Chapter 69
Sixty-Nine
“What happened?”
“Does it even matter? I’m so sick of this fucking bullshit.”
He puffs furiously on his cigarette while attempting to wear a path into the cement parking lot. I don’t answer, letting him vent like Old Faithful if that’s what he needs.
Remy grinds out the cherry with his boot. “Let’s get shitfaced.”
“I’m in, but…” I stop myself. If he wants to talk about it, he will.
“But?”
“Nothing. You want to pack it up, come back tomorrow,” I tilt my head toward the garage, “or finish what we’re doing?”
“Fuck,” he mutters. “We’re almost there, and I need my car.”
Three hours later, we are most definitely shitfaced. Jeremy got the brilliant idea to make Boilermakers, and I’ve lost count of the number of whiskey shots and beers we’ve downed.
The doorbell rings and Jeremy launches from his chair and waggles his eyebrows. “Reinforcements have arrived.”
A few chicks traipse into our drunken enclave behind Jer.
He flirts with each one, their resounding giggles breaking through my haze.
He’s never had trouble charming the ladies.
Neither has Remy for that matter. Smooth talkers, and the opposite sex eats it up like candy.
After he gets them set up with drinks from the bar, they join the rest of us.
One girl approaches Remy. “I heard you’re having a rough night.”
He eyes her for a moment, a salacious grin emerging before he pulls her onto his lap. “You here to make it all better?”
She lets out a little yelp but drapes her arm around his shoulders. “Maybe if you play your cards right.”
I try sending him a silent message, something akin to You sure you want to do this? but he’s not paying me any attention. With his eyes fixated on the tits staring him in the face, he’s a goner. Twenty bucks says he cheats on Karin for the first time by screwing that chick.
My eyes close, and the room spins. Bad idea. I force them open just as one of the girls sits next to me, perching on the edge of the sofa like she’s hesitant to relax.
“Hi,” she says. “I’m Carmen.” Dark, almond-shaped eyes are ringed with black eyeliner and thick mascara. A batch of bracelets cover a few inches of her wrist, and her nails are painted blood red.
“Mick,” I answer.
“How long you guys been partying?”
“A while.”
Carmen tips her head back and stares at the ceiling, her feathered hair falling from her shoulders. “Not much of a talker, huh?” She casts me a glance and smiles, her teeth bright in contrast to her tawny complexion. My gaze latches on those varnished lips.
For the first time in months, my libido wakes up and leans her direction—probably because I’m drunk. I need to keep myself in check.
“You’re pretty,” I say. There goes keeping it in fucking check.
She smiles again, peering at me more closely. “So are you.”
A goofy grin crosses my face. Not that I can see it, but it’s so obvious I’m acting like a fool. “Wanna dance?”
Carmen flashes me a perplexed look. “Um…this isn’t really dance music.”
I glance at Jeremy, who’s balancing two girls in his lap. “Jer, put some slow dance music on. Like, you got any Barry White?” My words tumble out, barely coherent, but he does my bidding, dims the lights, and minutes later, the “Mellow Mood” intro from the Can’t Get Enough album plays.
Carmen takes my outstretched hand, and I lead her to a corner and rest one hand on her shapely hip and the other on her back.
She smiles shyly up at me. Man, she’s short. And fucking cute. “I feel strange doing this when no one else is dancing.”
“Dance, you fuckers,” I yell over my shoulder.
Jeremy joins me with one of the girls. Remy’s already embroiled in making out with the chick on his lap.
Carmen wraps her arms around my shoulders and I pull her closer, enough to smell whatever perfume she’s wearing.
It’s not overpowering, and her hair’s giving off floral notes.
The album plays on, Barry’s deep voice creating a sensual mood as I let go and sink into having a woman in my arms, breasts pressed against my lower chest, the warmth of another human this near.
I suddenly want to kiss her, but refrain. We’re complete strangers. It doesn’t stop my hands from traveling, tracing her body’s curves. When my hand coasts over her tight little ass, she removes it—but I don’t miss that she burrows in closer.
Our bodies sway, and everything drops away except for her. God, she feels good. Why have I stayed away from women? I’m having trouble remembering.
“What?” she murmurs.
Crap, I said that out loud. “You feel nice,” I admit.
She pulls back to look at my face, but a small smile plays on her lips. “Are you trying to get in my pants with that sweet talk shit?”
“No,” I lie. Or maybe it’s not a lie, just wishful thinking. “Unless…you…want me to.”
Her head cocks, her expression cooling. “I’m not that kind of girl.”
“Shit. I’m sorry. I’m not—”
“Lighten up. I’m just screwing with you.” She presses back against me, and we keep dancing, but my blood heats with sudden hunger, my dick swelling as I try and decipher if that was a yes.
The song ends, and I go for it, ushering Carmen downstairs, where we have some privacy. Standing in the dark, the hall light casts enough illumination to see each other.
I stroke her cheek, testing the waters. “Can I kiss you?”
“I don’t know, can you?” she murmurs.
My gaze shifts from her eyes to her smartass mouth, and I don’t hesitate.
Our lips clash, our tongues getting acquainted with lightning speed.
My pulse rapid fires, even though my reflexes are sluggish.
My dick strains in my jeans, desperate for her touch, for relief, for oblivion. I want to lose myself in her.
Our kissing is sloppy, our teeth clacking awkwardly a couple of times, but her moans fuel me.
My hands slide under her shirt and glide over her soft skin.
Hers do the same, running up and down my back, and an appreciative groan rumbles out of me.
I guide her to the sofa and lay her on her back.
She lets me push her shirt up, then her bra.
It’s a slice of heaven touching her small, jutting tits.
Her nipples peak from my touch and when I suck one into my mouth, her hands grip my hair, her back arching.
I spend several minutes sucking on both before kissing her again.
My hand slides between her thighs, her moans instant when I rub her through her jeans.
I’m ready to divest her of this tight denim blocking me from the promised land and would like nothing more than to dip my wick, but I’m unsure if that’s what she wants. We literally met an hour ago, and she may not even realize how loaded I am.
Suddenly, she pushes me off her and I flop back on the couch, my eyes glued to her as she kneels before me and unbuttons my fly.
Within a couple of minutes, she’s stroking my aching dick and swirling her tongue on the head.
Holy ever-loving fuck that…is…yeah. She bobs up and down, sucking me deeper into her silky mouth.
My eyes haze, my head lolling against the cushions.
Shit, I’m not going to last. “Hey, I’m—”
“Keep going,” she mumbles when she comes up for air. She resumes deep-throating, gagging, and doing it again, and any arguments vanish.
“Fuck,” I pant, my hands winding into her hair. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.” I shoot my load and lose control of my hips, brain, body.
When I finally slow, her eyes bug with alarm, her mouth full of my release. I surmise she doesn’t want to swallow it.
“There’s a bathroom down the hall if you need it,” I mumble.
She practically sprints.
I’m fucking toast. Boneless. I hoist my body high enough to pull my pants back up then slump back against the cushions. Closing my eyes, I wait for Carmen, hoping to return the favor.
I don’t think I do.
Because the next thing I know, it’s morning, and I’m alone on the couch in Jeremy’s basement with a hangover that rivals a sledgehammer banging against my skull.
Vague recollections of the night before skitter past…
and it all leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
I used her. Or she used me. Either way, it was empty.
I’m empty.