as long as I don’t hear the details, do whatever the hell you want, if she’s willing.”

  But that wasn’t the point. Allie deserved someone who would stay with her. Someone who didn’t need to dive into a forest fire to make sense of things. All Justin could offer her was a roll in the hay. Otherwise, he was adrift, like smoke billowing through the desert. Hell, the only time he felt grounded anymore was when Allie was nearby—

  He shook his head, banishing that thought. He pushed the door to the men’s room open and went back outside.

  By the time he finally got his lame self back to the party, the musical entertainment had changed, and someone was playing guitar. As he got closer, he realized Allie was singing with one of the women.

  He stopped outside of the circle of light cast by the fire and listened. His girl really had a fucking beautiful voice. A little husky, a lot sexy.

  But not his girl. He wasn’t staying; he was just here long enough for his leg to heal, to fix the financial disaster he’d helped get them into, and then run. How was he going to get that through his skull and make it stick?

  When the song ended, everyone clapped, and then someone close to the guitarist said something that Justin couldn’t hear. He turned to Allie with his eyebrows raised. “You know it?”

  Allie grimaced and said, “Not sure I can get through it without crying.” Then she shrugged. “It was my brother’s favorite, though. I’ll give it a shot.”

  The guitarist started to strum. The opening chords were familiar, but Justin couldn’t quite—

  It was Garth Brooks’s song “The Dance.”

  Dammit. It wasn’t a long song, but it sure packed a punch. As she started to sing the story of a great love ending in heartbreak, he stepped farther back into the shadows.

  She must have seen his movement, because she faltered. Her voice cracked, but she looked away from him and pulled it together. Justin wasn’t so lucky. Goddammit.

  It was a love-gone-wrong song, but it was about so much more—living a life without regrets. It was about memories, just as much as about being in the moment.

  He backed up a few more paces, but her voice followed him. The guy on guitar joined in, and their harmony floated over the silent crowd and stabbed Justin in the heart.

  Maybe Dave felt the need to send him a message with that song, but he had no idea what the fuck it was—or if he wanted to hear it. He clenched his jaw and stood as close to parade rest as he could manage with one leg and two crutches.

  When the voices trailed off into the darkness, there was silence for a moment, then someone started to clap.

  Allie watch him the whole time, a silent apology in her eyes.

  As the applause died down, someone from the crowd turned and said, “Hey, man, come top that!”

  Justin faked a laugh and called back, “We’ll be here two more days. I’ll get my chance. You old folks need your rest.”

  He turned toward the camper before he could see anything else in Allie’s eyes.

  …

  Damn. Allie knew she shouldn’t have sung that song. It was hard enough for her to get through, but as soon as she saw Justin standing there, so lost in his pain, she realized she’d screwed up in a big way.

  The camper was dark when she let herself in and shut the door behind her, trying not to make too much noise.

  The faint light from the microwave clock illuminated Justin lying on the little couch, one arm thrown over his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “That was hard for you. I just got caught up.”

  He lowered his arm, eyes glinting in the dark. “It’s cool.” And put the arm back over the eyes, shutting her out.

  “Which is why you’re hiding from me.”

  The arm went back down. “I’m right here. Just tired.”

  She couldn’t let this go. Not after they’d connected out there by the campfire. She would have sat down on the couch, but he was fairly well sprawled over it, his good foot on the floor, knee bent. He left her nowhere to find a place, so she sank down onto the floor and leaned against his leg. He jerked, as though she’d shocked him, and stiffened.

  “I think we need to talk about this,” she said.

  “I don’t.”

  Well, that was clear. She sat for a moment in the dark, feeling the heat of his leg seep through her clothes, warming her in spite of his chilly behavior. She was probably imagining things, but after a moment, she felt him relax a little. It was tempting to just sit there and feel, just touch him, remind him with her body that she wanted him, but she was a talker.

  “Here’s the thing,” she told him. “We’re here together, and you want me. You said so. God knows, I want you, too. We’re two healthy, unattached adults, and not blood kin, so there’s really no reason we can’t get busy with each other.”

  “You’re too nice of a girl to have casual sex with, and a few rolls around the camper are all I can offer you. Getting naked with you would be very nice, but—”

  Allie cut him off with an elbow to the thigh, then sat back. “You are so full of shit.”

  He sighed, finally sitting up. “Yes, I am. And you should stay far, far away from me.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Babe—”

  That was enough. “I’m not going to beg. But I am going to tell you this. I care about you. Not just as a friend, and not just as someone I’ve known my whole life. I want to be with you, and we don’t have to involve the rest of the family—we can go our separate ways when we get back to Blue Mountain, no strings attached, or we can fly to Vegas and get married. But I’m not going to sit on my ass and wait forever, and I’m not going to chase you around.”

  She stood, brushing invisible dirt from her backside. “We’re going to be in this camper together for the next week or so. I vote we make the most of the close quarters, no need to trade off with this miserable couch, but it’s not up to me. The ball is in your court. Meanwhile, I’ll be…masturbating.”

  She stalked into the bedroom and shut the door as violently as a lightweight sliding door would slam.

  The sweatshirt came off with a couple of hearty jerks, and she kicked off one sneaker, then removed the other manually. Unbuttoning her jeans more slowly, she ackn
owledged to herself that she was too pissed off, frustrated…hurt…to do what she’d just said.

  There was silence from the living area. Well, if nothing else, she’d given him something to think about.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Oh, holy hell.

  After a few moments of rustling behind the bedroom door, there was only silence.

  The noise in Justin’s head took longer to settle. He kept imagining that he heard Allie sigh, or whimper, or shift her legs.

  What was she thinking about? Did she have something sexy on that ereader she carried everywhere she went? Maybe she was thinking about him, about what they’d done in the hot tub.

  Had she left her panties on? Was her hand sliding under the fabric even now? Maybe she used something, a toy. Nothing battery-operated, though—the dense, motionless air inside the camper couldn’t mask the buzz of a vibrator.

  He thought about opening the door and watching as she stroked her breast. She would lick one finger before teasing the nipple, circling around like his tongue wanted to do—while the other hand parted slippery folds, sliding back and forth over her swollen clit.

  Did she slip her fingers inside herself, stroking and playing, or just focus on the goal, working to get off quickly? Would she then fall asleep, musk-scented fingers curled under her cheek?

  He thrashed around on the couch for a while, his own arousal making it impossible to sleep. He should stroke one off, be done with it, pass out.

  Instead, he found himself standing in the bedroom doorway, staring down the length of the bed at Allie where she lay, covered only by a sheet.

  What was he doing here? She couldn’t possibly want him. Surely she’d have sobered up by now, come to her senses, realized he wasn’t right for her—

  She swept the sheet away, revealing her legs, long and pale in the filtered moonlight, a shadowed space below the hem of his USMC T-shirt that was clinging to her soft curves. His gaze traveled to the column of her throat, to her lips finally, her wide, solemn eyes. Waiting. Expectant.

  He could have stood looking at her forever, but she shifted, reaching for the edge of the T-shirt, pulling it up to reveal…skin.

  He maneuvered around to the side of the bed, where she met him, sitting on the edge of the mattress, looking up at him. There was no time to put his crutches aside before she had her hands on his waistband, tugging the elastic of his gym shorts down, freeing his throbbing erection. The cool air on his overheated skin, followed by her warm, smooth fingers, was almost too much.

  He grabbed her hand to stop the motion and laughed. “Jesus, Allie, slow down, or it’ll be over before it starts.”

  She looked up at him, still not smiling. “I’m afraid if I give you two seconds, you’ll run away again.”

  He snorted, in spite of his aching balls. “I don’t run away from trouble, Sneezy. I’m a fucking United States Marine.”

  That got the smile he wanted. Followed by a kiss, right on the head of his cock.

  “Oh, fuck me,” he groaned when she followed up with a long lick.

  “I intend to, in a little bit,” she said before sucking him into her mouth.

  And she worked him, taking him in, stroking his balls gently in counterpoint to the strong suction of her lips, wrapping her fingers around his length when she couldn’t take him all the way—then just focusing on the head, using her lips and tongue to do something that was making sparks gather at the base of his spine—

  “Okay, enough,” he gasped, pulling her away and collapsing inelegantly next to her on the bed, bringing her lush body to lie next to his.

  …

  Before Allie could catch her breath, Justin was kissing her, drawing her bottom lip between his, ravishing it with licks and nips and sending shock waves to every other nerve ending in her body.

  She was on fire. Her nipples ached, finding some relief against the crisp hair of his chest.

  While he moved his lips from her mouth to her neck, he pulled her leg over his hip, pressing the length of his erection along her core.

  She was almost too wet, she slid over him so easily. But then he rocked against her, and her clit pulsed in response, while she clutched his shoulders and tried to wiggle higher so she could slide him inside.

  “Grab a condom out of my seabag,” he murmured, raising his head and pointing toward the side of the bed.

  Reluctantly rolling away, she fished around off the side of the bed.

  He leaned over her shoulder, hot against her back. “Toiletry bag right…there.”

  She handed the condom to him over her shoulder and started to push herself up, but he stopped her with a hand on her hip.

  “Stay right there. Just like that.”

  She heard the plastic wrapper tear and felt him shifting his leg around behind her as her skin grew tighter, anxious for him to touch her again. She arched against the sheet, whimpering.

  “That’s it, baby, show me how bad you want it.” Rough fingers pushed her hair aside and ran from her neck, over her tattoo, and stopped on her left butt cheek, then offered it a quick, light smack.

  “Oh my God, Justin. I want it. I want it so bad.” She was nearly sobbing now, her sex clenching, longing to be filled.

  “Well then, take it.”

  She arched her back, offering herself to him, hoping he would—yesssss. He pulled at her hip, moving her partially to her side, with her legs bent forward so he could—

  The blunt head of his cock nudged her and she lifted her upper leg enough for him to slide home, right inside her, right there.

  And then he began to thrust. Shallowly, because their position didn’t allow him to go too deep, but God, he was deep enough. And he was going fast. And hard.

  The sound of his belly slapping against her buttocks, his muttered curses, the overwhelming reality that she was actually having sex with Justin Morgan, were so overwhelming she didn’t think she’d be able to come. Didn’t want to, because she’d lose that little bit of consciousness that would take any of this moment away from her memories.

  But then he reached around her to touch her clit and said, “I need you to come, Allie. I need to feel you go crazy wild around me. Let me have it. Make this the most perfect night we’ve both ever had.”

  And then her body clenched around him for all it was worth, and when she regained her senses, realized she’d lost not only time, but any remaining bits of her heart, as well.

  …

  Justin woke when he heard Allie slide open the door from the bedroom, but didn’t open his eyes until she’d done something in the kitchen and then let herself out of the camper. The growl and burble of the coffeemaker followed by the first whiffs of morning brew convinced him to sit up and face the day.

  He used the little bathroom in the camper to relieve himself and shave, then debated squeezing into the shower to hose off, but decided he had time to grab a cup of coffee before Allie got back.

  His mind was still reeling from what they’d done last night. Not only had they had sex, they’d had blow-the-roof-off dirty sex. Well. Dirtier than he’d imagined his first time with Allie could be. He’d hoped that a few hours of sleep would add some clarity. If anything, his nightmares had twisted him into further knots. He kept dreaming that he’d gotten up and gone into her room and begun to make love to her, and then turned around to see the whole family standing in the doorway, shaking their heads in disgust. Someone would say, “I thought you were supposed to look out for her.” He always woke up in a sweat before he could argue that they were two consenting adults who didn’t need anyone’s permission to have sex.

  He must have repeated the experience three or four times, each time thinking it was real, except that in the dream, his leg wasn’t messed up. And Allie told her family, “I just let him in here to get him to quit whining.” Like he was a foster dog or something.

  Justin had just reached for a mug when the door to the camper opened and Allie stepped in, bringing in the sound of singing birds and chasing out the
cobwebs. “G’morning,” he said.

  “Hey.” She glanced at him shyly, then scooted around him and took her things into the bedroom, then came back into the living space for coffee.

  Was his girl having morning-after regrets? He’d insisted on fucking her from behind while he panted filth into her ear. Or did she assume he was the one with regrets? Was he?

  Before he could formulate anything to say that wouldn’t be a verbal IED, she pulled a box of Pop-Tarts from the cabinet above the sink. “I’m not sure we have time to cook this morning. You okay with cold carbohydrates?”

  “Sure,” he said, fine with postponing the “are we okay” discussion. “When do we have to leave?”

  “We’re supposed to be at Liquor World at ten. That’s in forty minutes. Google Maps says it’s a fifteen-minute drive.”

  Justin took a five-second shower while Allie did her hair-dryer magic in the bedroom, even though it tripped a breaker three times. He really couldn’t tell the difference between her regular air-dried hair and the blow-dryer version, but it was important to Allie, so finally, he’d stood next to the breaker box and flipped the switch back every time it snapped off until her hair was dry.

  They talked business and wardrobe. Justin decided on khaki cargo pants with a zip-off leg for his boot and a knit Blue Mountain shirt. Allie went country, putting on a short—but not silly short—dress with cowboy boots. They made sure the Rainbow Dog flyers were in folders to show the buyers.

  When they came out of the camper, one of their new biker friends, who looked like an undernourished Santa Claus, was walking past with a little white dog on a leash.

  “Hey, hey, lovebirds!” he called. “Good morning!”

  “Good morning, Kyle!” Allie said. How did she remember everyone’s name? She didn’t look at Justin as she beeped the unlocking mechanism on the car.

  They both got in, and she started the engine before turning to look at him. “Look, I hope things aren’t going to be weird today.”

  He met fire with obstinacy, as usual. “Why would things be weird?”