He blinks, his blue gaze making a roundtrip pass over my lips again, making it increasingly difficult for me to breathe or think straight. A week ago, talking to him was difficult, now I challenge him to hold my stare and finally admit this is more than a game—more than we both want to admit.
“Dare.”
It’s the same choice he’s made throughout the entirety of our brief game, ensuring me he’d choose it again. “Kiss me.”
The air feels heavier as my dare echoes in my ears, my stomach pitched with nerves and fear of rejection.
His eyes sweep back to mine, and that desire and hunger I feel in the pit of my stomach is reflected in his blue eyes. My heart throbs, and my knees feel weak as I reach for him to balance me—anchor me—and bring him closer because I need to feel him everywhere.
He leans closer, and my breath catches.
Everything changes…
Claim you…
Only one…
I lean into him. His chest heaves against mine as his breaths drag against my cheek, the scent of whiskey hypnotizing me along with the beat of his heart against my chest. Then his hands close around my waist, and his lips come down on mine, and it feels like I’m floating as he takes my bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, his fingers grinding into my waist, pulling me closer. Or maybe I’m tugging him closer as my nails scrape against his black dress shirt, desperate to feel him and taste him.
He slants his lips over mine, his tongue sweeping across my lips, daring me to take more—to give more. I part my lips for him, and his tongue tangles with mine, and I taste the whiskey and absinthe and the sweetness from the sugar.
I groan, or maybe it’s him. I can’t tell anymore because as we collide in this moment, I think about cold welding: the effect in which two metals of the same type touching in space become permanently joined because of the absence of air. That is how I feel. Bonded to Tyler in a way I know will forever change who I am.
The weight of his body against mine is exhilarating and seductive, all heat and strength that disarms me as our kiss grows deeper.
“Let’s go,” I whisper as he kisses my top lip and then my cheek, my jaw, and my bottom lip, peppering them until I can’t recall what I said.
“To the hotel?”
I shake my head. “The VIP room.”
His eyes darken.
I kiss him fully on the mouth. “You said it’s private. No one can see anything.” I kiss him again. “Please.”
He growls, his teeth grazing the top of my ear. “You know what you’re asking for?”
“I want you.” I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life as I am right now, discussing having sex with Tyler. I would likely do it right here and now against this wall with everyone watching us if I wasn’t terrified my sister or Cooper might see. Nothing here seems taboo or wrong.
He threads his fingers with mine and sets his other hand on my hip, his fingers lazily tracing the line of my hip bone as he guides us toward the VIP room I’d told him hours before was unnecessary.
“We don’t want to be disturbed,” Tyler tells the bouncer. He nods with understanding and moves to the middle of the stairs as we ascend them, my heart and breaths growing lighter as though we’re gaining actual altitude with the short climb.
Tyler closes the door behind us. The room is dark, and the music and lights still throb through the space as the lounge looks out across the club. Sheer white curtains offer a veil of privacy. Apprehension steals my breath. Is everyone going to see me? Is Tyler going to go back to avoiding me tomorrow?
“We don’t have to do anything,” Tyler says, moving to stand behind me, his hands settling on my hips. His lips trace the side of my neck. “We can order a drink or go back down or leave. It’s up to you.”
“This isn’t just a drunk hookup?” I ask, turning my head to catch his gaze.
His eyes flash to mine, and then he’s kissing me again. He slides his hands into my hair as his tongue twists around mine for a hot second before it ends too quickly, leaving my thoughts spinning and my breaths heavy. “How much have you had to drink?” he asks, his lips resting against my ear.
“One. When we got here.”
“That was two hours ago,” he tells me. “I’ve had two.” He licks his lips. “Nothing about you, nothing about this—us—has come easily. This is way more than a hookup.”
My body heats as his eyes convey a level of honesty my heart understands. “In New Orleans,” I start, my body shivering as I recall his promise to take me then. “You put that thought into my head, and I haven’t been able to get it out. Every time we step into a club, it’s all I can think about.”
Tyler’s fingers run the length of my thighs and then back up, raising the hem of my dress higher on my thigh. His breaths are cool against my skin, which feels too hot as need courses through me. “We should slow down.” His fingers press into my flesh, the roughness of calluses scratching my skin tantalizingly, contradicting his words.
I shake my head. “If we stop, I’m pretty sure I’m going to explode.”
His fingers travel higher, skimming my butt before following the edges of my underwear over my hips and core, making me nearly gasp with anticipation, yet he doesn’t touch me at all where I want him—need him to.
I lean my head back, my breaths uneven as his fingers skim across my inner thigh again.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” he says before he breathes me in, another short growl before he cups my core, offering only the slightest relief before the pressure somehow increases further. He slides his fingers over me, applying more pressure with his middle finger as he strokes up my middle, making my hips buck and my breath to come out in a gust.
The reality of this situation has me tensing, feeling self-conscious as my inexperience echoes in my ears with the unwanted memory of Ricky’s taunting words.
Tyler senses my hesitation, his lips and touch pausing. I realize I’ve shifted, my head no longer against his collarbone. He kisses my bare shoulder sweetly, then turns me to face him. “What’s wrong?”
His eyes are liquid heat, desire edged in lust that has me contemplating just staying quiet and continuing. His fingers slide along my jaw, tipping my chin up. “Tell me.”
“I want this,” I preface the conversation. “I want you. But this is…” My words trail off, the word virgin seeming sterile and clinical as I struggle to form the word.
His brows furrow.
“My first time…” I tell him.
His eyes flare, and as I’d feared, the words seem to make him come to a full stop as he releases a deep breath. “We should go.”
“Are you serious?” I take a step back, anger hitting me like a wave, covering me with regret and resentment.
“This is a big decision,” he says. “I can’t…” He shakes his head. “I’m not going to take your virginity in a nightclub.”
“You’re wrong. The first time we met was downtown Seattle. You were late because you bought that homeless person bags of groceries, and you sat with Coop and me, and you were wearing a Beatles shirt that Cooper teased you about for being cliché, and you laughed. That was our first time meeting, and I’ve wanted you since. I’ve thought about this for two years, and I don’t care if my first time is in a club, I just want it to be with you.”