7. Seven #4
“Who?” comes her breathless whisper a split-second before she lifts her chin in invitation.
I don’t hesitate. Dipping my head, I capture her lush lips as a tortured groan pours into her waiting mouth.
Goddammit, how I’ve missed this mouth. As soon as our lips connect, time ceases to exist, and all I can focus on is the overwhelming need to consume her.
Stake my claim and make sure she never forgets who she belongs to ever again.
Every sigh, gasp, and whimper spurs me on, and I mentally catalog every tell of her lithe little body.
I want to burn this moment into my memory so I’ll forever remember just how perfect she feels in my arms, how a simple kiss from this girl breathes life back into my veins.
And when she eventually goes back to the city, and I’m once again forced to live without her, I can draw on the memory to carry me through those sleepless nights ahead.
Suddenly, I don’t want to go back inside.
I don’t want to resume this senseless bet I’ve started.
I want to take her hand, drag her to my car and take her home, where I can spend the remainder of the night worshipping her the way she deserves.
I want to run my hands over every inch of her satiny skin.
Reacquaint myself with her taste and remind her of just how good we used to be together.
But as much as I hate to admit it, I’m too drunk to do any of it.
When I finally take her to my bed after seven years of longing, I don’t want my mind to be hazy.
We’ve been dancing around each other for weeks, and tonight isn’t the night to give in to our desires.
I may not be as buzzed as I was before Shane’s bullshit sobered me up, but that doesn’t mean I’m clear-headed.
I know Tessa’s had quite a few drinks herself, and when I finally claim her, I want there to be zero room for regret.
Giving myself a few more minutes to enjoy the feel of her, I push past the seam of her lips and relish in the sound of surrender rising from her delicate throat.
Our tongues begin a sensual dance that overpowers my ability to think at all.
My girl isn’t shy about what she wants and tries to take over the kiss, tangling her fingers in my hair and rubbing herself against my front.
I’m rock hard. My dick strains against the zipper of my pants, hips jerking forward like a missile seeking its target.
Tessa gives my bottom lip a sharp nip, and I hiss, pulling back to stare down at her.
Tightening my fist in her hair, I run the tip of my tongue over the abused flesh to soothe the sting.
With a devilish grin, I tilt her head sideways to give myself better access before diving back in.
God, she tastes delicious. Like coconut and sin, served with a side of desperation.
I run my hands down her sides, lightly brushing over the swell of her breasts as I go.
Her deep moan is an aphrodisiac, driving me wild.
Digging my fingers into the supple flesh of her ass, I hike her leg up to wrap it around my waist, so I can grind myself into her.
Her mouth parts on a silent gasp when my bulge presses into her heat, causing her to gyrate her hips in a sensual rhythm that threatens to shatter the precarious hold on my control.
I want inside of her so bad that my hands shake with need.
Pushing her shirt up her toned stomach, I slide my palms under the hem and cup her heavy breasts.
I revel in the way she shudders when my thumbs brush over her hardened nipples and greedily drink down the soft moan that escapes her.
When she reaches a hand between us, squeezing me through the thick denim of my jeans, I jerk back on a pained hiss.
Dropping my forehead to hers, I take a moment to let my breathing even out.
“I hate myself for saying this, but we have to stop before I take you up against the side of a goddamn dumpster. This is not how I pictured this going down.” I feel her huff of frustration against my skin before she drops her leg to the ground and presses a trembling hand to her kiss-swollen lips.
I force myself to step back, making sure I retreat far enough to resist the urge to reach for her again.
I don’t trust myself around this woman, and she looks like she’s about two seconds away from throwing caution to the wind herself.
She’s a vision, with her mussed-up hair, flushed cheeks, and that wild glint in her eyes that lets me know our heated exchange was as life-shattering for her as it was for me.
“I guess we’d better get back inside before Carter and Megan send out a search party.”
I nod my agreement and subtly adjust my protesting dick before I swing my arm wide and wait for her to lead the way.
I allow myself one last lingering look at her perfect ass as she pushes past me and back into the buzzing bar.
The deafening noise pouring out of the building is a welcome wake-up call.
It takes an inhuman amount of effort to keep my gaze on the back of her head and not let it drop again.
The sway of her hips taunts me and does nothing help with my little situation.
Our friends grin like loons when they take in our disheveled appearance.
“I thought you went after him to calm him down. No offense, but judging by the tent he’s sporting, I don’t think you did a very good job.” Carter’s juvenile commentary is accompanied by a pointed look at my crotch that causes his wife to break into a fit of giggles.
“Hilarious,” I mutter, acting like I’m not at all embarrassed by my body’s natural reaction, but I sidle up to the bar to take advantage of the cover it provides, anyway. “Are we going to finish this stupid bet or what?”
“Hey, I was only waiting for you to get your head back in the game, buster. I’d like to get this over with so I can go home and ravage my gorgeous wife. It’s not often we get the house to ourselves.”
“Right,” I say as I wave the bartender over.
“Let’s make this quick, then. Wouldn’t want to keep you from your bi-annual fuck fest. Six Bud Lights and six tequila shots, please,” I say when the younger man finally makes his way over to us.
I hand him a couple of large bills and tell him to keep the change, which prompts him to fill our order with an extra spring in his step.
“Alright,” Megan pipes up once our beverages line the bar, before stepping aside to give her husband room to work.
“You have twelve minutes to either finish these drinks or tap out. Whoever pukes or keels over first loses. Ready. Set. Go!” she shouts, making a big show of starting the timer on her stopwatch.
She’s such a drama queen. I grab the first bottle and knock it back without hesitation.
Pressing the back of my hand to my mouth to contain a rising burp, I watch Carter guzzle his own, a look of sheer determination taking over.
It takes me longer to finish the second, but I manage and immediately go for number three, not giving my bubbling stomach a chance to protest. Carter’s halfway through his last beer when his eyes glass over.
Almost there , I think to myself while I breathe through my discomfort.
I lift my half-empty drink—taunting him—and he flashes me a wobbly smile, clinking his bottle to mine and almost missing it altogether.
Driven by his show of weakness, I blow out a breath and tip my head back, pouring the remainder of the pale liquid down my throat.
“Forty-five seconds, honey. You got this.” Carter cringes, visibly struggling now as he wobbles on unsteady feet.
I reach out and clamp a hand onto his shoulder, unsure as to whether I’m doing it to steady him or myself at this point.
I’m really feeling the effects of the alcohol now.
The only thing keeping me going is knowing that Carter is closer to his breaking point.
I will not lose this fucking game. I hand my inebriated friend the shot of tequila he doesn’t need and grab one for myself.
“Bottoms up,” I say before quickly knocking all three back.
I pause. Close my eyes. Take two slow breaths while I fight my body’s call to expel the contents of my stomach.
My eyes pop open when Carter slams his last glass onto the wooden surface and stares at me through squinty, unfocused eyes.
We stand, frozen for several moments, sizing each other up, and I’m not sure who’s struggling more.
Carter makes a gulping sound and holds on to a nearby barstool to keep himself steady.
I’m beginning to think we’ll have to go for another round to determine a winner—and let’s face it; I need another drink like I need a fucking prostate exam—when Carter holds a hand out in front of him and begins shaking his head vigorously.
“That’s it,” he announces, pressing a hand to his stomach and looking slightly green.
“You win. I don’t even care if that makes me boring.
I can’t possibly stomach another round. I gotta use the head.
” He tags on before he makes his way through the crowd, rudely knocking a couple of patrons aside in his haste to get there.
“Yes!” I shout, pumping a fist into the air like a total tool. I quickly dial back my enthusiasm when my stomach sloshes with a mix of booze and half-digested food, but it doesn’t wipe the proud grin off my face.
“Dammit,” Megan groans. “I was really looking forward to that date night.”
“Life’s a bitch, sweetheart,” I slur, winking at my pissed-off friend just to rub it in.
“I gotta take a piss, too,” I announce, because I’m classy like that, before I lurch forward on unsteady feet.
“Might as well check to see if Carter is okay. I’ll let you know if I need help dragging his sorry ass out of there.
” I’d like to tell you I went after my friend out of concern, but we all know that’s a blatant lie.
I can be a real prick sometimes, and I’m not above a little gloating.
What can I say? Amusing myself at the expense of others never fails to lift my spirits.