Chapter Eighteen #2
“Ahh, but the fun is just about to begin. I want to hear more about you, Jules. So how about you stick around and we all have some drinks and a little fun?” He rubs his hands together knowingly and walks away without giving me a chance to respond.
Looks like I’m staying a bit longer, then.
Toby gets to work pulling chairs from the now vacant tables and shouting orders across the room– “Trix, push that table over, and put on some music that will loosen ‘our Jules up a little.” She complies, pulling over the square table and settling it beside another, before making her way to the jukebox.
Toby turns to Zander, who is busy loading the dishwasher, “Zander, drinks?”
“On it, boss.” I watch Zander with curiosity as he pulls shot glasses from under the bar, lining them up before filling them with a clear liquid in one smooth sweep of the bottle.
He moves on swiftly, cutting up wedges of fresh lime all whilst holding my gaze with confidence– I, however, wince every time the knife hits the chopping board, not allowing my eyes to slip and check for a fingertip or two.
“Ohhh tequila, good choice,” Trixie slides up next to Zander behind the bar, circling her arms around his waist and pressing into his side.
“Yeah? You seemed to like it last time.”
“Mhhm,” is all she replies, taking a wedge of lime and wrapping her lips around the rind, sucking the juice from the flesh.
My drink-fogged mind just stares. There’s no clear thoughts, just an uneasy feeling brewing somewhere inside.
One that allows me to narrow in on the little things– like an alcohol induced Spidey-sense.
My eyes track the way Zander’s grip on the knife tightens, the skin pulling taught across his knuckles when Trixie’s hand slides along his waist. The tension in his jaw is tight, and the fire burning in his pupils flares when a single drop of juice rolls from her bottom lip, slowly following the curve of her chin.
He shows zero hesitation as he lowers his head and swipes his tongue up the track of moisture, before taking her bottom lip between his teeth and lightly nibbling.
As if he remembers I still exist, he flicks his gaze up, and with a devilishly wicked smirk, he pulls his head back, Trixie’s lip sliding from between his teeth as she hisses at the sting.
I tear my eyes from Zander to watch Trixie. I imagine myself standing where he is now; how her skin would taste against my tongue, how the pressure of her full breasts against my flat chest would feel, how those tiny hands would struggle to wrap around my own arms and not his.
Zander shifts, burying his face between her neck and shoulder, squeezing and kneading at her behind with his long fingers. Fingers that would easily wrap around my arms.
The thought gains traction without permission, and suddenly, my mind shifts from standing in his position to standing in his possession.
I can feel the sting of each blood vessel popping as he sucks and nips at my neck.
I can smell the sweet tang to the saliva he leaves in his wake.
I can sense the pressure of his palms rolling against my behind as he kneads and squeezes rhythmically.
The thoughts, along with the alcohol swimming through my bloodstream, make me feel alive, alert, and determined to chase the high– to find a cure to the ache weighing heavily in my stomach.
It’s like a fire has been lit, and every nerve ending is craving stimulation.
Toby slides up behind me, the light brush of his body against my already hypersensitive skin causes a whimper to slip past my lips.
“They look good together, don’t they?” His voice is right beside my ear, breath sticky and warm. “But which one are you looking at, Jules?”
I let my body take control, not correcting myself when I sink back slightly, increasing the pressure between my back and his chest.
“Do you like it? Watching him?” He rasps, his hands finding my hips and squeezing.
I can’t answer, I can’t give a voice to the images playing like a reel through my mind.
Not because I’m ashamed or embarrassed, but because it would cost too much.
“He doesn’t know, does he?” He presses into me now, harder.
The proximity feels nice, satisfying almost. “I can help, if you want?” The feel of his rough hands against my bare skin is almost too much.
I’m coiled so tight that when his fingers dip under the waistband of my jeans, my whole body shudders in anticipation.
I’m aware my breaths are coming out in short, sharp bursts– something that would usually worry me.
But at this moment, I recognise it to be the same reaction Trixie had to Zander.
Knowing he would make someone else feel this way is enough to ease my worries; I trust him, even if it’s not his hands close to breaching my boxer shorts.
I can feel my body slowly releasing the nerves of being touched for the first time, as my mind swarms with pictures of his mouth, his hands, his tongue.
It’s wrong, I know it, but I’ve never felt so right in my own skin.
Something has shifted– matured almost, and I can’t say that I want it to stop.
I’d like to blame the alcohol, but my sobriety doesn’t recognise boundaries, either.
The fact that I’m not picturing Trixie isn’t concerning me; I’ve known for a while that women just don’t do anything for me.
I’m not repulsed by them, don’t get me wrong, I just don’t see myself lying next to them in bed, I don’t see myself lying next to anyone but him.
So, I close my eyes and let my mind wander, because that’s all I can do, while using the sensation of Toby’s hands on my skin like a sensory experiment.
The scariest part of this whole evening is that I don’t know how I’m supposed to switch off these feelings. I don’t know how to look at him without seeing a future in which it’s me under his touch. I don’t know if I can be selfish enough to tell him, either.