displays a hint of a smile, and I pride myself on providing some light in her darkness. “Tell me more about you, Chase Smith. Are you married? Dating anyone?”
I cringe when she says Chase. “Nope and nope.”
She turns, settles her elbow on the bar, and leans against it, granting me her full attention. “Why not?”
“Shit doesn’t always work out.” That’s an understatement.
She nods in agreement.
“What about you?”
“Single as a dollar bill. No hubby. No kids. I do, however, have a pet rock.”
“Why single?”
“Shit doesn’t always work out.” She smirks.
“I like this game.”
“What game?”
“Using each other’s answers against one another.”
“I must say, it’s better than confessing daddy issues.”
I smile.
She smiles back.
We order another round.
Drink and make small talk.
I find my hand back on her thigh.
As the night grows later, she leans into me.
When a laugh escapes her, I mentally pat myself on the back.
It’s not much, but it’s something.
Something other than sadness.
“You want to get out of here?” she asks all of a sudden.
I still, my hand tightening around the neck of my beer bottle.
I moved on to beer to save myself from getting too shit-faced.
Somehow, my goal tonight has shifted.
Because of her.
“Never mind.” Her voice is unsteady as she flicks her hand through the air. “I swear, that isn’t something I ask on the regular. I’ve never even had a one-night stand. I can count the men I’ve slept with on one hand—”
Unable to stop myself—and rougher than I should—I grip the curve of her neck and bring my lips to her ear. “How drunk are you?”
She shivers, goose bumps spreading over her soft skin, when I loosen my hold and trail my fingers along her neck. She lifts her chin, heat creeping up it, and allows me easier access. I tip my head down and replace my fingers with my lips.
My tongue brushes her neck when she says, “Tipsy, not drunk.”
Her voice is clear.
No slur.
My cock stirs as I croak out, “Your place or mine?”
“Yours.”
This is where I usually say I don’t do sleepovers at my house.
I don’t.
Instead, I press one last kiss to her neck before drawing back.
I pay our tab, and her hand finds mine as I lead us outside. The destination: my place. The short drive to my penthouse seems ten times longer, and unable to restrain myself, I slip my hand under her dress. She gasps, parting her legs, and I skim a single finger along the lace of her panties.
Back and forth, not going any further.
She whimpers, “More.”
My thumb moves to her clit.
She’s soaked.
So wet that I can feel it through the lace.
It’s a struggle to hold back from plunging a finger inside her. The Uber driver eyes us suspiciously, as if he knows we’re up to something. As soon as we arrive at my building, I grab her hand and lead her into the elevator.
When we walk into my penthouse, I briefly hear her say, “Nice place,” before I slam my mouth onto hers.
I kiss her hard, tasting the alcohol on her lips, hitting me stronger than the Hennessy.
Fuck.
Fucking her will be the best antidote to my hell.
No alcohol will beat this.
No drug.
She’s the one thing I never knew I needed.
Her kiss sets me on fire.
It’s passionate.
Hot.
Our tongues meet, as if drawing the pain out of each other. Our mouths don’t separate as I lead her to my bedroom. As soon as the light flicks on, I strip her, fling her dress across the room, and pull down the duvet on my bed. Grabbing her hips, I toss her onto the bed, and she lands on her back.
She holds herself up on her elbows.
I stand at the foot, stroking my chin, and admire her naked body.
The way her breasts bounce as her breathing turns heavier.
Her hard pink nipples.
Her smooth legs slightly parted as she waits for me.
My bed has never looked so damn tempting.
She gasps as I climb between her legs.
She moans when I take the first taste of her.
Licking my way up her slit before sucking on her clit.
So damn delicious.
I lick, slip my tongue in, add fingers until she’s writhing underneath me.
As soon as she gets off, I frantically unbuckle my pants. She moves just as hurriedly, pushing them down, and I pull my shirt over my head. Seconds after, I slide the condom on and thrust inside her.
“Chase,” she moans.
I freeze, squeezing my eyes shut, and she stares up at me in question.
Don’t call me that.
Moan another name.
To stop myself from admitting my truth, I shove my face into her