More than Fashion

25

“You mean, before you disappeared?”

“If I remember correctly, you fell asleep.”

I gave a little shrug. “You didn’t seem very into it anyway.”

“I was very into it.” He crossed the room to me, and now I couldn’t help but take in his toned, lean chest, dusted with a touch of dark hair trailing down into his black jeans. “But I don’t have s*x with drunk women.”

“No, you just go down on them and then leave.”

He moved closer, almost touching me, only an inch apart. He lowered his head to speak into my ear, and his breath was soft against my skin. “I don’t remember you complaining. Or should I remind you?”

His accent made every word sound like s*x, and I had a hard time thinking straight. I shook my head, trying to clear it. “Why did you leave then?”

“You were passed out. I waited for a bit, but then I went back to my room. Staying any longer would’ve only complicated things.” He didn’t touch me, and yet we stood so close that I felt him everywhere. Every word was like a physical caress, every breath a promise.

“You could have left a note.”

“You made it clear you didn’t want anything to do with me after that night.”

“I didn’t. I don’t.”

“And yet you’re in a bedroom with me in the middle of the night.”

He’d got me there. I scrambled for an excuse. “I’m here to talk about…Carla.”

“Ah. Don’t worry. I won’t reveal your secret.”

I should move away from him—standing this close to someone for so long was far too intimate—yet I couldn’t pull away. The s****l tension was so strong it practically crackled between us, and it was everything I could do to hold myself back. But he hadn’t touched me either, like he was waiting for me to make the first move. “Why should I trust you?”

He gave a casual shrug. “I didn’t tell anyone about us, did I?”

“There is no us.”

“No, of course not.”

Our lips crashed together, our bodies closing the slight gap between us. I kissed him hard, forcing his mouth open, flicking my tongue inside. He gave as good as he got, his hands gripping my waist and pulling my body against his. My chest rose and fell against his, my breasts brushing his bare skin through my thin top. I couldn’t stop myself from touching his shoulders, sliding my hands down every ridge of his toned abs to his hips…and even lower. He was already hard; I could feel it through his jeans and my clothes. Proof that I affected him as much as he affected me.

“This means nothing,” I said when we broke apart.

“Keep telling yourself that, love.”

His lips trailed down my neck, and his hands glided down my lower back. I closed my eyes and leaned into his body, into his warm kisses and the desire that swept through me every time he touched me. He made everything else in my head vanish except this moment with him, and that scared me. I couldn’t afford to forget that, outside this room, he was my competition—and I had a feeling that if I let him in, if I let him get too close, he could really hurt me. He knew too many of my secrets already.

Besides, I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I didn’t want to like him or get involved with him. I just wanted to f**k him. What we had was purely physical, that was it. And I was tired of this power imbalance between us. He knew me in an intimate way, and he seemed to think that gave him the upper hand. No more.

I pushed him back, palms flat against his chest. He watched me as I focused on his jeans. Popping the button open. Sliding the zipper down. Gripping the fabric and easing them off. He didn’t stop me, and soon he was in nothing but black boxer briefs, straining at the front.

Those had to go, too.

Every new inch of skin revealed only made him hotter, and by the time he stood naked before me, I was dying for a taste of him. I wanted to devour him, to lick every inch before filling my body with him. He watched me silently, letting me take control, but even without words, it was obvious how much he wanted me. I loved having that power over him. And now I’d seen him completely naked, while he’d seen only part of me. The balance was beginning to shift back into my favor.

He reached for my shorts, but I pushed his hand away. There was something I had to do to even the scales. Something I’d been dying to do since that first night we’d met in the bar.

I kneeled in front of him, like he’d done to me the other night, and pulled his hips to me. I slid my hands along his thighs, along the coiled muscles in his legs that must come from some sort of exercise or sport. I knew so little about him. But, I reminded myself, that was the way I wanted it.

My fingers explored him, cupping, stroking, and squeezing. He watched me, growing harder with each touch, his entire body straining for more. I moistened my lips, sliding my tongue across them, and his hungry eyes followed my every move. But I wanted him to suffer a little.

He groaned. “Julie…”

“Stop talking.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to protest, until I flicked my tongue along his tip. That shut him up real fast.

I gave him one long, slow lick down his length, and he shuddered. I took my time, teasing him, exploring him with tiny, quick kisses and tastes. Giving blowjobs was a specialty of mine, honed and refined over many years and many guys. Maybe that made me a slut in some people’s eyes, but f**k that. I liked men, I liked s*x, and I liked myself, and I didn’t give a damn what other people thought. And as Gavin threw his head back and moaned while I took him in my mouth, my experience was paying off.