Page 7 of Puppy Love

“Okay, fair,” she says, her eyebrows lifting. “But my friends aren’t coming, and there’s no animal-murdering Tinder date. I just…”

Her eyes travel down my body, and her breath hitches as they lock onto my chest again.

“You just?”

Cam nods, her eyes flicking up to me. If I thought she was blushing before, she’s sure as hell flustered now. A red tint grows over her cheeks, not unlike the color of her drink.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she says, standing up abruptly. She looks at me through her thick brown lashes, before quickly walking away.

My fingers tap against the thick margarita glass as I watch the man on stage finish his rather drunken performance. Then, my stomach drops.

Shit. Was that a move?

I haven’t actually done this before, pick up a girl at a bar. Is going to the bathroom a euphemism? Was I supposed to follow her, or is it just going to lead to some really awkward silence?

The Beatles Man stumbles off the stage and approaches me.

“Heyyy pretty lady,” he slurs, his eyebrows wiggling.

Fuck it.

The roof of my mouth freezes for a moment as I suck down the rest of the margarita and slam a few one-dollar bills onto the bar as I make my way to the bathroom.

When I push open the swinging door, I catch Cam staring at herself in the mirror, seemingly attempting to fix her hair and makeup. Which makes no sense if I was supposed to follow her, because she would’ve known I’d just mess it up again. Still, I have to at least try to pretend I know what I’m doing.

“Enjoying the view?” I tease. Cam’s cheeks flush.

“More like cringing,” she says, taking a wet wad of toilet paper to the mascara smudge. I step in front of her and cup her delicate face in my hands. Then, I swipe the smudge gently with the pad of my thumb. Cam’s breath hitches, and I shake my head, clicking my tongue disappointedly.

2“Can’t have the Ice Princess talking about herself that way now, can I?”

Damn. I’ve still got it. Cam’s throat bobs as she swallows, those full lips parting ever so slightly, but no words come out.

“Can I?” I repeat.

Her stare darts from my eyes to my lips, her eyes darkening. Long, soft fingers snake around my waist, sending a shiver down my spine. She pulls my pelvis into hers.

“Do you ever shut up?” she asks, her head tilted innocently. Then, her chin lifts up, her lips tracing mine to close the space between us. Our positions shift, as she guides my back against the sink. I reach out blindly, twisting the lock on the door until I hear the satisfying click, then let my hands venture back to her body.

My fingers trace up her thighs, her skin soft and supple. They glide under the curve of her ass, squeezing it not too gently in appreciation.

I think Cam was the blueprint for every sculpture ever crafted of a mythical goddess.

Her hot breath melts into my neck as she sucks the skin softly, drawing a quiet but not meaningless moan out of me. She places a single finger against the skin of my stomach, then drags it upward slowly and delicately. She is barely touching me, and I swear she can feel how wet I am through my jeans. When her finger reaches my bra, she carefully outlines that too, teasing me with her soft fingertips.

“Fuck,” I mutter, letting my hands journey to the front of her panties. I hook a finger on the fabric, waiting for a consenting nod before I slip my hand inside.

It probably shouldn’t, but my ego boosts just a smidge when I feel that Cam is just as wet as I am. She’s practically dripping, and my fingers find their spot just in the center of the slick mess I helped her create. Cam lets out an angelic moan, a sound I now feel I’ll never be able to go without. She grips the back of my neck, pressing herself further into me.

“Just like that. Good girl,” I mumble during the short moment in which my lips aren’t attached to her neck. My fingers glide against her clit, curl my knuckles on the way back, then carefully repeat. Cam’s body jolts against mine as she practically collapses into me, one hand still gripping my neck as the other tugs at my hair. It’s a great thing I’ve never been tender-headed.

“Fuck,” she whines, and I know that’s my sign to keep going. My thumb dances over her clit, a hot pulse emulating in my core as she pushes her thigh between mine. I groan, picking up the pace and moving my fingers to—*

“Is anyone in there?!” a woman’s sharp voice calls out, followed by incessant, eardrum-shattering knocking.

Cam’s eyebrows shoot up, her face flushing a bright, hot red. She pulls back, my fingers begrudgingly slipping out of her completely soaked underwear.

The knocking continues. “Hello?!”

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