Page 8 of Tight

I shrugged. “I just want you to know that I’m a big girl. I’m not gonna attach anything to this. If it doesn’t turn out to be anything.”

He looked out the window. Tugged at the front of his dress pants, adjusting himself, he said, “I may have spoken out of turn. I’m not used to this.”

I lowered my voice. “We can have sex. Without it meaning anything.”

“I’m not seventeen, Riley. I’m familiar with the concept.”

I shut my mouth. Did my own turn of looking out the window, trying to decide if I should bail on this man when we hit the hotel lobby. It was easier when I looked out the window. When I didn’t see the line of his jaw and imagine how it tasted. When I didn’t look in those eyes and fall further into trouble. He moved my hand, from the armrest where he had held it, to his lap. I pushed my palm flat against him, and lost a bit of my breath. Wow.

His hand atop mine, he slid my palm—my exploring, inquisitive fingers—from his belt buckle to his leg, letting me feel exactly how much, how hard, he wanted me. I darted my eyes, tried to see more, but the dark cab showed me nothing but the glow of his eyes. Watching me, his mouth hidden by shadow. Those eyes closed briefly when I gripped him through the fabric. “More,” he breathed.

I fumbled with the zipper, my own hand struggling, his hand moving to help, holding the fabric tightly as I tugged down the metal tag, holding my breath, hoping the driver’s music would drown out the sound, the man’s head not moving, not turning. When the action ended, my hand stole in and came in immediate contact with bare cock.

There was a moment when my body relaxed as my fingers wrapped around it, as if I was finally at peace in a place where I belonged and everything else could subside. I am touching it. The thought was a shot of arousal to my body. I moved my hand, explored. My first thought, the observation that my thumb and index finger didn’t meet. That his fingers which had satisfied me so easily in that alley, wouldn’t hold a candle to this organ. I squirmed a bit in my seat. Gripped him with my full hand and was rewarded with an exhale of breath.

A squeal of brakes. I looked up and realized we were stopping. It was a tollbooth, Leo leaning out the window, the street lights of the toll plaza casting in full light, my hand on Brett’s ohmygodthatisgorgeous cock. He leaned forward quickly, pushing my hand gently to the side, and my ears heard the faint sound of a zipper closing.

“Royal Towers.” He put his hands on the front headrests, resting his weight on them as he spoke to the driver, and I fought the urge to run my hand over the line of his back. It’d been so long since I touched a man in a loving way. So long since I was in a role other than that of professional friend—sweet ol’ Riley.

I didn’t touch his back. I sat, my hands between my knees, the heat of my fingers remembering the lines of his cock. The ridge between his shaft and his head. How it moved slightly in my hand when I grabbed it. The warmth of his skin.

Then the truck stopped, a burst of air brushed over my bare legs, and I accepted Leo’s hand and exited the vehicle.

“Thank you.” Brett’s hand was on my arm, taking over from Leo, firm pressure in his touch as he guided me toward the entrance, his steps quick, my heels almost struggling to keep up. I tugged on his hand, and his head turned, noted my agitation, and he slowed his gait. “I’m sorry.” He looped an arm around my shoulders, pressed a kiss on the top of my head. “Do you want to grab a drink at the bar?”

Do I want to grab a drink at the bar? I didn’t think I could handle the wait to walk down the hotel hallway, much less sit out the agonizing process of ordering, sipping, and then paying for an unneeded drink. I shook my head. “No. I’m good.”

He held the door, our eyes catching for a moment as I passed through. Just that catch, that brief hold of two stares... it relit the fire that didn’t need any additional fuel. I didn’t know why I was going to fuck this man. There was no sense or reason in the decision. But there was need. There was need, and there would be satisfaction. I didn’t know what was about to happen, but I knew it would be different than anything I had ever had. Anyone I had ever fucked. I felt like I did when I was a virgin. Nervous. Apprehensive. Excited. The hand on my back guided me to an unfamiliar elevator, and I waited as he pressed the button.

I watched her. This is a mistake. I should be back in that alley. Or in the smoke of the club. Drinking. Watching. Doing what I came here to do. I wasn’t here for entertainment, didn’t court strange women into my bed. My head, my heart, didn’t understand that. Fucking should have a purpose, should contribute to an end goal. There was no end goal that would work in this scenario. She was practically from Georgia for God’s sake. Here on a bachelorette party, surrounded by a group of friends with eyes of hawks and sex drives of donkeys. A fuck with her would accomplish nothing, lead nowhere. The words my idiotic mouth had uttered in that alley would never work. What did I expect? That after a few hours in my bed, she would commit? Fill the hole that once held my heart? This woman who moved before me, the one who smelled of lilies and brown sugar, had her own life. One I knew nothing about. A life that breathed fire and independence. One with roots and commitments and, for all I knew, its own leading man. I watched as the elevator doors opened and she stepped out, my hand reaching, snagging the delicate warmth of her wrist, and dragging her to the side, rougher than necessary, my sudden need to know more asserting its dominance. I released her wrist when she stumbled sideways, catching her weight and pinning it against the closest wall.

“Jeez.” The word came out as an annoyed huff, her eyes flashing as I moved closer, placed a hand on the wall beside her head, and stared into her eyes. “What is it with you and walls?”

“What’s it about you?”

“Me?” She lifted her chin, looked at me head on.

“I can’t stop myself. I want to pin you and fuck you against every surface I come to.” I swallowed. Refocused my agitation on reading her signs.

Her body tightened. Breath shortened. Eyes focused on my mouth. All reactions I was familiar with. Could read as easily as a financial statement. Lust. A struggle against the reaction, her mind arguing with her want, her eyes losing focus as she licked her lips to wet them. Good God. I barely heard her moan, heard the sound sigh out of her lips as she leaned against the wall, and I let myself do what I’d thought about for the last fifteen minutes. Tasted that sweet fucking tongue. Reached down and lifted her up. Wrapped her legs around my waist and carried her the short distance to the door, my hand fumbling with the key, our mouths fighting in their frantic quest for moremoremore. I turned the handle, pushed the door, stepped into the darkness and carried her to the bed. Tossing her off, I took a moment to catch my breath. Collect my wits. From behind, I heard the click of the closing door and, for the first time since meeting her, we were truly and completely alone together. I sent a short prayer upward for strength, restraint, the ability to touch her and be gentle.