A Guy Walks Into My Bar - Lauren Blakely Page 0,43
over for a couple of hours.”
He pouts, grabbing my thigh. “You rub one out with me right now,” he says, grabbing my hand and wrapping it around his cock.
Which is ready to go.
And feels amazing.
That’s the problem. He feels too good, turns me on too much. I’m getting hooked on the drug that is Fitz.
Even though I know better. Addictive feelings lead to choices that have far-reaching consequences, like leaving your family, leaving your world.
Things I would never do.
But I won’t be tempted.
Because that’s not what flings offer you.
They don’t dangle before you the chance to skip out of town.
They don’t encourage you to say see you later to all that matters.
Flings have a beginning, a middle, and, most importantly, an end. You can enjoy the hell out of them because of that immutable fail-safe known as an expiration date.
A fling is a perfect container for these unruly feelings Fitz evokes. Flings are supposed to be wildly intoxicating. They’re meant to consume you for a few days, like a star that burns twice as bright, but half as long. You can bathe in the intensity for a few days, drape it over you, roll around in it.
You can drink it up and swallow it down, savoring every drop, knowing it’ll be gone soon enough.
Fitz is dessert, all the decadent chocolate cakes in the city, and I will devour him for days.
Then, I’ll return to my normal diet.
No more cake, no more him.
So I should eat my cake while I can.
I get back in bed, grab some lube to make this easier, and slide my palm along his erection, loving the hot, hard feel of him, the velvet-smooth skin, the steel length, and, most of all, the sounds he makes.
Yes.
Fucking yes.
Love it like that.
Love it hard and tight, and yes . . . Just. Like. That.
I dip my other hand lower, cupping his balls, playing with them, then I bring my mouth to his and suck on his bottom lip, drawing it in, knowing that kissing will send him over the edge.
And it works.
He’s coming in my hand, rocking and thrusting and moaning my name.
After I wash my hands, I get dressed, say goodbye, and tell him I’ll see him soon.
As I leave the hotel and hit the streets of my hometown, I vow to use these hours away from him to remind myself how much I like being away from him.
Since that’s where I’ll be in three more days.
I can’t get accustomed to having him around.
No matter how much I like it.
Or him, for that matter.
There’s only one thing to do—forget about him for the next two hours.
I pop into Coffee O’clock and order my usual.
“And one for your dad too?” Penny asks.
I tap my chin. “Hmm. Does he deserve a tea? He was quite cheeky to me last night.”
“Sounds par for the course.”
“True, true. I suppose I won’t cut him off just yet.”
“That’s good of you. No wonder you’re his favorite son.”
I wink at her. “Exactly.”
With the cups in hand, I thank Penny then head to Dad’s flat, where I find him locking the front door on his way out.
“Personal tea delivery service is one of my favorite features of adult children,” he says with a crooked grin, taking the tea.
“Where are you off to, old man?”
“Heading to the furniture shop. Taron got a new chair he thinks I’ll like. Or an old one, I should say. Want to work on it with me this weekend?”
I take a drink of my tea. “Sounds like the perfect way to spend a Saturday or Sunday afternoon.”
After all, I have no plans besides work—there won’t be a soul demanding anything of me after Thursday.
My schedule will be clear.
I’ll have no one to shepherd around town during the day or to hunker down with at night.
Just loads of time for my favorite things.
When we reach the shop, Taron greets us with a huge grin and a clap of his hands. His colorful red shirt billows in the summer breeze. “You are going to die when you see this piece. It reminds me of all the chairs we had growing up in Johannesburg.”
“You had so many Victorian-era chairs in South Africa,” my father teases.
“We were teeming with them. Working here is like being back home,” Taron says, and when my dad heads straight for the rear of the store, my mate pulls me aside. “So, I hear you’re into someone.”