Chapter 12 Marsh #2
“You don’t need to do this because of Dani.”
“She’s the worst!” Lucy frowns. “She’s going to go back to Julia and tell her all about how Marsh is dating some sex writer and how she’s better off without you. Let’s at least give her some juicy details to share.”
“You’re drunk, Lucy,” I clarify.
“Tipsy is different from drunk.” Lucy points a finger at me.
My breath staggers. The music is now pumping through my veins, and everything feels so sweaty and loud and dark. Yet, Lucy is this bright light in front of me.
“What’s two times two?” I ask, testing if she really is sober enough. Making sure the alcohol isn’t the main driver of her decisions right now.
Lucy smiles and places her hand back on my chest. “Four.”
My breath hitches. I look down at her perfectly polished long, delicate fingernails with gold rings and a small lightning bolt tattoo on her wrist.
“Two times eight?”
She moves her hand down back to my stomach. It’s in the same spot it was before I moved it. This time, I have no intention of stopping her. “Sixteen.” She looks up and my muscles tense. “Three times twenty-three?” she asks, turning the game around.
She then spins around to face the stage, and her ass is now pressed up against my groin.
It takes everything in me to not grab her hips, dig my fingers into her, and see how she feels in my grip.
She places her head on my chest and looks up at me with those big brown eyes that make me want to do unspeakable things.
“I’m waiting,” she says.
“Sixty-nine,” I let out a low gruff.
Lucy starts to grind into me, her movements matching the music, and it’s hypnotizing. I take a sip of my beer again and roll my head back to look over my shoulder. Dani is watching us with a look of disgust on her face.
I place my hand on Lucy’s hip. She enthusiastically moves it closer to her stomach so I practically have her entire body in my embrace.
We dance—dancing is putting it lightly. Lucy’s moves are practically filthy.
I’ve never seen anyone who moves the way she does and looks as good doing it.
At least not in real life. At one point she tosses her hair over her shoulder, pressing her back into my chest, and I’m sure we’re borderline dry humping but everything is happening too fast.
I look behind me and Dani is now gone.
“Luce”—I lean forward so she can hear me—“Dani’s gone.”
She smiles and turns to face me so now we’re chest to chest. “Good.”
Drink still in hand, she wraps both of her arms around my neck and starts to sway.
Her eyes close and her neck falls back as she just enjoys the music.
The display in front of me feels like a goddamn painting: her face flushed, some of her hairs sticking to the nape of her neck, and her chest glistening with a glow of sweat.
Fuck.
After a few moments, which honestly feels like a lifetime, Lucy’s eyes flutter open and she looks at me. “If we weren’t pretending to date, what would you do right now?” she asks.
The question causes a pulse below my belt. We’re in such gray territory that I can no longer grasp what’s real and what’s not. Is she asking me for research? Or does she really want to know? The same way I want to know what she would do if we weren’t putting on this charade.
But I’m tired of questioning every move. Lucy’s a big girl. If she has questions, it’s not my job to shield her from my answers.
“I’d put this beer down,” I say slowly, “so I can touch you with both hands.”
“And then what?” Lucy prompts.
“Place kisses along your neck. Taste your sweat.”
Lucy rolls her body against mine, and the movement causes me to bring her a little bit closer. She takes the beer out of my hand and walks over to the closest high-top table. She places both of our drinks on it and stands in front of me.
She looks out of breath, nervous, but beautiful.
“Let’s see,” she says.
I loop my hand around her waist, pulling her in. My fingers squeeze her hip, and my other hand goes down to her ass. I keep it there, fighting every fiber of my being to remain in control and not squeeze it like I want to.
Lucy closes her eyes and tilts her head to the side.
Her skin is on display like something that deserves to be appreciated.
I slowly lower my head and look back at Lucy for approval, but her eyes are shut as she waits for me.
Her hips grind against mine. I gently kiss her neck, and she lets out the faintest whimper that I can hear despite the music.
“More,” she says.
I move my lips down her neck and brush her dress strap so it hangs over her arm, giving me more to work with. I kiss her shoulder. There’s a spot behind her ear that I gently nip at, and she squeezes my arm.
“Marsh,” she breathes out.
She turns around so her back is now against my torso and she continues to move her body to the music.
Her hand reaches behind her and her fingers move through my hair.
I’m hard as a rock right now and she’s absolutely aware.
The way she uses her ass against my crotch, teasing me, giving me a preview of what would be happening if this was a different time and place, drives me insane.
The music then switches into something that causes the crowd to start jumping up and down. I’m suddenly snapped into sobriety, aware of what’s happening and what might happen if we continue. The deal was for things to never be physical. It defeats the entire basis of our arrangement.
I step back from Lucy and run a hand through my hair. Her head whips over to me, and she appears almost disoriented.
“I think we should call it a night,” I say.
Lucy’s brows knit, confusion written over her entire face. I hate myself right now. “What’s wrong?”
“This is a bad idea, Lucy.” The words feel like nails on a chalkboard.
“Aren’t you having fun?”
“I’m having a little too much fun.” I allude to the throbbing in my pants that’s thankfully dissipating. “And I think you know that.”
“It’s okay.” She smiles and takes a step toward me. Her hands go around my neck again, and I so badly want to believe it really is okay.
“It’s not.” I gently remove her hands from my neck. “We’re co-workers.”
“And we’re also adults,” she says.
“It would put both of our jobs at risk if anything happened,” I say. Maybe telling myself more than I’m telling her.
“I won’t tell anyone,” she says like that solves everything.
It fucking kills me because Lucy’s really in front of me right now, telling me she wants me.
She wants me and I don’t know why. I’m not right for her.
She can do eons better than someone like me.
On one hand, I want to go against my judgment and see how many times I can make Lucy scream my name.
But a bigger part of me knows what’s at stake.
“We can’t,” I say again. “I’m new to The Journal. It’s too risky, and Nadia’s counting on me,” I huff. “It wouldn’t be good for either of us…We need to stick to our arrangement.”
There’s a look of embarrassment, maybe even hurt, in Lucy’s eyes. I should say what I feel. I should tell her that I’ve never wanted anyone more than I do right now, but even telling her that feels dangerous.
“Do you understand?” I ask her.
“Yeah,” she says. “I understand.”