Chapter 3
Calla
Gathering all of my hair and draping it over one shoulder, I push my hips back into Blake’s, feeling his grip tighten around my waist.
The crowd ebbs and flows in a continual wave; moving with the beat of the soundtrack, disappearing, only to reappear, with more alcohol.
I’m pleasantly buzzed but not plastered. I’m aware of my surroundings and the very attractive man dancing behind me.
Although, I don’t think Blake is much of a dancer, not if the way his feet are planted to the floor, unmoving, have anything to say. But that’s fine. I can dance enough for the both of us. I have the dance classes I attend once a week, held by a stunning woman named Giselle, to thank for that.
I’ll have to give her my thanks at the end of my next dance class.
Lacing my fingers through Blake’s, while trying not to stare too hard at the size difference of our hands, I move them down from my waist to my hips. My skin flushes warm at his masculine touch. It’s been a while since I’ve been this close to a man and my god does it feel good.
Addictive, even.
Releasing the tension from my hips, I grind backwards, relishing in the solidness of Blake’s toned body.
My nipples bead against the thin, polyester material of my princess costume when I graze a slight bulge, Blake’s immediate reaction of pulling me even closer to him, until there’s not a sliver of space left, only serving to heighten my arousal.
Raising my arms in the air, I sing along to the tune, my terrible singing voice quickly swallowed up by the loud beat and the other voices mouthing too.
I feel alive.
I feel free.
And I fucking love it.
Bending my elbow, I wrap my left arm behind Blake’s neck.
This close, I can smell the scent of his aftershave; something spicy and expensive smelling, I want to bathe in.
It’s a much more edible scent than yeasty hops and the usual men’s body spray they’ve been using since school.
Blake relaxes a little more under my touch, draping his front over my back, following the movement of my hips with his own.
Against the curve of my arse, I can feel him, half hard.
A delighted shiver runs through me at the very knowledge.
I dance until I’m sweaty, the fine hairs at the nape of my neck, and around my hairline, damp and sticking to my skin. With a dollop of adrenaline, the tiniest teaspoon of alcohol and a cupful of arousal, running through my veins, I spin around to face Blake.
“Still keeping up?” I ask on a giggle, projecting my voice to be heard.
He narrows his pretty green eyes at me with a smirk. The twin hands wrapped around my hips squeeze, once. A warning of some sort.
Well, two can play at that game.
Creating a little bit of space for myself, I raise my arms high in the air, closing my eyes and allowing the music to flow through me.
Blake’s eyes burn hot against my exposed skin, rippling over my chest, along my arms, down the length of my bare legs.
I dance like nobody is watching, moving wildly, inhibited, free, brushing off the weight of their stares.
The only person I want watching me is Blake.
For a heartbeat, I wonder if he’ll be embarrassed to be seen with me.
I’ve had that said to me one too many times; the insult searing its way past the protective barrier of my skin, aiming right for the heart.
So much so, sometimes… alright – most of the time – I’m sure it must be true.
I’m too much.
I’m too flighty.
I’m too wild and out there and different.
Non-fucking-conformative.
And people don’t like it. Mainly, I think, because it makes them uncomfortable.
So, I’ve learnt to tone it down; tone myself down. To become quieter and smaller and more appeasing. But there’s something about tonight – something I can’t quite put my finger on – that has me dropping my mask, letting down my guard for the real version of myself to peek through.
With my eyes closed, the rest of my senses soar into high alert.
The music seems louder, the synthetic scent of the fog machine more potent, tickling my nose.
I can taste the sweet cranberry syrup still coating my lips from my last cranberry vodka.
On every side of me, except for my front, I can feel the graze of sweaty bodies, writhing, jumping, standing still—
I only blink open my lids when I feel a solid body press into my front.
Blake.
He grins down at me, giving me a glimpse of his twin dimples on show, before he bends his neck, the warm puff of his breath fanning over my ear. I’m sure he’s going to say something serious – he strikes me as the type A, slightly uptight type – or something about getting out of here or—
“Do you know how to do the sprinkler?”
I blink at him, taken by surprise by his unserious question and then I smirk.
“You mean like this?” Extending my right arm out long, I flatten my left palm to my ear and stutter along.
“Mm.” Blake hums, the deep sound vibrating against my stomach. “I think I can do better.”
We dance, ridiculously, may I add, until my lungs feel like they’re burning with the lack of oxygen from laughing so hard.
Shaking my head, a bead of sweat running down the length of my spine, I place my hands on my hips. “Time out. Time out.”
Blake smiles triumphantly. “I win.”
“Win what?”
“Our dance off.”
Rolling my eyes playfully to ignore the spark of happiness lighting up somewhere beneath my heart, I give Blake’s shoulder a small shove.
“Wanna get another drink?”
He nods, latching on to hold me as I navigate my way back through the crowd.
I see a few people look our way, more than a handful of eyes landing on my risqué outfit, but they turn away when they see Blake’s hands on me.
It’s slightly possessive and I love it.
“What would you like?” Blake utters deep into the shell of my ear, sandwiching me up against the bar and him. A delighted shiver runs through me at the feel of him, solid and warm, behind me.
I turn my head to answer him, my lips just shy of grazing his. “Just a water, please.”
“Two waters, please mate,” I hear Blake ask the bartender, but I’m too focused on the shape of his mouth; the swoop of his cupid’s bow, the way his top lip is slightly bigger than his bottom.
I’m not trying to pretend I’m not staring – to pretend is not in my nature – so I don’t look away when Blake catches me staring. If the wide grin, with matching twin dimples, is anything to go by, I don’t think he minds one bit.
“You’ve got nice looking lips,” I say.
Blake raises both of his brunette eyebrows. “So do you.”
Turning back around, I hum nonchalantly.
But I know Blake hears it, probably feels the humming vibration too, with the way our bodies are pressed together.
Grabbing our drinks, I latch onto Blake’s hand, leading him to a leather booth, tucked away into the corner.
From here, I can still see, in plain sight, Carmen and our friends, while giving Blake and I enough space to be alone.
Shuffling in first, I smooth my skirt around my thighs while Blake sits opposite me, placing my glass of water down upon the table cluttered with left over glasses and an empty watermelon flavoured vape.
“Where did you learn to dance like that?”
I smooth the pad of my thumb over the circular rim of my glass. “Doesn’t everybody learn how to do the running man at least once in their life?”
“Funny,” Blake deadpans. “I mean—”
“I know what you mean,” I giggle. “I’ve been taking classes for a while now, they’re a fun way of keeping fit without dreading working out, you know? Well, I guess you don’t really know, you must love kicking around a ball if it’s your day job.”
“I do enjoy it. Not as much as I enjoyed watching you dance, though.”
I peer at him through my lashes. “Oh, I know how much you enjoyed it. I could feel it.”
If it’s at all possible, a flush of colour breaks out over Blake’s cheeks, highlighting the bridge of his strong nose. But then the overhead strobe light bypasses us again, and his flush disappears.
“Calla—”
“You guys are looking pretty cosy…” I pull my gaze away from Blake’s stare to face my best friend, her faux diamond tiara a little askew in her hair.
With nimble fingers, I reposition it back into place, smiling back at Carmen.
“Thanks babe,” she says before redirecting her gaze. “And you are?”
“Blake.” He sticks out a large hand for her to shake and I flatten my lips to stop from laughing. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
“They are indeed.” Carmen flicks her eyes between the two of us. “So, what are your intentions with my best friend.”
“Carmen!” I swat at her waist playfully. “I think we both—all know how tonight is going to end. Right?”
I glance at Blake, cataloguing the slight raise of his eyebrows before he schools his facial features back into neutrality.
“You’re in charge, Calla. Tonight, can be whatever you want it to be.”
“See” —I gesture to Blake and I— “we’re on the same page.”
Carmen nods seemingly satisfied, until—
“Licence, please.”
When Blake furrows his brow in confusion, Carmen continues, “For safety. You’re a man, so you wouldn’t know, but unfortunately us women have got to go to extreme measures to ensure our safety.
That means travelling in numbers, never leaving a woman behind, and vetting their boyfriends.
Or, in your case, the man Calla is about to sleep with for the night. ”
I smile, although it’s more like a grimace, close mouthed.
“She’s right.”
Carmen bobs her head. “I want your license for your name, date of birth and address.”
Wide eyed, Blake fishes his hand into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a battered leather wallet. He hands it over silently.
“Do you want my phone, too?”
“Calla get his social media usernames,” Carmen directs, forever the mother hen even at her own party, whilst flipping open the wallet and digging her manicured nails inside.
With a quick touch of a button, I request to follow @BlakeMillen91, watching as the screen lightens up with his acceptance.
I’m not quite sure where Carmen is storing Blake’s information, perhaps her phone seeing as it’s in her hand, but then she’s sliding his licence back into its designated slot and handing him back his wallet.
“Here you go—”
“Carmen!” All three of us turn to see Shelby, balancing a silver tray on her shoulder, waving us over.
“Are those—” Blake starts.
“Tequila shots.” I nod, the saltshakers and slices of juicy electric green lime giving away exactly what clear liquid is being held in the small shot glasses.
“Come, do one last shot with us before you go get your brain fucked out, Cal. Pleeeease,” Carmen all but begs me, pulling on my arm.
I flick my gaze to Blake. “Only if you do one too.”
When I see the corners of his plush looking lips curl, I know I’ve caught him in my web.
Allowing the beautiful bride-to-be to drag me back to our table, I pinch a shot glass, a lime and a saltshaker from the tray, passing them overhead to Blake.
“Are you going first, or am I?”
With my own shot and wedge of lime in hand, I cock my head to one side.
I wonder how far he’ll let me push him…
“I’ll go first,” I say, crooking my finger to beckon Blake closer.
Ignoring the gleeful stares of my friends, I dip my thumb into the tequila, reaching out to smear the wetness over the side of Blake’s neck, from his prominent jawline, down past his thrumming pulse point.
He doesn’t speak a word, but his eyes follow my every move.
Blake bares his neck when I begin to pour the salt, the small granules sticking to his skin, causing my mouth to water.
I wonder what he’s thinking…
Leaning in until my breasts brush up against his chest, I wrap my free hand around the other side of his neck, keeping Blake steady, and in place, while I press the tip of my nose to his skin.
He smells clean; like soap, laundry detergent and whatever expensive aftershave he’s wearing.
I have to lick my lips to make sure I’m not drooling and then I tentatively stick out the tip of my tongue, gently laving at the salt crystals there.
My tastebuds fizzle alive, threatening to make my eyes water with the sudden sour taste.
I almost pull back, but Blake’s resulting groan has my adrenaline spiking again, spurring me on to finish what I’ve started.
Flattening my tongue, I glide upwards, collecting the grains until I reach Blake’s jawline. I press a kiss, or two to his stubble, my core pulsing at thought of how good his short beard will feel scratching at my sensitive fleshy inner thighs.
Pulling back, I swallow down the tequila in my shot glass. It washes away the bitter salt with its distinctive fiery burn which sears all the way down my throat and into the pit of my stomach, even as I shove the lime between my teeth and suck. Hard.
“My turn.”
I barely have time to register what the fuck is happening, before Blake is not so gently yanking the fruit from my mouth, swiping the residual juice over my exposed chest. He dumps the salt unceremoniously, ignoring the way I squirm when more than a few granules fall into my cleavage, digging into my skin.
“Open your mouth, Calla.”
It doesn’t even cross my mind to disobey him.
I part my lips like a good girl while my nipples bead and my core pulses again, slick coating the gusset of my knickers.
“Hold this for me, won’t you?”
Eagerly, I take Blake’s lime wedge between my teeth, gliding my tongue against the slightly bumpy, leather-like, feel of its skin. My inhale is stuttered, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace, as Blake leans down, nose practically between my breasts and licks.
Fuck me.
Around us, I think my friends are giggling, crude jokes probably pouring from their mouths, but I can’t hear any of them over the dull roaring in my head.
I lift my hand to the back of Blake’s head, my fingertips gripping the soft strands of his dark hair, keeping him there, right where I want him.
He attacks my flesh with my fervour than I expected of him; alternatingly between stroking me with the broad flat of his tongue and then teasing with light kitten licks. His stubble rubs roughly against my skin, leaving what I’m sure will be a red rash behind.
Another wave of arousal floods through me at the thought.
There’s something about his masculine body rubbing against mine; hard against soft, rough against gentle, that has my head swimming with want, my core aching.
A huff escapes through my nose, my mouth still preoccupied, when Blake pulls away, the quiet sound quickly being eaten up by the crowd.
But I know he hears me. I can tell in the way his pupils blow wide, leaving nothing but a thin ring of green around the edges, and he grips at my hip, allowing me to feel the interested twitch of his cock inside his jeans.
I watch through half lidded eyes as he gulps back his own thimbleful of tequila, grimacing slightly – it’s not his usual poison of choice, I’m guessing – before he grabs a fistful of my curls, sealing his lips over my own to steal the fruit from my mouth.