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In no time they're sitting before us, the empty glasses now gone. His hands leave my panties but not my thighs. Instead, he uses them to turn me around, and just as my front touches his, a stool is slid against the back of my thighs. I sit on the edge and he moves between my legs, hiking my dress up and pressing himself against me, hard, looking into my eyes. "Perfect fucking shade of pink," he says, his voice strained and husky.
"You ready to get out of here?" I ask, already physically knowing the answer from what he’s unable to hide.
"Not yet. You wanted to pre-game, so I'm going to catch up with you, acquainting myself with your body one shot at a time. And then we're going to hail a cab, because I've already got the vision of you screaming my name in my head." He grinds his erection against my damp panties, sending my hormones into overdrive. Never have I ever felt the need to have something shoved inside of me so strong. "And it's a damn fine view."
My head falls back, the ends of my curled hair sweeping against the backs of my arms as they support my weight, firmly pressed on the top of the stool behind me. His tongue sweeps from my collarbone to the middle of my neck, and my head rolls to the side to give him better access. "You smell fucking phenomenal," he says against my skin. "I wonder if you taste just as good."
My eyes close, fighting desperately to keep my mouth shut and my thoughts to myself. Small, gritty granules are sprinkled over the now cool section of wet skin. His tongue returns, cleaning me, and seconds later I hear a shot glass hit the top of the bar.
I open my eyes as he pulls the dry lime wedge from his mouth and tosses it in the empty glass. "Are we going to drag this out or get on with the fun part?" I ask; the sarcasm barely disguising how turned on I am.
"Good things come to those who wait," he says, dishing the sarcasm right back as he places the second shot in the middle of my cleavage.
I look down at it, the small glass nestled perfectly in the crevice of boobage caused by my favorite bra and enhanced by my tight-fitting dress. My eyes set on his once again. "Unless I decide you're not worth the wait and move on to someone else."
I try desperately to hide the smile in my voice, but based on the proud smirk he's wearing, I know I failed. His face is so close to mine I can smell the alcohol on his breath. Beer is the strongest. Not a good mix prior to liquor for most people without a stomach of steel. "I'd say based on how soaked your fucking pussy is, we both know that's a lie, so sit back and relax. We have all night, baby."
"Anyone ever tell you you're an asshole?"
"A time or two. Anyone ever tell you you're a control freak?"
The smile I've been trying to smother breaks free. "Maybe."
Without another word he dips down and swipes his flattened tongue over the entire exposed globe of my left breast. My eyes close again with the contact. "Fuck. You and that tongue . . ."
He coats my wet cleavage in salt. "You have no idea." And then he laps against my skin, making sure to take all of the salt with a hard suck before he grips the rim of the shot glass between his lips and downs the next shot. His Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows. My panties just got uncomfortably wet.
He removes the empty glass from his lips and places it on the bar, one shot remaining. "You're running out of places." The flirty smirk is no doubt set in place on my face. I can feel it.
His hands inch up my thighs until he's gripping my hips, beneath my dress. He jerks me forward suddenly, a laughter sounding that creates a pool of wetness in my panties not present before. "There are many places I have yet to explore on this body."
My ass is barely covering the stool. "Most of which are not explorable in public."
"Who's gonna stop me?" Before I can even process what he's doing, he bends down and licks up the inside of my thigh at my panty line. The warmth of his tongue so close to my most intimate region forces me to open my legs instead of closing them. Fuck it. I grab the shot and remove the lime, setting the full glass directly between my legs, pressed against my panties.
He glances up at me, the sexiest smile forcing my class into a corner. I may have had a reputable career today and I'll still have one tomorrow, but right this second I'm a wild-ass party girl that doesn't give a damn about a reputation. "Fine. Give me a prelude of what that tongue is going to do later, and then, come and fucking get it," I say, placing the skin of the lime between my teeth.
I watch, trying to keep my breathing steady as he covers me in salt yet again, my entire panty region exposed for anyone to see. He starts at the dip of my inner thigh, beside my panty line, flattening his tongue against the trail of salt ready to be taken. Slowly he takes it all, leaving behind a wetness that doesn't belong to me, ending at the top of my thigh.
His lips conform around the rim of the shot glass, his nose grazing the skin that covers my clit, only the thin fabric of my panties in the way. I strain to keep my teeth clamped on the lime. He stares into my eyes as the liquid from the glass drains into his mouth. He removes it once empty, and before he can even sit it on the bar the lime wedge is ripped from my mouth and his lips replace them.
The taste of tequila mixed with him is intoxicating. The liquor in my veins is coursing rapidly through my body. I'm drunk. I'm high. There is nothing right now that I want more than him. I have no idea why but I need this more than I need my next paycheck. So I kiss him back with the same heat he's giving. His kiss is needy, greedy, and addicting.
I have no sense of time. But I know that it feels like forever has passed when he finally pulls away, his pupils changing with each focus on me. He signals the bartender, but never looks away. "Close my tab. We're leaving."
And with every ounce of my being I know that my body is about to be his; maybe for an hour, all night, or for the short period of time that he's visiting New York. But regardless of how long he already owns me—a beautiful, green-eyed stranger—that's more than I can say for anyone else. "Then take me home."
Chapter Three
Bryant
Two days earlier . . .
The room is eerily quiet today even though sound is not muted. There is plenty of activity in the visitation quarters, yet the only one I'm concerned with is checked out. Today is one of those days I'm not going to get anything out of him, no matter how long I stay. I've learned it comes and goes, and the time period of which he's in each state of mind is never the same. It could be hours, days, weeks, or even months in the extreme case. One second he's the man that raised me, and the next I don't even recognize him.
Doctors are still unsure of exactly what's wrong with him. Every word they throw out is fucking ten miles long and means nothing to the average person. I glance around the room, eying each individual person. Some look like they're completely devoid of reality, others look like they're totally normal, and some look like the sociopaths that are usually the base inspiration for horror films.
I look at him, sitting across the table and staring at me as if his soul has been carved out of his body. He's a hollow man. My heart breaks every time I see him like this. Prison would have been easier to stomach than this. He doesn't belong here. My dad isn't insane. He's just broken.
