But tonight, I’m drunk and feeling sorry for myself. The past two weeks have sucked. Even though the thing between Taya and me was just blossoming, I miss talking to her. She has a great sense of humor, and our conversations were always something I looked forward to. She’s also sexy as hell, and it’s damn difficult to keep myself from staring at her when I catch her in the kitchen in her pajamas.
I don’t feel like being at Stars; every obnoxious drunk person, loudmouth girl, and overly cocky guy is pissing me off. The music choices are terrible, and the whiskey is hitting me in the wrong way. Instead of a happy buzz, I’m in that sullen, wasted mood that only leads to a fist in the face if someone touches me the wrong way.
Waving to Brian and the guys, I walk out of the bar alone. Six Prospect Street is in sight, so it’s not like I’m in danger. My sublet house is just a few yards from the Commons, which I guess is good on a night like this.
The music filters out onto the street from five houses away, and I know I’m about to walk into a huge rager in the house. I make it to the lawn, and there is already one kid throwing up out here and a couple half-naked humping each other in plain sight. Ah, college, the definition of class and propriety.
Our front door is fully open, inviting anyone in, and there are people everywhere. Maybe I’m just surly and drunk, or maybe this party is bigger than the others I’ve attended here, but it seems like I can’t breathe or move a square inch with how many people are packed in here.
When I finally make it to the stairs, I find Bevan straddling Callum’s lap on the midway landing. They’re making out and dry-humping like there aren’t three hundred people in our house, and I assume they’re back on rather than screaming bloody murder at each other.
My mood dampens when I make it to the second floor and realize I never saw Taya. Is she with someone? Has she already gone up to her room with another guy? My attitude turns even more sour.
I’m about to head up to the attic when a door in the hallway opens, and as if put there by fate, out comes Taya.
Fucking hell. She’s wearing a scrap of a dress, almost the same color as her skin and smooth silk. She looks naked, and I’m instantly hard as a steel pipe.
Her eyes collide with mine, and she looks like she’s about to turn on her heel and retreat to whatever room is open and unoccupied.
But I’m quicker. Something in me snaps, and I can’t stand this anymore. While I’m still freaked about what I read in there, I can’t stay away from her. And the way she’s been avoiding me, not talking to me, suddenly pisses me off.
My breaking point is reached, probably by the help of the two four-finger pours of whiskey I had at the bar, and I’m on her in a second.
“You going to run away from me every time you see me now?”
“Austin.” Her voice is a snide remark and a warning.
“I said, are you going to bolt each time I walk into a room now? I’m fucking tired of you avoiding me.”
“And here I thought you would rather me stay away from you. Aren’t I just so alarming?” She throws my words back at me.
We’re both drunk and irrational and spewing whatever animosity has been trapped inside.
I walk toward her, and she backs up until her back hits the wall. My hand comes to her throat, gently holding her there, and I feel the gasp work its way up the column of her neck. Her pretty hazel eyes dilate, and my hold on her neck tightens a fraction as I press my nose to her cheek and run it up and down that bone I love to make blush.
“Am I setting off your alarms now? Do you want me to, what did you say on the quad the other day? Go now?” I’m being an asshole, but the combination of my mood and her downright rejection of me the last few weeks have me in a tailspin.
Taya is right. She was a fourteen-year-old with a daydream and a crush and wrote some silly diatribe to a boy she didn’t even know. I’m punishing her for my own fears and doubts about how people view me or how they’ve always treated me in my hometown. This drop-dead gorgeous woman standing in front of me is self-aware, sure of herself, and so fucking sexy in her confidence and demeanor that I’m not sure what the fuck has been wrong with me this whole time.
Holding her to what she wrote would be like holding me to the epic crush I had on Vanessa Hudgens as a kid. I plastered her posters all over my room and watched her scenes of High School Musical more times than I can count. Would I be embarrassed to ever meet her in person and have her find out that I cut out pictures of her and put them on my dresser, thinking about what we’d look like as boyfriend and girlfriend? Hell, yes. And I’d also be humiliated if she ever called me out for it.
It’s at this moment that I realize I’ve invaded Taya’s privacy on such a deep level. Then I took it and twisted it into something wrong, something shameful.
Fuck, I’m the asshole in this situation. Thanks for pointing it out, Vanessa Hudgens.
“Are you going to kiss me, or chicken out again? Because so far, your bark is worse than your—”
I swallow her words, pressing my mouth to hers so ferociously that it takes her a minute to catch up. My tongue invades her mouth, our teeth and lips colliding. Every pent-up smidge of desire I’ve held at bay crashes out of my body and into hers. Taya is giving as good as she gets, her hand cupping me over my jeans and stroking my cock. Thrusting my hips forward, I can’t wait any longer.
Hauling her up with a growl, those long legs wrap around my waist, and this time, it’ll take a fucking crowbar to separate us. I’m not stopping anything, and I’ll show her just how satisfying my bite is.
“Austin.” She grinds her center into me with each step I take up the stairs to the attic.
I want her in my zone, on the top floor, where no one can interrupt us. The party rages below us, the beat of the music filtering up to the third floor, but we’re alone in the dark, and I’ve never been more ready.
I set her down, our bodies still molded together, as we grind and kiss and feel everywhere. Our hands are moving at hyper-speed, trying to touch each inch while being distracted by the next.
The roughness of the fabric has to be creating a maddening friction against her clit, because she’s clawing at me as I back her up into the room.
“Austin!” she yelps when I push her panties to the side and push a thick finger inside her.
This is going to be loud; we’re going to be loud. The music downstairs will drown us out, but I don’t give a fuck. Even if this house were completely silent and full of people, I wouldn’t hold back. I want all of Taya’s fury and fire.
And goddamn, do I love it when she says my name. “Keep saying my name, beautiful.”
My lips spark a trail of fire down her neck, pushing at the thin material of her dress as she wiggles against me and the finger inside her. One second we’re standing, and the next, we’re in free fall as Taya pulls me with her as she lands with a thump on the bed.
“It only has to be once. I have to know,” she whispers, almost to herself.
As if this will ever just be a one-time thing. I’m not even inside her, and I know I’ll never get enough.
“Then take your fucking clothes off.” My temper spikes because she’s dead wrong if she thinks we won’t do this again.
Hazel orbs flare with desire when I curse, and when Taya just lies there and pants, I reach under her and pull what she’s wearing clear over her head. The only thing left is a lace thong, the one I just pushed away to finger her, and I can smell how soaking wet she is. She kicks her heels somewhere into the depths of the attic, and I pull the panties down her hips.