20. Charli
CHARLI
“Say it.”
“No way.” I laugh, glancing up at the guy I’ve decided is hot enough to spend a few hours with.
Matty—I think that’s what he said.
He’s funny, and he’s got a great smile.
We locked eyes within the first hour of him arriving, and I walked a beer over to him. We’re now three beers in and playfully arguing over who the best Superman is.
It’s Henry Cavill, by the way, but he’s trying to sell me on the latest one.
I can’t remember the actor’s name, and I will admit that he did a pretty decent job of my second favorite DC character—Wonder Woman is the best and always will be, and no one will ever be able to convince me otherwise—but the guy is no Henry Cavill.
That hot piece of awesomeness owned the role of the Man of Steel, and I will not say that I haven’t given the new guy a proper chance.
“I saw the movie. I will admit that it was entertaining, but he’s not Henry, and nothing you say can make me change my mind.”
He tips his head back with a groan, and I study his neck. He has a sexy neck… and chin… and square jawline, a dusting of whiskers covering each surface. You know, he’s kind of got a Superman look. I wonder if that’s why I’m drawn to him.
I smile when he glances back at me. We’re pretty close in height. He’s just a little taller than me, so it’s easy to look him in the eye, and I like that playful spark in those blue orbs.
This is gonna be a fun night.
“To superheroes.” I raise my Solo cup, ready to wrap up this debate and move on to something else.
“Whatever,” he mumbles with a grin, and we tap our cups together, then down the brew.
It’s a little warmer than I like and I’m about ready to get a cold refill, but before I do… he’s giving me some sexy eyes, and after our flirt-a-thon, I wouldn’t mind tasting those beer-stained lips.
“C’mere.” I fist his shirt and drag him toward me, sinking against his smile.
His tongue meets mine, swiping into my mouth and tasting delicious, so I move a step closer.
His arm wraps around my waist, strong and secure. This is fun. I love a good, flirty kiss. A little make-out sesh at a party is good for the body.
I occasionally take things further. I had the odd hookup last year, but I prefer kissing and a little petting, then walking away.
Sex kind of complicates things, and I’m pretty good at looking after myself in that department.
I don’t need a guy to be fumbling around down there.
Between me and my vibrator, we’ve got a good thing going, so I’m happy to keep things light at a party, but I really don’t need to take the sexy times any further than that.
Which is why I pull away from the kiss, smile at my party buddy, and ask, “Want another beer?”
“I want you more.” His voice is a husky growl, and he tugs me toward him, cupping the back of my head and kissing me again.
This one feels different—more aggressive, more demanding.
I go with it for a second, but it doesn’t take long to realize that I’ve just switched out of the driver’s seat, and I don’t know how comfortable I am letting him control the narrative here.
When his hand palms my ass and he thrusts his hard dick into my pelvis, I can tell that this guy is a hungry bear and wants way more than I’m willing to give tonight.
Bummer.
I was hoping to spend the party hanging out with him.
But now…
Grabbing his wrist, I pull it off my butt cheek and lean away from the kiss.
“I was just after a few hot kisses here, buddy. I’m not about to spread eagle. I barely know you.”
“Come on. You’ve been leading me on all night. You know you want this.”
“Actually… I just wanted to play a little tongue twister. Can’t a kiss just be a kiss?”
His face puckers into a confused frown and he shakes his head with a snicker, reaching for my ass again.
“Uh… no.” I step back, pushing on his chest. “I’m serious. I just wanted to make out with you, not jump your bones.”
“Yeah right. You’ve been in heat since the second we locked eyes.”
Oh, he did not just say that.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Excuse me?”
“You brought me a beer, we’ve been flirting for the last couple of hours, and then you kissed me. Now you’re saying you don’t want it?”
I let out a harsh laugh and cross my arms. “I wanted a kiss. I was more than happy to make out with you, but that doesn’t mean we have to end up screwing in some upstairs bedroom.”
“So, you’re a dick tease, then.” He flicks his hand at me. “Typical girl. Putting out all the signals, then pulling back when it actually matters.”
Okay, this guy is starting to piss me off.
I am not some typical girl—whatever the fuck that means.
Does he have some fucked-up notion that a girl who smiles, flirts, and plays nice is automatically gagging for it?
Since when did one kiss have to turn into sex?
For fuck’s sake, can’t people just make out anymore?