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I finished my ninth beer, threw the bottle at Steve, and hauled arse out of the chair and over to her. She was standing alone, but she’d had eyes on me long enough that I could guess she’d been there for one reason and one reason only. I boxed her in against the wall, took the beer from her, finished it and tossed the empty away.
I buried my face in her neck. It wasn’t a rule – no kissing – but I never found myself tempted in the moment. My lips went wherever would make her feel good, and that had never meant her lips.
She moaned in my ear as my hand ran up her leg.
The whole dance was trite. I’d done it what felt like a thousand times before. They were all the same. It made it easier to fuck them and forget them. I didn’t need names. I didn’t care about faces. As long as I could forget myself and my life for half an hour, it got the job done.
And this one would definitely get the job done.
She moaned and whimpered in all the right places, pressing her body against mine as her hands ran through my hair. We may as well have been in some overacted porno, but then guys like me – being a teenager in the age of smart phones – are conditioned by overacted pornos.
I was just as easily turned on and spurned on by a well-placed whimper as I was by a sharp inhalation and a hand gripping my back. It didn’t make much difference to me if it was real or not. While I liked to think I wasn’t a selfish fucker, I wasn’t in this to wring untold pleasures out of her before I busted my load.
“Come with me,” I told her roughly, taking her hand and leading her somewhere a little more private, mentally counting the number of condoms I had in my wallet.
Three.
Three would suit me fine.
