Chapter 11 Marina #2
“How can you be so sure? What if…what if we end up being together and we break up. What if he pulls the same shit with me that he pulls with everyone else? I mean, I don’t even know why he does it, we never even got that far in our little dating game experiment before it…
evolved. I know what’s wrong with me but… ”
“Dude, there’s something wrong with everyone.
Lazarus isn’t so special. People are fucked up and complicated and sometimes it’s just a matter of finding someone else as fucked up and complicated as you.
Sometimes that’s all you need for love to work.
” She takes a step back from me and makes the motion of dropping something. “Boom! Mic drop. Jane out.”
She turns around and heads to the dance floor, immediately twirling around a bunch of strangers like they’re all part of the same group.
“Need a drink?”
I turn to see a guy talking to me. He’s cute, dark blonde hair, scruffy beard, built like a linebacker. With his flannel shirt he looks like a lumberjack.
“Thank you but I’ve got a drink coming,” I say, pointing at the bar where Laz is taking two shots from the bartender. Great, Laz. Shots.
“Just wondered why a pretty girl like you was standing here all alone,” the guy says. “Didn’t seem right.”
I smile at him, flattered but a bit uncomfortable with the attention. I have no interest in this guy whatsoever but I don’t want to be rude either since not a lot of men hit on me in general.
“I’m doing good, I’m here with friends,” I tell him.
“What kind of friends?”
“Hiya,” Laz says appearing beside me with the shots. But though his usual greeting is easy, the look in his eyes is not. His gaze is hard and mean and fixed on the lumberjack with precision.
“Oh,” the lumberjack says. “I didn’t know…are you with her?”
“I’m with her,” Laz says, handing me my drink, then slipping his arm possessively around my waist. “She’s with me. As in, she’s mine, if you don’t get my meaning.”
The lumberjack balks. “Jeez, I get it dude. No harm no foul.”
He walks away to talk to the next girl and my heart is thundering against my ribs so hard I think they might break.
I glance up at Laz in awe. Where the fuck did this alpha speak come from? I haven’t seen Laz claim anything in his life and he just fucking claimed me. I think I might need a cold shower already.
“It’s Jameson,” he says, nodding at the shot.
Are we going to completely gloss over what happened?
“Thanks,” I say, my voice coming out in a squeak.
“Drink. Then we dance.”
“I don’t dance, Laz. You know this. And you’re really taking this bossy thing to heart.” I take a small sip.
“You’re too fucking cute,” he says, watching me. He shoots the contents of his glass right back and then nods at mine. “Catch up.”
I take in a deep breath because I don’t think I’ve done shots for years and then slam it back.
It burns but the feeling is nothing compared to the way I’ve been feeling all night. Actually, it feels nice to have the edge taken off, just a bit. I’m wound way too tight.
Laz plucks the glass from my hand and places it on the bar, then takes me over to the dance floor. He goes over and says something to the DJ, who nods. The songs have been slow of late but that still doesn’t take away from the fact that I don’t dance. I’m clumsy. I have no rhythm.
But Laz has all the rhythm in the world and he’s moving up against me, like he does when he’s doing a show. Only now I’m his stage that he owns, a stage he has complete control over.
It isn’t until the current song ends and then a slow familiar synth beat comes on that Laz slips his arms around me, pulling me to him. Tight. He sways to the sexy swagger of the song and leans in so his mouth is at my neck.
“I could corrupt you,” he sings, his deep, baritone voice washing over me like warm water, “in a heartbeat.”
He presses himself into my hip and I can feel how long and thick and hard he is.
It should make me nervous, scare me off.
But it doesn’t.
It sparks a need in me like never before.
“You’ll be calling out my name,” he sings again in time with David Gahan’s voice.
At the moment I can’t even tell them apart, both are so rich and dripping with sex that it reaches deep inside of me, makes me want to take my clothes off right here on the dance floor.
The press of his hard cock only seals the deal.
I want this man to corrupt me thoroughly.
“Did you request Depeche Mode?” I ask, my voice throaty, like it’s already anticipating everything to come.
“Maybe,” he murmurs. “Thought maybe I’d add Corrupt to the setlist.” He pauses and runs his lips down the length of my neck. “Though I’d have a hard time not wanting to fuck you every time I have to sing it.” He pauses. “I’m having the hardest time right now.”
I swallow, trying to find my breath while my heart is fluttering inside like a caged bird, desperate to be free.
Fucking hell.
He finally said it and it sounded sexier than I ever thought possible.
He finally said he wants to fuck me.
And I am more than fucking ready.
His lips slide down to my shoulder where he slowly brushes the thin straps of my dress and bra off and starts leaving long wet kisses. My hands go up, disappearing into his hair. Every muscle inside my body clenches.
He pulls back, enough for his hooded eyes to meet mine, raw lust burning behind them, the music and the alcohol and the years of pent up sexual frustration are combining to make me want to be stripped bare of every single inhibition.
I don’t know how long our eyes are locked like this. Our bodies are locked like this. Our hearts are locked like this. An eternity passes where all our unsaid words are passed between us like prayers.
“Sweet girl,” he whispers to me seconds before his mouth crushes mine.
I groan against his lips, his mouth hot and wet and hungry.
This is a deep kiss, the kind of kiss you shouldn’t have on a public dance floor.
It’s pulled out from a wild and charged place far inside me, a place I’ve always kept the bars on, keeping back my primal instincts like you would predators in a zoo.
I’ve never felt this kind of starvation before, you’d think I’d been deprived of him my whole life.
And I have been.
I’ve been deprived of everything, these kisses, this touching, so much.
So much.
But not anymore.
“Laz,” I gasp as I pull back, my heart a jackhammer as my eyes search his.
We should get a room.
Ask him to your room.
Ask him to go to the bathroom with you.
Fuck, do something!
“You’ve got such perfect lips,” he says, running his thumbs over them before leaning in and taking my bottom lip between his teeth, sucking, tugging. His breath is ragged, the heat coming off him is staggering.
My eyes roll back in my head, my patience a thin line ready to snap.
“I could kiss you for days,” he murmurs, his hands sliding down my back to my ass where he grabs hold.
“I think I would go mad.” I gasp, my fingers pressing hard into his taut shoulders.
Somehow we’re still moving to the beat, yet it’s no longer the beat of the song but the beat of something we’ve created just between the two of us.
An easy rhythm, like our bodies were built to move this way with each other.
God, is this what fucking him is like? Is it somehow better?
As if he can hear my thoughts, Laz pulls me closer.
“By the way, I fuck better than I dance,” he whispers in my ear.
“Better than I sing. Better than I write. Better than I do most things.” He brushes my hair off my shoulder and slowly licks up the side of my neck before his lips come together right behind my ear.
“Bet you didn’t know that about me. How much I love to fuck and how good I am at it. ”
Holy shit.
I try and swallow but can’t. I’m wordless. I’m on fire.
I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.
That’s the thing I would normally say.
But that’s not happening tonight.
I want to be shown.
I want to know for once exactly what he thinks of me.
Exactly what he wants to do.
I press my hand into his chest, pushing him back just enough to look him dead in the eye.
“Prove it.”