Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Naomi
The red glow of the exit sign is enough light to see him follow as I look back over my shoulder.
My stomach flutters, and sheer excitement courses through my veins.
Who do I think I am right now? I’ve never put myself in a situation where this would be on the table.
My sisters? Probably. My mother? Most definitely.
I didn’t wake up this morning and think to myself, I’m going to hook up with a stranger at the bar today.
I’ve absolutely fantasized about all the ways I could enjoy the man looking at me as he grabs my hand, stopping my steps.
I just haven’t considered it becoming a reality, never mind seeing him again.
He steps closer, and I catch the faintest smell of mint and something masculine and warm as his body presses against mine.
It sends a shiver through me that shuts off any further internal questioning. I want this.
“What did you want to show me?” he asks, leaning in, his words vibrating along my skin as one of his hands moves to my hip.
“I lied,” I say, taking two steps back.
Eyebrow quirking slightly, he takes one step forward.
“I don’t think I mind,” he says with a smirk as he continues to slowly follow me.
Why does his height make him even sexier?
“Tell me something that isn’t a lie then,” he says as I move back a few more steps.
“I searched for you,” I confess. My back hits the wall next to the exit, and the coolness from the door’s draft seeps into my skin. “I searched your name to see who you are and find out more about . . . you and what you do.”
“You must have liked what you found, considering you didn’t tell me to get lost when you saw me tonight,” he says, seemingly amused by this.
“It’s impressive—your art, the things you’ve made, what you’ve accomplished. No social media. Plenty of pictures of you at events and red carpets with models and a few celebrities.”
“Clients. All the pictures you likely found were of people who paid me for my work,” he says, like he doesn’t want me to get the wrong idea.
Lifting his hand, his fingers cuff the dark strands of my hair behind my ear and then linger as they move down to the cropped ends.
He rubs the piece between his thumb and forefinger.
“Did you find what you were looking for, Naomi?”
I keep my eyes locked with his, trying to read his reaction, but he gives me nothing. There’s no smile or teasing tone this time.
“No.” I swallow, tipping my head back. “Not everything.” What I don’t say is that I wanted to know that his presence was a coincidence and not trouble. But instead, I settle on something trivial that I remember. “Your middle name. It only listed ‘T’ as the initial. What’s your?—”
“It’s just T,” he answers and shifts closer, cutting off my question.
His fingers let go of the hair he’d been playing with, and on their descent, they graze along my shoulder, brush down my arm, his knuckles ghosting the side of my breast. The light touch leaves tingles in its wake, and I look back up at him, my head pressing into the wall I’m up against. He keeps watching the path he’s drawing, his knuckles now brushing against the waist of my jeans.
The lightness mixed with intention spikes my pulse and has me holding my breath, wanting more.
“What does ‘T’ stand for?” I ask as I exhale, my voice coming out too breathy for the topic we’re discussing.
The corner of his mouth tips up. A beat later, he says, “It was a line from a movie. A woman asks a man what the ‘T’ stood for, and he said trustworthy. My mom loved the movie, and my dad loved my mom, which awarded me with that letter as my middle name.”
I smile at the story. Tilting my chin up, he brushes his thumb along my lower lip, rubbing away whatever was left of the saltiness from the popcorn earlier. The look in his eyes as he does it is downright hungry.
“Trustworthy,” I say softly. It’s a big word for what this is, but maybe it’s exactly what I needed to hear.
When will there be another moment like this in my life?
My fingers flex. I want to feel him. I’d have to be crazy to do anything other than lean in and take exactly what I want. Plenty has been taken from me.
I touch the front of his shirt, curling my fingers into the soft ribbed cotton, and pull just enough to encourage him closer.
His mouth tilts up at the corners, revealing the sexiest smile.
The lines along the edges of his eyes crinkle, and I catch a glimpse of a dimple pinching inward beneath his facial hair.
It’s the last detail I see before he’s too close to focus on anything other than the fact that he’s going to kiss me.
Lingering a breath away for a moment, he waits for me.
But I’m finished waiting. I brush my lips against his, gently testing and waiting for him to follow.
And whatever it was that held him back, snaps.
His hands frame my face, fingers tangling in my hair as he tilts my neck and angles my mouth exactly how he wants it.
The spontaneity of what I started transforms into something deeper, more purposeful.
Julian’s lips press and taste mine, warm and wet, moving with a natural passion that draws a moan from my throat and has my body coming to life.
His tongue seeks entry with a simple swipe as I open eagerly until we find the other’s pace.
It’s a deep and languid roll between lips and tongues.
His body presses flush against mine, and it feels heavy, safe, and wanton along every one of my curves.
I’m practically buzzing with need. My legs feel weak, and my pussy tingles as his tongue plays with mine.
Fingers flexing, I fist his shirt tighter, unable to get close enough.
This is how a woman should be kissed.
His arms wrap tighter, and his fingers grasp onto the material of my shirt.
He hums an encouraging sound that unlocks a new level of confidence in me.
I move my body, shifting and switching our positions.
His ass hits the door to the small bathroom, shoving the door open.
Backing into the edge of the sink’s counter with a thud, he leans me back so he can flip the light on.
His smile and light laugh against my lips is warm and sultry, making me smile in return.
I’ve never gone from turned on to laughing and then back again with such ease.
His hands roam down my body and the feel of it throws my center of gravity off-kilter.
One of my hands grips along the neckline of his shirt and the other threads into his hair, pulling him close as his lips trail down my chin and across my jaw.
He kisses me again and it’s dizzying, a haze of desire and fucking need. I pull back, breathless.
He watches and waits, glancing around my face and then moving his gaze down to my chest. “Deciding how brave you want to be?” he asks playfully.
I lean away and take a step back. I’ve already decided.
I know what I want; I just want to remember every single detail of this moment.
The space is so small that it only takes one more step for my back to hit the door, closing us inside.
Sex in a bar bathroom feels dirty. In another life, I would’ve judged someone for it, called it trashy, but right now, that judgment is thousands of miles away.
Be brave.
I flip the lock.
“Take off your shirt,” I demand.
He doesn’t raise an eyebrow or even smile.
Instead, he reaches his arms back, hands gripping the material behind his neck, and in a blink, his shirt is off and discarded next to him.
In the reflection of the mirror behind him are tattoos that run along the caps of both shoulders, continuing down and across his back—paper airplanes turning into birds and drawings that look like blueprints with lines and details that would take time to read, and between his shoulder blades, a compass with four main cardinal points. Beautiful.
“I showed you mine . . .” he says as he leans on his hands braced on the edge of the sink, elbows locking straight and watching as I drink him in.
I toy with the hem of my shirt, remembering the parts that I hate. So much of me is different now than before. Then, it was a soft tummy and a lack of self-esteem, but now it’s scars from a story I don’t ever want to tell.
I’m in charge.
I slowly shake my head and let go of my shirt.
A low hum escapes his throat. “You won’t let me see you,” he says, registering what I’m telling him.
Nodding once, he runs his thumb along his lip.
“I’ll have to use my imagination then. I’m already thinking about what you’d look like bare and sweating beneath me, Naomi.
” His eyes trace the length of my body before he asks, “If you won’t let me see, will you let me touch? ”
“Please,” I rush out, sounding needy.
His hand comes up along the side of my neck, while the other wraps at my waist, slowly pulling me back into his orbit.
The brush of his mouth along my neck lulls my eyes closed.
Another shameless moan escapes me, and I tip my head slightly to the right, giving his lips better access.
His teeth graze along my pulse point, sending a shiver down the front of my body and coiling at my center.
I know I must be soaking my panties now, my breasts sensitive and breaths labored.
I’ve never been so eager and turned on like this, not with anyone.
His fingers toy with the button of my jeans. “How long?” he asks. On his next breath, before I can respond, he adds, “Until someone comes looking for you, how long?”
“Minutes, maybe?” I say breathily, just as a knock hits the door.
“Taken,” Julian calls out.
“Is this okay?” he whispers, nipping at my lower lip, gliding the zipper of my jeans down.
“Yes,” leaves my mouth like a plea.
He shifts behind me, adjusting our bodies so that my back is to his front.