Your Biggest Fan

33. NOAH

Chapter thirty-three

Everyone’s jumping, grinding, breathing. Living .

Every misfit in here looks wired to explode, flinging themselves to the beat. The music’s cranked up so loud that the bassline throbs through the soles of my Chucks and sets my heart to the same manic rhythm. The energy in this place is a contact high you can get from breathing the same air, making you feel alive from watching hands dancing in the clove smoke alone.

For a blink I watch the neon outlines of the thrashing bodies on the dance floor bounce around right as the MC switches to Enjoy The Silence .

My hand wraps around Roxanne’s wrist then, fingers burning at the touch of skin, impatiently dragging her away from the bar when she doesn’t immediately walk with me.

“What are we doing?” she yells out above the music, letting me guide her to the dance floor.

“Exactly what it looks like,” I shout back, pulling her close to me to shield her from anyone running by. “Dancing.”

Wedging us into a pocket big enough for two, I take a step back but still keep her close as the beat drops, swaying close but never touching. She seems too nervous to say anything as she’s trapped between me and the other dancers, but after some contemplative moments her body starts to loosen up, slowly flowing with mine.

I can’t be entirely sure if Roxanne’s actually enjoying herself, but the dimple starting to deepen on her right cheek tells me otherwise. I know all she wants to do is stand back on the sidelines and take it all in, but not tonight.

I want her to feel like the most beautiful girl in the room.

“Don’t think too hard,” I tell her with that small smile always ready to go on the back burner. “Feel the music and move the way you want to.”

The neon light picks up the sheen of sweat on her pale throat as she finds the rhythm, and I spin her around to face away from me, thinking that maybe her not having an audience would be the best way to combat her shyness. And to keep my dick in check tonight.

Her outfit is already killing me and facing her would be too much temptation for my hands.

I pull a cigarette out of the pack in my back pocket and light it, clouding us both in smoke as I tip my chin up to the air and dance near her. My hand hovers over her hips, not quite touching her but letting her feel the warmth. My presence.

The smoke washes down us, then her body unwinds as she realizes no one is going to judge her for the way she feels like moving. Her eyes slip shut and her head falls back, dark strands tumbling down her spine.

It’s no surprise dancing doesn’t seem to be difficult for Roxanne. If you love music deeply enough, your body can’t help but respond. She just needed permission to let it out. A matter of not giving a shit what people think about how you move to it.

I can see just that reflected in her smile—pure, carefree joy. It’s adorable.

Though this isn’t particularly easy for me. Having her head brushing against my neck, feeling each time her hip touches my hand. The way her back arches, coming within a hair’s breadth of pressing up against my chest… Agony. Sweet, sweet agony.

Except, that’s a dirty lie. I’m in heaven. Pure fucking heaven.

Until she tips her head further back and our eyes meet upside-down.

Then it’s heavenly hell.

My breath stills somewhere around my Adam’s apple as I stare down into the mouth of a forest. Her eyes shine back at me like the sun peeking through the trees, and I’m instantly lost in the green glade of her gaze. Her eyes are a whole goddamn ecosystem—wild and untamed, and they fill me with a feeling I can never quite articulate.

It’s a feeling of need, certainly, but something more. She keeps pulling me in deeper and deeper, into emerald pools of sweet confusion and delirium as we mesh closer together.

The sweat dripping onto our skin creates a sticky layer that somehow makes her body glide against mine more. My eyes never leave the side of her too fucking gorgeous, porcelain face.

My thumb starts to move, brushing slowly up and down the knobs of her spine. Through the thin, damp fabric I can feel each ridge and valley. I draw loopy patterns across her shoulder, dizzy patterns to match the way she unleashes things inside my head.

She finds it all too easy to fall into step with the crowd while turning me into a caged beast, swaying around and moving her arms through the air the way she did when I found her in the garage putting on a little show. Only this one is amplified and I’m allowed to watch.

My eyes are greedy bastards, tracing over the skin exposed by her cropped shirt, the wing-like blades of her shoulders, the hollow at the base of her throat, the dip of her lower back. Each glimpse winds me tighter until I swear I’ll rupture from the fucking pressure.

Roxanne shifts back, leaning into my space, and every damn neuron in my body is alert and buzzing from the mere burning warmth of her. From my damned hands being so close to her—to her shoulders, her waist, her back, and pretty much every other organ tucked between.

When her ass molds into the shape of my jeans, her back leaning into my pounding chest, I snap. All my good intentions, all my self-control—goodbye.

I can’t remember what I’m supposed to be doing with her anymore. I don’t know what she’s playing tonight, but if she’s intent on tormenting me, I want to take what she’s offering. Even if I shouldn’t.

Lord, stop me.

I inhale a deep drag of my cigarette, all the heat in my bones pouring through my blood, warming it as it travels through my veins and sends my heart throbbing down to my fingers as I reach around to rest my palm against her neck, tipping her head back.

Her large pupils reflect the red neon lights, an eclipsed sun in a forest now, as I slip the cigarette between her parted lips.

Dark hair tumbles over my knuckles as she takes over, cheeks hollowing around the filter, and our gazes stay locked as she blows a stream of smoke slowly upward, those eyelids of hers looking so fucking heavy. So drowsy .

And, my god, I can’t look away.

When she passes the cigarette back between her two fingers, I catch it between my teeth. The pads of my fingertips trace down the soft skin of her throat, the two beauty marks visible down low on her breast, and the tight skin of her nipple I feel through her bra. Her sweat-misted skin warms under my hand as it slides lower to splay across her stomach, my thumb tucking under the knot of her shit.

The bassline punches its way through every thought, ripping them up until everything else disappears, leaving only the music and Roxanne in front of me.

My hands start to tingle, and the feeling branches out as my palm flexes against her belly. Roxanne is giggling in front of me, shimmering, dancing, and smiling, and I start to smile around the cigarette, too.

I’m so engrossed, not even in dancing anymore, but in feeling. I want to feel something besides my own bitterness that I’ve carried around lately, that I let both my hands fall to her waist until they move lower, lightly dipping my thumbs underneath the belt of her skirt.

I’m pushing my luck, I know it. I expect her to jerk forward and slap me away, but she merely tosses me a look over one of her shoulders.

My eyes find beautiful green so quickly. Christ. That secret smile turning up her lips verges on wickedness. Or maybe it looks that way to my needy-soaked brain.

“What?” I ask roughly, though it’s softened by the grin tugging at my lips.

She gives me a too innocent blink, still swaying within the bracket of my arms. “Nothing…”

But then she grinds back on me ever so slightly. It’s the fact that it’s subtle enough to give her plausible deniability that makes this all the more maddening. Is she doing this on purpose?

My dick swells thinking about her doing it again. The thought of what pastry she smells like today—if it would taste the same way as it smells on her skin.

It could be an accident, is what I tell myself to calm my ass down.

Fuck it. I give up on being subtle. My hands slide further up her shirt, feeling every drop of sweat.

Her head tips back against my shoulder, and my hand tightens at her waist. I lean down, careful not to burn her with the cig, my nose just barely grazing the skin of her neck. “Nothing, you say? I could believe it. Except I don’t.”

My eyes pointedly flick down to the barely-three inch space between us, and I suffer as her hips press against me again.

“Are you saying that I’m lying?” The way she looks up at me through long lashes and bites back a cheeky grin that spells my sweet undoing… she’s killing me. Fucking killing me.

“Perhaps not lying. But certainly being dishonest.” I take another drag of the cigarette dangling from my mouth, sweeping the flat of my palm slowly up her side. “I know what you are up to.”

She giggles, looking up at the ceiling. “And what am I up to?”

“You know what you’re up to.”

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about,” she lies, giving me some attitude this time.

Bull . She starts moving her body even more, grinding up hard against me now, her hand sliding up and down mine on her hip and leaving little fingertip caresses along my forearms.

She’s having too much fun, messing with me— testing me. Testing boundaries on purpose, seeing how much she can wind me up before I snap. Playing with fire to tempt me into burning us both.

What the fuck am I doing here? I should’ve let her friends tag along instead of playing white knight. Now I’m trapped, letting her grind up on me while my jeans get tight. This whole night was a disaster waiting to happen, and I walked right into it with my eyes wide open.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Why is it that I’d be willing to do anything with any random girl, but I’m afraid to act on the most basic need with her? It doesn’t make sense. Any guy would be thrilled to have a girl this hot rubbing against his junk.

But she isn’t just any girl .

But I am just any boy to her.

Any random, convenient body in this dark club as far as she’s concerned.

“Fuck,” I mutter, the word lost in the music that drowns out everything but the sick feeling in my gut that I’m experiencing for the first time in my life. One born from being tired of being used by girls to get what they want and dads who need a way to release a rage against the things they can’t have.

I want to deny her—want to tell her that what she needs from me isn’t what I want to give. But that’s not even fucking true, is it?

I do want to give her this, and her body is sending me messages to do the same.

But I fucking can’t .

I’d only be hurting myself here by letting this happen. Which is why I need to bring myself to put a stop to it. I need to take a page from my old book, from the one I’m trying to show her, to find some random chick at the bar, get my itch scratched, no strings attached. Get this fucking roar of lust out of my system once and for all. It’s not like I’ve gotten much action lately.

Even entertaining that thought makes my skin crawl, because I know no one else will satisfy it. I don’t want anyone else. For better or worse, I’m strung out on her. And I can’t resist dancing with the she-devil herself.

Roxanne Wishmore, that girl. The real temptation with her was never about sex. It was about how dangerously easy it would be to fall into this girl if I let her get under my skin until I couldn’t tell where I ended and she began.

There’s only one way out of this mess—I need to make her burn for me as badly.

The song draws to a close, leaving us standing in the middle of the room, facing one another. I need some water and to adjust myself in my damn pants, but before I excuse myself, I put my lips so very close to her ear and whisper: “You, Roxanne Wishmore, have issued me one delicious challenge.”

Her breath catches, and I see her throat work as she swallows hard. “What does that mean?”

I let her draw her own conclusions as I hold up a finger, point to the bar, and retreat by myself to regroup.

She seems pissed by my departure, but fuck if it doesn’t feel good to punish her by withdrawing myself. The high fades fast knowing no matter how much she grinds on me or bats those eyes, the flame in her heart might never burn for me the way mine does.

I contemplate how to learn resistance as I stab my dead cigarette into the overflowing ashtray at the bar. A Michael Jackson song kicks in, and I figure letting her dance solo for a while might cool things down. Going back out there now while feeling like this would be a real fucking bad idea for me.

Add to my downfall: Roxanne Wishmore knows how to dance.

It alarms me how quickly I could fall into permanent addiction—how fast I could lose myself chasing her smiles, her laughs, her light. I don’t want to resist anymore. I want to give in to the pull she has on me. If it means she has to make me grind with her and spin her around and put my hands all over her, then I'll do it.

She’s not here for you though.

My shoulders sag. Fuck. Even my brain is a party pooper.

I watch her dance from over my shoulder in the crowd by herself—untouchable. Roxanne is certainly no Valley girl with large hoops and cable knit sweaters like most around here, but she holds herself up with this air of attitude I’ve always found really fucking attractive. An unattainable kind of hot that’s no good for my health.

The music starts to pick up when I turn back to grab my water from the bar, only to come face-to-face with a ghost from my past.

Jessica’s peachy smirk is a loaded gun, and I’m squarely in her sights as she leans against the bartop right beside me.

“Noah.”

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.

Shit . I start clutching at the plastic cup full of ice water. “Jess.”

It has been months since I’d last seen her, since the blowout with Ian at the end of the summer that got me kicked out of the band. The last time we’d even been together was a drunken hookup after a summer show.

She moves closer, the spicy scent of her perfume soaking up the bar smell. I stiffen as she places a hand on my shoulder, white nails stark against my red jacket.

“Didn’t expect to see you here. Thought you’d given up the scene.” She tilts her head as she assesses me up and down. Her long brown hair falls over one shoulder, impossibly shiny under the bar lights. Everything about her seems designed to hold your attention like she was made in a factory—the curve of her hips, the plunge of her top, the feline eyes rimmed in smoky shadow.

Once upon a time, it had worked on me too. Not anymore.

“Yeah, I’m showing a friend around,” I mutter into my cup. Four months ago might as well be another fucking lifetime.

Jessica’s pout at my indifference is brief, quickly replaced by a raised eyebrow. “I heard you’ve got a new band now.”

“Yeah, I do.” I keep it short, not wanting to feed her curiosity but not willing to be a total dick.

“You haven’t played a show around town yet, have you?” She pushes her hair over her shoulders, straightening up her posture to try to show off her collarbones.

I’m not dumb. This is her trying to get me to want her.

“Nope.” My tone doesn’t change from my previous answers. “I don’t know why we haven’t, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

Jessica nods slowly, lifting a finger to trace down my chest. “Let me know when you book something. I’ll come drop by, for old times sake.”

At the mention of the band, I’d focused past the bodies dancing and blocked everyone out of my field of vision. Standing in the center of the dance floor among the sweaty, slick moving bodies, Roxanne has her hands in the air, body rolling.

Our eyes lock onto each other.

In my periphery, I’m vaguely aware of Jessica’s head turning, following my line of sight and no doubt zeroing in on Roxanne. My cheeks burn even in the darkness from their combined stares.

Busted .

Not that I’ve done anything wrong. So why does the situation make me feel three inches small?

From my left, Jessica whispers something in my ear, tracing her finger down the chain of my necklace, but her words are just noise. All I see is an emotion that passes over Roxanne’s face. Her eyes are fixed on us, brows drawn together, and her movements slow until she’s at a standstill in the crowd.

She looks… in pain. It’s not quite a scowl, but not quite a frown, either. Is she pissed at me?

Jessica’s fingers tug at my chain, and my dumbass finally starts to realize how this has to look from Roxanne's perspective—an intimate chat with an ex. She has no context for who Jessica is or was to me. For all Roxanne knows, I’m chatting up another girl right in front of her and about to ditch her and leave her alone here.

My chest warms even as guilt rolls down my back. Because unless I’m wildly mistaken, that emotion flashing across Roxanne’s face right now is distinctive and so incredibly fucking interesting.

Jealousy.

Roxanne Wishmore is jealous.

Since I’m a smug bastard, I don’t bother hiding my little slow smile. This reaction means somewhere deep down, beneath the banter and heat of the dance floor, she feels that same deeper pull between us that’s been killing me. There’s no getting wrong the stormy look in those green eyes for anything else. I’ve seen it staring back at me in the mirror every goddamn day.

There’s a chance I’m giving myself too much credit here, but the irritation as she watches Jessica trace her nails over my shirt feels extremely validating. I matter enough for Roxanne to be bothered by another girl all up in my business.

Watching cold, ruthless Roxanne—the girl who looks so pretty wet and in a flannel—come unglued with envy at another girl touching me makes me feel ten feet fucking tall.

Holy shit, does that knowledge go straight to my head, never mind other parts of my anatomy. This little green-eyed monster on display changes everything between us. And I plan to explore that to the fullest.

Jessica’s hand drifts lower, thinking my grin is all for her. Roxanne’s eyes stay on the movement like a hawk, but I catch Jessica’s wrist before she reaches her destination. I ease her off gently—our history’s too messy for me to be a complete asshole, but I don’t owe her anything more than basic decency at this point.

Before I can make any kind of move, Roxanne abruptly turns and heads to the back corner of the club. The set of her shoulders are high and tight with hurt and frustration.

My stomach plummets to my feet. Fuck.

“I’ll let you know.” My voice stays mild before I meet Jessica’s gaze squarely this time. “See you around.”

I’m already pushing off from the bar before the last word comes out, carving a path through the packed club, keeping Roxanne's retreating figure in sight. She's shoving through people quick, moving towards the back graffiti and sticker covered stairs, dashing up it.

Right now I need to catch up to her before she bolts for good. I force my way through the crowd, shouldering past a couple with locked lips, probably scaring the shit out of half the club as I take those stairs three at a time. My lungs are burning, but I don’t slow down.

Finally, I emerge onto the upstairs landing, chest heaving. At the end of the hallway Roxanne’s bolting toward the back door under the glowing EXIT sign.

“What are you doing?” The words rip from my throat, raw and deep, as I stomp closer, and Roxanne jumps. She turns to face me, glare lethal enough to skewer me where I stand, arms bulging the tighter she crosses her arms.

“I’m leaving.”

I close the distance between us in a few long strides. “Like hell you are.”

“Uh, yes I am. You literally can’t make me stay.”

“That’s too bad.” My voice almost comes out as a growl as I look at her prickly form up and down. I know what she wants now—she’s begging me to push her, provoke her.

Happy to oblige .

“Are you going to walk the fifty miles home?”

“I’ll find a taxi.”

“A taxi that’s going to drive you that far?”

“Yes!” she hisses.

“What was it, Roxanne? I was talking too much with an ex? Is that something we can’t do any more? Is that off-limits?”

“Oh please, Noah.” She tosses her hair, chin at a haughty angle. “I don’t care what you do.”

She does care, though she’d rather chew glass than confess it.

She is so fucking stubborn.

“You don’t care if I’m talking to Jessica? That’s good to know, because I thought that might’ve been what all of this was about.” I pause, and when she says nothing my mouth twitches. “Or was it more about what I was doing to Jessica? You didn’t like that, did you?”

Roxanne presses her lips into a thin line, refusing to take the bait I’m dangling right in front of her face.

So fucking stubborn.

I step closer, she takes a step back.

I lean nearer, she averts her face.

“I was giving her a little bit of my attention, was I not? Is that why you’re upset?”

At that she laughs sharply, green eyes snapping to mine. “Don’t flatter yourself, big guy.”

She makes to storm off again, but I’m faster. I catch her arm, spinning her back around. We stand chest to chest, both breathing hard. My voice drops to a husky taunt meant for this hallway alone.

“Say it doesn’t drive you crazy, imagining her claws all over what you think belongs to you.” I cover her hand that’s fisted in my shirt trying to push me back, stroking my thumb across her knuckles. “I dare you.”

“You are delusional,” she grits out.

My thumb continues tracing circles over her clenched fist. “Am I? Then why are your nails about to shred my shirt if I don’t stop touching you?”

“I don’t know where you get these ideas and I’m leaving now.”

She wrenches free, eyes sparking green fire, and makes another break for the EXIT.

Only I don’t let her. Again.

I lunge forward and wrap my arm around her waist, slamming my back into the girl’s bathroom on the right side of the hall and walk backward until I shove us into an empty stall. I drop her, spin her around, and press her up against the partition, my hands curling over on each side of her head as I stare into the eyes that have been staring into mine the entire night.

It burns to look into them, but it burns so damn good that I have to suppress a groan.

I slide down so my chin is even with hers. I don’t look away. I’m willing to risk the rejection if I can finally fucking feel something more than this aching. My chest demands resolution, but her shocked stare is the only response I’m getting, and my stomach tightens into knots.

She needs to do something. She needs to reject me, or accept me.

Either way, she needs to act, or I’m going to go crazy.

“You don’t like me giving any other girls my attention.” I run a finger through that shiny, soft hair, feeling the slide of it against my fingertips before my hand finds its spot next to the side of her head again. “You want all of it to yourself.”

A visible shiver wracks her slight frame. For one suspended moment I think she’ll break. Then she plants both hands on my chest and shoves hard, only succeeding in pressing herself further against the wall.

“What are you talking about? I don’t care about other girls, you can have the whole damn school.”

“Don’t pretend that you wouldn’t care if I was in bed with them all right now,” I whisper-hiss, taking her chin gently as her face goes red. “You want my attention. You want my love. You want me . Don’t you?”

She reaches up and grabs my wrist. “Shut up—”

“Why? Because I’m making you nervous?”

“I’m not nervous!”

“Because it’s true, then?”

“It’s not true!”

“That feeling you feel when you look at me, I can see it all over you. That’s because you know that I want you.” A burning sensation starts to form within my stomach as I stare at her pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. “Because you know I want to kiss you until your brain snaps.”

“Then do it then!”

The muscle in my arm spasms and it takes me a full second to register that she said that.

Looking down, I have to blink a few times to reset my brain as our eyes meet, and I know I only have one chance to make this count.

And boy, was I not about to fucking waste it.

In one smooth motion, I lean towards her, cupping her face in both of my hands as my lips find hers. The second they meet, it’s as though I’ve found the fountain of youth itself and my heart skips a beat while my entire body tenses.

It’s heaven. It’s hell. It’s everything in between.

It’s us .

As I lose myself in the taste of her, in the feel of her body pressed against mine, in the little noises she makes in the back of her throat, I know one thing for certain.

She’s mine, and I’m hers. And God help anyone who tries to change that.

It’s animalistic. The way my lips and tongue work to explore every part of her mouth, gripping the sides of her face like she’s a fragile vase yet like I’m about to rip her head off from pure fucking need at the same time. Her breath is the taste of nectar and now I understand why Eve ate the apple in the garden.

Fuck resistance.

She’s my garden of Eden, and I want to eat her over and over again.

“Don’t act like you didn’t watch as she grabbed my arm,” I whisper softly against her lips, pulling my thumb against her chin to keep her mouth spread open for me.

The air seems to burn a hole straight through both of our bodies as our breath mingles, hovering over one another, and her tongue rests against her teeth aching for me to taste her.

“You watch as girls fall for me because you can’t stand the fact that you want me more than you’ve wanted anyone before.” I move my thumb to her bottom lip, smiling as she tries to tilt it into her mouth. “I notice the way you look at me, and you hate that you can’t take your eyes off of me—even when I’m not looking. You won't do a damn thing about it because you can't bring yourself to ask for what you really want.”

She scrambles to reach up for more of me, and all that’s in my head is how much I love being six feet tall right now. Her tiny hands are useless, clawing at my sleeves and pulling her up on her tiptoes to reach a spot she’ll never quite be able to manage. Trying to get any extra inch she can get.

“And deep down inside, you can’t stand the fact that I’ve never really wanted anyone as much as you.” I back her up against the wall again, my other hand dropping to her thigh, gripping it tightly. “Do you feel this? Me touching you? It’s not anyone else’s leg, is it?”

She lets out a soft, needy moan as I squeeze her lip between my fingers, tugging it back before letting it snap free, making all those pretty sounds I fantasized about.

That thrill she got just now? That’s only a fraction of what I have reserved for her.

“Keep looking at me like that, Roxanne, and don’t you dare look away. Take in all of me, because I am taking you in. All of you. Piece by fucking piece.”

Our lips crash together like a storm, one she’s not running away from because she kisses me back with such a desperate and painful craving, pulling me into her with a strength that’s hard enough to bruise my ribs, back, and shoulder. She kisses me like she has absolutely nothing else to lose, and it sweeps me away into a cloud of sensation as my brain turns to mush.

I keep pushing my body against hers, unable to think anything at all as I continue to kiss her like I’ve never been kissed in my life, my mind going blank.

The music around us is just more background noise.

“Wait—” she blurts out fast, and I pull back instantly. She looks away from my eyes, her whole body trembling. “This is a lot right now.”

“Why?” I ask, worried I've already managed to mess something up here. “Are you scared of what this means? What I feel for you?”

Is she afraid to let herself feel this much?

Her response comes in a laugh that has her shaking her head. “What was it you said earlier? Maybe I want you to be the one begging for more.”

So. Fucking. Stubborn.

My heart throbs along to the distorted bass notes pulsing from outside the room. The bathroom lights flicker and buzz, casting a green glow across the graffiti-tagged walls of the stall we’re crammed inside. The sharpie fumes mingle with her sweet perfume and the melon booze on our breath while she holds my stare, eyes dark and daring, letting me know she’s no wallflower shrinking away from me.

This girl came to play.

“Wow. We’re both just playing games then, aren’t we?” I whisper-laugh.

She twists her dark lips to the side, walking her fingers up my shirt. “Who will crack first?”

“Trust me, I’ve been dying for more ever since that first taste. It has been driving me insane how I have not even thought about anything other than you for so long. Anywhere I am, I think about you being on top of me, in my lap, under my arm—you make me fucking crave you, Roxanne. You make me feel things in my body only you can fix.” My lips trace a line down her temple, fingers tightening against her hips. “I haven’t stopped wanting it ever since. And I can show you that, but you have to say the words.”

One of her fingers loops into the chain around my neck, pulling me forward as the stall vibrates from the music. “I think I can hold out a while. A long while.”

“Can you now?” I take a handful of her skirt and pull it slowly up, my fingertips brushing against her outer thighs before I pull it right back down. “How long do you think you can hold out?”

Even though she has her rebel chick act together, she looks up at me with those big, dark-lined eyes shining with want. “Longer than you.”

“My dear Roxanne… I can last all night.”

“Well, then let’s see it.” She tugs me closer, her lips so close to mine that I can taste the nectar of her breath again. “Unless you already want to kiss me again.”

Her reaction does not go unnoticed. I see her breath catch in her throat as she waits for me to make the next move. And I do.

But not how she would like.

I pull back slightly, eyes meeting hers for a quick moment.

“Tell me you want me to,” I whisper, making her watch as my gaze moves from those smudged brown-lipsticked lips to her eyes and back again. “Tell me you want it, and I’ll give it to you.”

She bites down on her cheek for a second. “If I did, would you actually kiss me then?”

“Maybe I would. Maybe I’d need you to try harder.”

“Maybe?” Roxanne pulls my shirt out from inside my pants, running her hands up my stomach, my muscles tightening under her fingertips. “And now?”

Her panting breath warms my neck, like hot, wet silk with her nose nudging up and brushing the beating pulse beneath my jaw.

I need this girl so fucking bad. Now. More than ever.

And her nails? Oh shit , I can feel those too.

My chest rises in quick breaths and I grip onto the partition on both sides of her head so hard the metal creaks under the pressure. “You and I both know this is going to be more than a kiss.”

“Is that so bad if it is?”

I can’t hold back a whispered groan, eyes not breaking from her face. “You tell me.”

She meets my stare unflinchingly, equally knowing we’re about to cross this line. “Tell you what?”

“What you want.”

Three months ago Roxanne Wishmore told me to stop being nice. To not touch her. If she wants to be touched, she has to tell me. I’ll be damned if I never get those sweet words out of her mouth.

But when she folds her lips behind her pearly whites, then drops her hands from my chest to fiddle with that chain around her neck—her nervous tell—I know I have to act now to keep her from pulling away. This is about more than just me.

I gently grasp her wrist and guide it down, sliding my fingertips along the thin chain of her necklace until it rests right where it belongs. “Want me to tell you what I want instead?”

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she seems to debate her next move. My heart pounds erratically until, finally, when she looks up at me from underneath thick lashes and whispers, “Yes,” the inferno inside me is unleashed.

“Is it okay if I touch your body?”

She makes a surprised gasp sound. Her mouth is widening with the epiphany that I want to touch her right here and right fucking now . When she nods at me, a slight, small thing, my knees hit the floor like the heaviest fucking anchor that could hit the bottom of the ocean floor.

“What are you doing—?”

“Can I pull this up?” My hands vibrate with barely restrained tension, surrender, and a pinch of ‘is this really happening?’ as I slide my thumbs underneath the hem of her skirt, wanting to find her now.

Fuck, she already feels incredible. The things I want to do to this beautiful woman at my knees, I don’t think I can put into words.

A subtle swallow from above, her green light, and I bunch the fabric in my fists, gradually pulling it up until a glimpse of her crimson cotton panties are revealed. My forehead falls to her stomach, inhaling deeply as I fight with myself to keep my hands at bay.

Her thighs—damn, those fucking thighs. I want to bite. To squeeze.

“You wearing these ones for me?” I ask, feeling her tremble so close to my mouth. “I think you know this is my favorite color.”

“Like you’re so important that I thought about you when picking out my underwear this morning,” she sasses me. “As if—”

“As if what?” I grit out as I wait for her to finish the sentence, waiting for her to reveal exactly how little she thinks about me.

“As if I care enough to pick my underwear with you in mind.”

My throat rumbles with a groan when I tug her skirt all the way up to shut her up until it’s bunched around her hips. The damp spot on her panties tells me she’s certainly thinking about me now, and my hands slide down to grip the backs of her thighs while my head presses against her stomach in disbelief.

Two more times for good measure to make sure this isn’t some wild dream.

“I want you, Roxanne Wishmore,” I breathe out, the heat of my words spreading across her skin. “I want you. More than my next breath. First priority.”

A pause, my fingers digging into her, thumbs teasing those little open holes in her tights that hug her inner thighs.

“Whatever game we’re playing, you win because look at what you’re doing to me. I’m on my knees. I’m fucking begging.”

I can hear her shitty little smile when she knew she won. “I knew one of us would be.”

Fine, I’ll let her have that. The first brush of my fingers against her cute little tights and red panties has her arching, crying out, making me the real victorious one here.

With my other hand, I keep her steady, dragging a knuckle through drenched cotton, pressing firmer and firmer the closer I get toward her clit.

I rise up, chest heaving as I draw in ragged breaths, holding on to the edge of the stall for dear fucking life while I slide my other hand up her leg, tracing a path from the top of her knee to her waist. Pressing my forehead against hers, I keep her eyes on mine as my fingers find the band of her tights, my hand spasming on her hip, a good tight squeeze.

My index finger ventures beneath the mesh fabric, jittery as it slips around to the front and starts to inch inside, pushing past the top of her underwear.

My heart? It’s in full-blown jackhammer mode, so fucking ready for the relief of it all. So ready to feel her warmth and every one of her nerves wrapped tight around me.

So ready to take her to the ends of the earth.

I know she’s going to be dripping, warm and soaked, all because I made her that way.

Me.

And I can’t wait to find out.

She raises her arms, every muscle taut and gripping at the back of my upper arms as soon as my center digit touches her. Her hot breath, hot and sweet, dances between us while my eyes drink in the beautiful vision that is Roxanne fucking Wishmore here with me. Pressed against a bathroom stall only for me.

Her hair's a mess, her skirt is hiked up around her hips. One shoulder's exposed where her top's slipped down, and her eyes—god, her eyes are squeezed shut, waiting for my touch. For me .

Pretty sure this is the last thing I’ll ever see before I die and get sent off to heaven. The last sound I hear will be her soft and girly little giggle from her pretty little lips.

The air in the bathroom gets replaced only by the heat radiating from her body and the sweet cinnamon smell of her perfume as she stands here and waits for it.

For me .

“I don’t care what happens to me,” I whisper once my finger reaches her, sliding past to gather her arousal that’s all there only for me, and I inhale a deep breath that makes my lungs fucking ache from it all as I bite my lip until the taste of blood bursts through. “I just want to touch you until you feel good. And I want you to tell me when it does.”