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“If you’re going to rub me down, you might as well lower your touch.” His voice slipped through his mouth with such ease and certainty that I almost missed his inappropriate commentary.
My hands froze against his chest as I tilted my head to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry, what?”
“If you’re gonna rub my chest, you might as well rub my cock, too.”
I pulled my hands back from him, completely flabbergasted. “Huh?”
“Did I stutter?” His voice was smooth like whiskey, with the same tingling sensation when his sound hit my ears. It was low, with bass, and stable without an ounce of doubt. I didn’t know voices could be that strong, that sure when they spoke. It wasn’t as if he was demanding power. He was powerful without even trying.
Definitely not a boy.
Definitely a man.
A hot-hot man.
“Uh, no. You didn’t stutter.”
“So?”
I raised an eyebrow. “So what?”
“Are you going to rub my cock, or will you move out of my way so I can get a beer?”
“Are you always this crude?”
“I’m not crude,” he said. “Just straight to the point.”
“And what is the point, exactly?”
“You rubbing my cock.”
“Stop saying cock.” I grimaced.
“Stop asking me my point, then,” he replied.
I placed my hands on my hips and shook my head in disbelief. “Is that what you guys do? Does that work for you? Just asking women to touch your penis?”
“My penis?” He huffed, and his mouth slightly turned up into a devilish smirk. “So formal, so proper,” he mocked.
“I could’ve said phallus.”
He leaned in slightly, his hot breath melting against my face. “You can suck my phallus if you’d like. Along with my testicles for shits and giggles.”
“What’s wrong with you men and blow jobs? Anything for a blow, I swear!”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m a giver, too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you can sit on my face.”
My jaw dropped as my eyes widened. “Oh my goodness!”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Sitting on faces makes you bashful, huh?”
“What? No. Psh, please. Not fazed at all.” I shifted around in my shoes. “I’m cool with that. I’m fine. I’m hip.” Freaking Cheerios, Star.
“Hip?” He almost laughed, but I wasn’t sure his voice could make such a noise. “How old are you again?”
“Oh, shut it. I don’t go out of my way to meet strangers who tell me I can sit on their faces.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope this year brings you more face sittings. That’s my New Year's resolution for you. By all means, I’ll be your first chair.”
My cheeks heated. “Stop it.”
“What? I was offering you a seat. What do you need? A wedding proposal?” he joked.
That wouldn’t be so bad, I thought to myself.
“No offense—” I started.
“You’re about to be offensive—”
“I said no offense.”
“That’s what people say before they are about to be offensive. But continue.”
I shrugged. “You’re kind of an asshole.”
“My friends call me Dick.”
“What’s your actual name?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, flicking his thumb against the bridge of his nose. “Because by night's end, you’ll be calling me a dick or riding my dick. Either way, it’s Dick to you.”
“Oh my gosh, are you always this explicit?”
“Depends. Are you always such a prude?”
“Do I look like a prude?”
His eyes moved up and down my figure several times before he met my stare again. The curve to his lips almost made me blush. He didn’t hate what he saw. Hips and all. “You look like a woman who should be sitting on my face.”
I laughed and shook my head. “I’m done with this conversation.”
He crossed his arms over his broad chest and leaned in. “I get it, but I’m just trying to help you with your New Year’s resolution of sitting on some faces.”
“That wasn’t my New Year’s resolution. That was yours for me.”
“What can I say? I want what’s best for you.”
I hated to admit it, but I was enjoying our back-and-forth banter. John never bantered with me. Ugh. John. Screw you, John—stupid boy.
I turned back to the man. “I think this is where we stop talking now.”
“Yes. Less talk, more sitting.”
I parted my mouth to speak, but my mind shut down as I stared at him.
He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes as he seemingly grew more captivated by me. He studied me as if I were the Mona Lisa—something unique yet foreign to his mind. He stared as if he were trying to collect clues to a mystery I hadn’t known I’d been a part of. Why was he studying me like that? And why did his eyes on me make me feel both panicky and protected all at once?
Walk away, Star.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
We stood there, neither of us speaking as the beat of the music pulsed around us. The chatter of the other partygoers buzzed in my eardrums as we stayed in place.
Why was he still looking at me?
