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Ugh, I need to get laid, and by someone that isn’t Vance.
Anticipating my next move, his fingers wrap around my wrists, halting any further advancement. Oh, shucks. It seems the asshole as grown a conscience.
“You’re drunk. Go to sleep, Ava.”
“You’re drunk. Go to sleep, Vance,” I mock, sticking my tongue out at him.
“Sassy. Not much has changed about you, has it? You still make me want to throttle you,” he says heatedly.
“Well, I feel the same about you too,” I say before slipping out of my bra, and flinging it across the room. I can feel my nipples tighten now that they are free from the bra and I know if he would touch them, touch me, they would harden to stiff peaks.
Excitement and lust pulse through me at the thought.
“Stay with me,” I whine, giving him my best pout. I don’t want this precious, un-hateful moment to end between us. It’s too soon. I’ve only got a taste of the old Vance and I’m not ready to give him up yet. “Please…” I say a second later, because the apprehension flickering in his eyes tells me he doesn’t want to give in.
He exhales all the air in his lungs, and his jaw tightens. He shakes his head as if he’s telling himself he shouldn’t do it, shouldn’t stay, but just like me, he can’t let go of whatever is happening right now. So instead of leaving, he starts to take off his clothes. Gulping, I swallow down the groan forming in my throat.
His shirt is the first to go and when the simple t-shirt is pulled away, he extends it to me.
“Here, put this on.” There’s a seductiveness to his voice that calls out to me.
“Do you have a problem with boobs?” I tease, feeling light-hearted and free. He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, letting his eyes run over my bare chest. Of course he’s not shy about looking. My tits aren’t huge, more like a handful each, but they aren’t bad either. I mean boobs are boobs, right?
“Nah, your tits are perfect. Now put the shirt on, before I put it on you myself. I’m a man of my word, so for tonight your virtue is safe with me.”
“You’re so bossy, and I’m not a virgin, there is no virtue to save,” I grumble, pulling on his shirt awkwardly before shoving down into the pillowy mattress.
“Virgin or not, it’s not happening, so stop being a pain in the ass.”
I watch him intently as he gives me my own personal striptease. My mouth starts watering and moisture builds between my thighs with every piece of clothing he tosses to the floor.
Once down to his boxers, he slides into the bed beside me, the bed is a queen, but with his bulking frame in it, it feels like a twin. He pulls the blanket up and over both of us. Feeling extra brave, I slide across the sheets and over to him until my body is pressing up against his side. He starts to move, and all I can think is, shit, he’s about to push me away, but instead he does the opposite and slides his arm under my head the motion drawing me closer to him, if that’s even possible.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, suddenly feeling like I need to apologize even though it wasn’t me who made myself look like a giant ass tonight. Kidding aside, we should really talk about it. The giant elephant in the room. It’s weighing heavily on both of us. I don’t know Vance as well as everyone else, but I do know that he wasn’t acting like himself at that party.
“Shhh…” Vance whispers as if he doesn’t want to hear my apology. Pressing my cheek against his red hot skin, I inhale deeply, sniffing him. Damnit. Even his skin smells good like soap and cloves, and I kinda want to take a bite out of him like a chocolate chip cookie.
But even his scent can’t mask the exhaustion I’m feeling. All this fighting, pretending, it’s wearing me down. The wakefulness I felt a few minutes ago evaporates, and I yawn into Vance’s side, none too lady-like. My eyelids droop, fluttering open and closed a couple times. I’m about to doze off with hopes I don’t drool all over his chest when Vance’s deep rumbling voice fills my ears.
“What happened…like really happened, that night five years ago?” With my eyes still closed, I answer him.
“You dared me…remember?” I ask sleepily. Maybe he did hit his head if he can’t remember what happened that night.
“Yeah, and then? What happened then? What happened after that, after you went into the house?”
My brain is like a cookie jar that you can’t see the contents too, my hands digging through the memories trying to place the right one. It seems to take me an eternity partially because I’m drunk, but mostly because it’s not a memory I’m really all that fond of.
