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“Hey, the stripper’s here!” Scotty’s voice intrudes on my thoughts. I glance up at the faces around the table, all turned to a spot behind me as someone comes down the stairs.
Timothy looks up from his cards, scowling. “Gross. That’s my sister, asshole.”
I turn in time to see Jessie drop the middle finger she’d been giving to Scotty. What she’s doing barely registers because of what she’s wearing.
Her bikini is tight and black, the triangle scraps of cloth so low and so small a nip slip is inevitable and those pink buds are perfect. My throat tightens as though her invisible fingers wrap around it.
I reach for my whiskey, turning away.
“Heading out to the hot tub already?” Timothy asks, after an annoyed huff because no one is paying attention to the poker game anymore.
“Nope—got caught cheating at a drinking game and this is my punishment.” She doesn’t sound too happy about it.
I can’t look away for long—I set the empty glass down, turning in time to see her bend over to dig around in the fridge.
Jesus Fucking Christ. Am I having some sort of medical event? My heart thumps. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. That fabric stretches tight, the cut is cheeky, and instantly I’m back in the shower, my fingers digging into her hips.
My cock is already hardening at the memory and I reach for my glass, knocking it over before I remember it’s empty. The urge to pull her aside and pour my stupid heart out, begging for forgiveness for hurting her is as strong as the desire to kiss her, touch her, and fuck us both into oblivion.
When I look up, Timothy’s watching me.
“Hey Jessie,” he calls out, his eyes never once letting go of mine. “Can you grab a water for Mr. Fontana? He’s lookingthirsty.”
Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck this is not happening.
She shoots me aWhat the hell is your problemlook, tosses a water bottle my way, and pulls two bottles of champagne out of the fridge.
The water bottle is cold in my hot hand. Did I catch it? It could’ve bounced off my head for all I noticed.
Timothy and Jessie talk, but I’m underwater, unable to understand their words so long as Jessie grips a bottle of champagne between her thighs. Her fingers circle the neck like she had my cock. Her other hand palms the cork, twisting, twisting—
It pops softly and I nearly jump out of my seat, but my world comes into focus as she sets the bottle on the bar. Until she grabs the other one.
Do I have to survive this a second time?
“Who’s winning?” Again she clamps the bottle between her thighs. I want those thighs clamped around me. My hips, my head. Not sure which.
“Who do you think? Now go away.” Timothy waves her off. “If you see any strippers, send them down!”
She laughs, the champagne pops, and she takes both bottles upstairs. Eyes follow, drinking in the spellbinding bounce of her ass.
She is not out of my system. She is my system.
“Guys.” Timothy clears his throat, shuffling the cards. “That’s my sister. You will be respectful of her and the other ladies in the house. Or you know where the door is.”
That, I remind myself, includes me. I’m going to sit right here and respect that Jessie wants nothing more to do with me and lose some money and—
Nope. I’m going after her.
I mumble something about needing to take a piss and take the steps two at a time, but there’s no sign of Jessie. I wander off in the direction she would’ve taken out to the hot tub. Just one minute alone with her, to apologize, to taste those lips…
“Shit, honey, are you okay?”
Celia’s voice deflates my hopes. Jessie’s gone, and I missed her. I backtrack into the kitchen, hoping I don’t appear as dejected as I feel. Celia catches me in the doorway, giving me a perfunctory kiss on the cheek for the mistletoe before dragging me onto a barstool. “Sit. Eat.” A plate of hors d’oeuvres is pushed at me. “I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”
Do I look drunk? Am I drunk on Jessie?
By the time Celia sets a cup of coffee in front of me, my mouth is stuffed and most of the plate is gone. She leans against the island, sipping a hot chocolate that’s probably half Bailey’s, watching me. When the plate is empty, she hands me a napkin. “Okay, honey. Talk.”
