Chapter 8 #2
Bending down, he lifts my ankle in the air and gently wraps his large hand around it before running his thumb over the intricate design of thin lines and the Virgo symbol decorated with tiny triangles, dots, and stars.
“And the glow isn’t temporary?” he asks, continuing to rub my tattoo, causing goosebumps to rise across the bare skin of my legs. Well, that’s new.
“It’s UV ink they use.” I gulp loudly, because I can’t understand why my skin is tingling and feels hypersensitive. “It glows in the dark depending on what level of lighting it’s been exposed to, or on nights like tonight, it looks really vibrant under the LED blacklights.”
“It’s beautiful. And unique. I’ve never seen one of those before.” He lowers my ankle then lets go of it.
Part of me wishes he was still holding on to me.
“Thanks.” Shyness overcomes me as butterfly sensations I can’t quite work out take hold in my tummy.
What the hell is happening to me?
“Can I hold your hand?” he asks, clearly seeking the same connection I feel we are missing, his Brit-style accent mismatching his California pacing.
Without seeing each other visually, it’s hard to read body language.
And with barely any eye contact to gauge emotion or even smiles, at least holding hands might help us understand each other better, to see if there’s an attraction.
I believe there is. It’s dancing around us like a flirty little siren on the outskirts, just begging for us to ask her to sing.
“That’s much better.” He intertwines his fingers with mine then gives my hand a gentle squeeze.
I squeeze his back, welcoming his touch. “You have warm hands.”
“I run hot.”
“Me too, but my feet are always freezing. Bad circulation from sitting at a desk for years.”
“So, you’re a desk worker?”
Shit. I said too much. “Yes.” That’s all he’s getting.
“So am I.” He shares a snippet of his work life.
“I would ask you what you do, but I know we can’t.”
He hums, as if pausing to think, and the way he brushes his thumb across mine doesn’t go unnoticed. “Let’s just say,” he starts, “I help people end things so they can start a new beginning.”
“And I help people to untie knots.”
“Cryptic, I like it.” I sense the brightness in his whispered tone. “I like your vibe. You seem very chilled.”
I giggle, fucking giggle, like a teenager, and I’m flirting.
Holy shit, I didn’t know I was capable of it anymore.
“You really don’t know me very well at all.
I have a very stressful job that demands most of my time.
Some people think I’m uptight.” Add a baby into the mix to keep me on my tense toes, and what you have right there is the circus that has now become my life.
Only, I’m not that great at juggling and it’s taken much longer for me to adjust than I thought it would.
“I want to get to know you more,” he says, his voice cutting through the charged air between us that feels heavy with things unsaid, curiosity, yearning, and a tension that hums just below the surface. There’s a spark leaping, electric and undeniable, like static waiting to catch fire.
Continuing with my side-of-stage voice, I ask, “Have you been here before?” I cringe at my cliché question. “That sounded so much better in my head, sorry.”
“Don’t apologize; this is nerve-wracking. And to answer your question, no, I haven’t. I’m not a member.” There’s no hint of humor in his reply, only that low and rough raspiness that sounds dangerous, even sexy. He consumes the space between us, moving closer.
I murmur, “I’m here as a guest too, but do you think you’ll come again?”
“I don’t know. The club intrigues me, though,” he replies, every word heavy with unspoken want as he lightly traces his fingertips up my wrist and forearm, moving to my shoulder.
I dare not stop him; I’m enjoying it far too much, and I appreciate his honesty about the club.
I’m curious too because traditional and online dating have proven unsuccessful for me.
Not that I’ve been searching for love, but it would be a good way to meet my sexual needs without becoming attached.
I have Alfie to think about now. He comes first over everything, and introducing a man into my life doesn’t sit well with me. It’s not something I want to explore. Not now, maybe never. We’ll see.
“That feels nice,” I admit, enjoying the way his touch brushes my skin as he explores my clavicle. There’s so much heat in the way he touches me, it feels like burning desire laced with sparks of energy strong enough to set off a blazing inferno.
His ghost-like touches drift up my neck, and when he draws circles across the sweet spot behind my ear, I gasp, every hair on my body standing upright, my skin tingling with anticipation.
Desperate to gauge his body size and frame, I reach out and fumble clumsily, my palm landing on his thigh.
Over his dress pants, I can feel how strong and steadfast he is.
There’s no way he has those athletic thighs from sitting at his desk all day; he works out.
I’d bet on it more than once a week too. He’s disciplined and dedicated.
“Your skin is so soft,” he murmurs.
“I moisturize.” I moisturize? Where are my sexy words and confidence? Come on, brain cells, hop on the fun bus with me.
He chuckles dryly. “Relax, Bunny. Tell me, how would your friends describe you in one sentence?” I think he’s secretly enjoying the way I am squirming.
“Resilient. And you?” I counter.
“Unshakable.”
Shadows move around us, but it only feels like it’s just us trapped inside our own little bubble, isolating us from the rest of the room.
“You seem very confident. Are you always this comfortable in the dark?” I ask.
He answers, his faint whisper deliberate and low, “That depends.”
“On?”
The silence that follows doesn’t worry me; instead, I welcome it in. It tells me he’s thinking and not just jumping into any old reply to appease me.
No one can see us, but inside our invisible bubble, our legs brush enough to make me crave more closeness. More touches. More of everything.
Eventually, he replies, “It depends on the woman I’m with.”
“And is that a lot of women you’ve been with? Or…” My question trails off.
“More than I care to admit to you.”
I’m not a fan of players and guys who sleep around, and yet I can’t help but lean into his touch, which feels like it’s lighting me up from the inside. I’m so drawn to whatever is happening between us. The connection feels different. It’s something new and exciting.
I let my fingers glide up his thigh toward his groin, causing his breath to hitch in his throat.
He murmurs, non-judgmental, just intrigued, “How long have you been single, Bunny?”
“Four years.”
“That’s a long time.”
It feels like that. I’m starting to see myself as a Christmas elf left on the shelf. But it’s not a Christmas shelf I’ve been left on, it’s a dating shelf, and right now, it’s a lonely, bleak place.
After Chris, my ex, cheated on me all those years ago, the dating scene proved unsuccessful, and I kind of hoped love would find me instead of the other way around.
“And how about you?” Now I’m wondering, because if he sleeps around, then he most likely doesn’t date, and that’s a huge red flag for me.
But hell, this is just a bit of fun, right?
I ignore the alarm bells in my head and let myself enjoy the night that’s taken an exciting turn for the better.
“Let’s just say, I tend to keep things casual.” He’s non-committal with his response.
Who am I to judge when this is just a little nighttime amusement to pass the time, maybe boost my ego a bit? Or maybe I just want to feel like someone still desires me and sees me that way, even if only in the dark.
“You’re still touching me,” I point out in a low murmur.
“You keep giving me reasons to, and for some fucking reason, I don’t want to stop,” he confesses, the soft T’s in his words betraying him. The whispered accent he’s faking is slipping.
That’s some big words right there. But he’s right. There’s an undeniable pull, drawing us closer. Every nerve-ending is tuned to his scent, voice, body, and every infinitesimal movement he makes.
It feels like we’re under a spell, powerless to resist what’s happening.
Every touch defies logic, but we do it anyway.
It’s thrilling; my nerves are alive and fluttering deep in my stomach, while adrenaline races through me like a live wire.
It’s been so long since I’ve been touched, kissed, or even acknowledged, and now everything is driven by pure instinct.
Raw and primal, the hunger climbs up my spine, wild and unrestrained.
It’s been locked away for too long, and now it’s breaking free.
“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone before.” The heat is simmering, and his velvet voice is raw and soaked with lust.
“I haven’t kissed or had sex with anyone in the four years I’ve been single.”
“Showing you what you’ve been missing sounds like fun.” The warmth and darkness in his whispered directness should scare me, but instead, I find myself running toward him.
There’s no space between us now; the desire growing between us and his huge body are everywhere.
“Sounds like something I might enjoy.” Holy. Shit. Who am I right now?
Our mouths are now barely millimeters apart; his hot breath dusts the skin of my lips. “I guarantee you would.”
An ache I haven’t felt in so long hums between my legs, the throbbing sensation cheering him on to make his next move.
I uncross my legs and squeeze his upper thigh, my hand almost touching his cock.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice soft yet rough around the edges, as cool as a Californian surfer.
I’d be a great detective. This guy isn’t British at all; he’s a Bay Area native through and through.
I don’t reply; instead, I eat up the small distance between us and crash my lips against his, giving him the answer he was looking for.