Page 105 of Easy
Curled into his liquor-damp shirt, both our sets of friends were quickly forgotten as shot after shot was poured. I’d heard of the strong, silent type, though never experienced the thrill of attention accompanying this. Dark eyes watching. Weighing. Seeing right through me. And when he did speak, his words hit almost viscerally. Like a sign from the universe, I’d thought. It wasn’t long before our tentative flirting became a hot and heavy make-out session, right there in the club.
I close the bedroom door behind me with aclick, finding my fingers at my lips as I recall how the stranger’s lips emancipated my reasoning. Last night, I was someone else. Someone a little reckless.Someone drunk off her ass. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it, especially as I recall what happened next.
As I’d come up for air, kiss-drunk and so aroused, I’d whispered a question so daring, my cheeks still burn with the memory.
‘Do you want to go someplace else?’
My tone was so sultry, he couldn’t have misunderstood. I may as well have had a neon sign saying, This Girl is DTF.
His answer? In my experience, men in real life don’t say the sorts of things that make a girl ache with need.
He told me he’d love to.
That he’d take me home in a heartbeat.
But that his tastes were rather hard edged.
He’d sought to shock me, for sure, unaware of the pulse of pleasure beating between my legs. Because I wanted to be sure—because I’d wanted to hear those words again—I’d lowered my gaze and asked him quietly asked to elaborate.
And he did.
He said he got a kick out of marking beautiful skin. That he liked nothing more than to see a woman’s body tied, every line taut and elegant in her distress. And that, for him, this wasn’t just a prelude to sex.
In my whole life, I’d never been so turned on, and in my haste to have him inside me, I would’ve forgotten my purse if it hadn’t been for him. Then outside as we’d waited for a cab, I couldn’t stop myself from touching him. Kissing him. Pushing my body up against his. When his fingers tightened suddenly around my wrists, it had taken me a moment to appreciate he was restraining me physically. Rather than a warning, it was a green light for direction—a green light for go. Excited didn’t come close to how I was feeling, and I think, without his strong hands wrapped around mine, I might’ve gotten down on my knees in that dirty street, promising to swallow him whole.
Fuck. If I can recall his answer, does that really mean I said those things?
Because he’d said the first time I got on my knees for him, I’d be naked with my hair wrapped in his fist. That he’d take his pleasure from me like a gift.
And I wanted it. I wanted it all. By the ache in my jaw, I guess I received it. And then a little bit more.
‘This isn’t like me,’ I’d whispered just moments after we’d climbed into the cab. A moment of lucidity? Was I scared or making excuses for myself?
As he’d bent to kiss my forehead, he seemed to be fighting a smile.
‘Are you trying to tell me you’re leading me up the garden path?’ His voice, low in register, rippled down my spine.
‘Yeah,’ I’d replied, suppressing the shiver. ‘The lady garden path.’ I’d made a drunkenly lewd gesture in the vague direction my crotch when he’d grabbed my hand in one of his, moving the other to the nape of my neck.
‘All roads lead to Rome?’ I murmured weakly, not wanting to appear cowed. His predatory gaze caused a flare between my legs, drowning out every one of my thoughts.
‘I take a path less travelled,’ he’d whispered, his lips brushing my face. ‘I like to be in charge.’ The flare turned molten, my insides dissolving as his thumb stroked the thundering pulse in my neck.
Back in the stranger’s house, I try to force the sensory memories away. How can I still feel the effects of his words dancing down my spine? Pulsing between my legs?
I follow the weak sunlight spilling down the unfamiliar stairs. My feet are light as I tiptoe along the hallway, opening the door to what I think might be the living room.
Jackpot.
In an unruly heap on the floor, I find my skirt and blouse. And underneath, my shoes. Dressing quickly, I slip back out into the hallway, picking up my purse and jacket from an antique hall stand. Clothes to door, I’m out of the house in two minutes flat.
The path to the garden gate is unremarkable. An Edwardian terraced house, it’s quite large. A dark red door with brass fittings leads to a pebbled pathway leading to a wrought-iron gate under an awning of neat vines. I remember the footpath crunching beneath the soles of my shoes, thinking how comfortingly ordinary his house appeared to be. I’d stared at the door in the darkness while he spoke with the cab driver. Comfortingly ordinary, at least, until he’d pushed me against it, the handle unforgiving at the small of my back, his hips—his hard-on—pinning me there.
‘The point of no return.’ In contrast to the discomfort of the large handle digging into my back, he’d smiled sweetly, and all I could think was how much I’d wanted to run my fingers against his mouth. Slide my tongue between his lips. ‘I do think you’d let me fuck you right here.’
I made a noise; it didn’t resemble a denial, my head filling with images of just that. He’d fuck me hard, my legs wrapped around him, his fingers hard, hot points against my hips as I—
He chuckled. Was it my expression? It sounded dark and bitter and sweet. It matched the man. It matched his accent. And what he said next was my undoing.
