Page 5 of Dirty Ink

Before the girl could raise her arms, before she could start her cheer and win my heart over, I put my hands on her shoulders. She knew by my heavy sigh that something was up.

“Listen,” I said, “you have no idea how much I want to take you home and hear you…cheer. Cheer my name, cheer your shitty ex’s name, hell, cheer whatever bleedin’ name you like. However loud. Wake up the neighbours.”

The American girl pouted out her bottom lip as she looked up at me. “…but?”

I held her chin between my thumb and pointer finger and swore under my breath.

“But I can’t.”

Her eyes sparked mischievously up at me.

“Why not?” she asked, voice all smoke and seduction. The sweetness gone. Replaced with lust. Replaced with need.

I tried to exhale steadily.

“I’ve got a rule.”

“No one-night stands?” she asked.

I laughed. “Quite the contrary.”

“No girls with massive, real tits?”

“See previous response.”

The girl drew her nails down my chest. Walked me back till my shoulders collided with the brick wall. Her lips curled up as she pressed herself against me.

“Then what? Because I’m American?”

I grinned down at her. “I’m very xenophobic.”

Her eyes darted between mine. She licked her lips.

“Hate fuck me then,” she said. “Take out all your pent-up rage on me. I can take it. I like it rough, you know? And with those big ol’ muscles of yours…”

I hit the back of my head against the wall and held back a frustrated growl. My fingers tightened around the back of her dress. I wanted to draw her closer. Ride her right there on the sidewalk against the brick wall of the club. Feel the back of her head scrape the brick as I pinned her to it with my cock.

But then she would end up in my bed. And morning would come. I’d have my eyes closed, sleep with half its hold on me and I’d hear that accent. I’d be vulnerable. Helpless. Unprepared. It’d crush me all over again.

I looked down at the girl, all sex appeal and eagerness, all the things I wanted. I brushed my thumb over her cheek.

“It’s not hate that I feel,” I said softly. “Not rage either.”

“Then what?” the girl asked, nails sinking into my skin.

As an answer, I lowered my lips to hers and kissed her. I kissed her like she had wild hair the colour of dark honey. Like the sequins of her dress were at the corners of her sparkling hazel eyes. I kissed her like it was the goodbye I never got. The goodbye I never wanted.

I kissed her like I’d found her. Like she was there. Like her lips were the only lips I would ever kiss again.

The girl was breathless when I pulled away. Her lids were heavy, drunk on what they poured in the club. Drunk on me.

Her forehead fell against my chest and she sighed. When she looked up at me, she said, “Fuck,” first and then, “The one who got away, huh?”

“You’ve got one of those, too?”

She shook her head.

“No,” she said and then grinned. “Though maybe I do now.”

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