Back and forth, not going any further.
She whimpers, “More.”
My thumb moves to her clit.
She’s soaked.
So wet that I can feel it through the lace.
It’s a struggle to hold back from plunging a finger inside her. The Uber driver eyes us suspiciously, as if he knows we’re up to something. As soon as we arrive at my building, I grab her hand and lead her into the elevator.
When we walk into my penthouse, I briefly hear her say, “Nice place,” before I slam my mouth onto hers.
I kiss her hard, tasting the alcohol on her lips, hitting me stronger than the Hennessy.
Fuck.
Fucking her will be the best antidote to my hell.
No alcohol will beat this.
No drug.
She’s the one thing I never knew I needed.
Her kiss sets me on fire.
It’s passionate.
Hot.
Our tongues meet, as if drawing the pain out of each other. Our mouths don’t separate as I lead her to my bedroom. As soon as the light flicks on, I strip her, fling her dress across the room, and pull down the duvet on my bed. Grabbing her hips, I toss her onto the bed, and she lands on her back.
She holds herself up on her elbows.
I stand at the foot, stroking my chin, and admire her naked body.
The way her breasts bounce as her breathing turns heavier.
Her hard pink nipples.
Her smooth legs slightly parted as she waits for me.
My bed has never looked so damn tempting.
She gasps as I climb between her legs.
She moans when I take the first taste of her.
Licking my way up her slit before sucking on her clit.
So damn delicious.
I lick, slip my tongue in, add fingers until she’s writhing underneath me.
As soon as she gets off, I frantically unbuckle my pants. She moves just as hurriedly, pushing them down, and I pull my shirt over my head. Seconds after, I slide the condom on and thrust inside her.
“Chase,” she moans.
I freeze, squeezing my eyes shut, and she stares up at me in question.
Don’t call me that.
Moan another name.
To stop myself from admitting my truth, I shove my face into her neck, tasting her sweet skin, and fuck her gently.
We’re strangers in the missionary position, but it’s like she fits me.
Gets me.
She begs for more.
I fuck her harder.
I savor her.
Her name leaves my lips as I explode into the condom.
Then round two starts.
When we’re sweaty and all orgasmed out, I pull her into my side, drape my arm along her waist, and mold her body into mine.
I don’t ask her to leave.
Don’t kick her out of my bed.
What a damn mistake that is.
5
Georgia
I’ve never woken up in a stranger’s bed before.
Although is he considered a stranger if I let him bang my brains out last night?
The bright sunlight streaming through the wall of windows assaults my eyes, and I throw my arm over my face to block the rays. Giving myself a moment to adjust to the light, I move my arm, stretch out my body, and yawn.
My thighs ache.
My legs are sore.
My mouth is dry.
I shift in the crisp sheets.
Sheets that don’t belong to me.
In a bed that doesn’t belong to me.
It’s his bed.
In his room.
My heart pounds at the memories of what happened in this bed last night.
I’d stopped at the bar yesterday to avoid going home and sulking in an empty apartment. My plan was to have a drink to settle my nerves, leave, and watch murder mysteries until passing out.
When Chase sat next to me, like a broken knight in shining armor, my night changed for the better. My view of him before—the arrogant ass—had dissolved, making me see him in a better light.
He made me feel wanted.
Needed.
Gave me more orgasms last night than I could count.
Blame it on my daddy issues, but on the day I felt the most discarded, he was there to collect the pieces and put me back together.
My stomach sinks when I glance around the empty room, and I shift my attention to the adjoined bathroom. The light is off, and I gulp at the silence hanging in the air.
“Hello?” I call out, my voice raspy and timid as if I were in a horror movie, heard a bump in the night, and Jason was coming to slaughter me.
Silence.
I clutch my arms against my chest as my heart batters against it.
Did he leave?
Reasons for the stillness rush through my mind.
He’s waiting for me to leave.
He grabbed breakfast.
He bailed.
He’s already been slaughtered by Jason.
Hell, at this point, I’d rather hear a chain saw than this silence.
Bring out the killer, please and thank you.
Let him murder my humiliation if this guy hit it and quit it.
Chase hadn’t exactly been open to conversation during our first two run-ins. As I relaxed in his arms last night, I convinced myself what we’d shared—the drinks, secrets, and sex—made up for his previous asshole behavior.
“Hello?” I call out again.
No response.
My naivety strikes again.
I drop my hands to my stomach as the urge to vomit last night’s drinks and this morning’s embarrassment seep up my throat. I do another once-over of the room and form the sign of a cross when I spot my phone on the nightstand. The chill of the room hits me when I reach out and grab the phone. Unlocking it, I hit Lola’s name. My best friend is a pro in these situations.
“Lola,” I hiss when she answers, gripping the phone tight against my cheek.
“Oh my God, Georgia,” she groans. “It’s eight in the morning. This’d better be an emergency and not you asking me to yoga again. Spoiler alert: not happening. Call Grace.”
“I’m stuck at a guy’s house,” I rush out before she hangs up.
“What?” Her sleepy tone becomes alert.
“I’m stuck at a guy’s house.”
“How’d you get stuck at his house? Are you being held hostage? Do I need to call 911 … or send ransom money?”
“No,” I groan. “I had sex with him last night.”
“Good girl.” She whistles. “It’s about time you got laid.”
“Not good, considering he’s gone.” It’s a struggle to keep my voice low.
“Gone? Like, gone from the house or just the bedroom?”
“The bedroom.”
“You haven’t looked anywhere else?”
“I don’t hear any noise.”
“Hmm …”
“Tell me what to do.”
“Have you slept with him before?”
“Nope. It was the first and only time.” I rub at the throbbing temples. “He bought me a drink, and next thing I knew, we were having sex.” More memories of that night hurl through my brain, intensifying my headache.
She laughs. “I hate when that happens.”
“Enough small talk. What do I do?”
“Are you naked?”
Stupidly, I pull down the white sheet and check. “Yes.”
“Get up and find your clothes.”
I jump out of bed, the sheet still in tow to cover myself, and start gathering my clothes scattered throughout the room. I’m light-headed as I slide on my wrinkled dress, slip my panties up my legs, and shove my feet into my sandals.