Page 29 of Sweet Escape

“I’m not wrong.”

“You couldn’tbemore wrong,” I say, imitating his tone when he said the same words to me a few minutes go. “Besides, what I want probably isn’t something you could give me anyways.”

Something flashes behind his eyes.

Ah, so he’s like every other man, easy to bait when you place a challenge in front of him.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

I lean the last bit in to him, so my lips are right by his ear. So I can whisper exactly what I want from him without risking someone hearing what I have to say.

“I want to be fucked, Memphis.”

I hear his sudden intake of breath, a little thing, but noticeable nonetheless.

“I want someone to split me in half,” I continue, pressing a finger into his chest, between his pecs, and tracing slowly downward. “I want to come so hard I black out.”

I tilt back, putting a few inches of space between us, a thrill racing through me when I see how his eyes have clouded over. His lids are heavy, his mouth parted slightly. Part of me thinks if I were to press my hand between his legs right now, he’d be rock solid.

“So, like I said ... I’m not so sure you’re the right man for the job.”

He watches me for a long moment, like something is warring inside him. Like maybe he’s trying to decide if he wants to actually give in to this obvious attraction between us. It’s easy to blow off something that happened in the kitchen in the middle of the night. Chalk it up to being in a weak mental state or not having the ability to resist temptation.

But there’s something completely different about making an active decision to sleep with someone. There’s no way to brush it off or place blame somewhere else.

Memphis seems like the type to confront his problems head-on. But for whatever reason, he keeps picking fights with me instead of accepting that he wants to get me naked.

When it comes to sex, I am definitely a head-on kind of gal. Exhibit A: myI want to be fuckedspeech. Though I’m also guilty of picking my own fights sometimes. I mean, I picked one with Memphis, didn’t I?

“You want to be fucked, Vivian?” he says, his voice a low rumble. “Name the time and the place, and I’ll be there.”

I blink, mild shock flooding through me, followed by a wave of desire so strong that I can barely keep my enthusiasm to myself when I reply, “Right now, anywhere you want me.”

He looks a little stunned, but it takes him less than a second to shift gears. Memphis tugs his wallet out, slaps a twenty on the counter, then takes me by the hand and leads me through The Standard. We storm past the bathrooms and what looks like a little office, before he pushes through a door into a dark room and tugs me in behind him.

“What are . . .”

But my words cut off when he shoves me up against the closed door and slams his mouth against mine.

Everything around us fades into nothing and I open for him, inviting him in, wanting nothing more than the taste of him on my tongue again.

And it tastes so good. Like beer and honey and something else that I recognize from the last time we kissed ... something that is all Memphis.

It’s an intoxicating combination, and only seconds pass before I feel drunk on him.

Bringing both hands up to his neck, I thread my fingers through the hair at the back of his head, I grip tightly and tilt his head how I want as I suck on his tongue and nibble on his lip.

But he pulls back, shaking my hands off him.

“You seem to think you’re in control here,” he says, keeping his voice quiet. “But if you want to be fucked, Vivian, then I’m in charge.”

A shiver races through me, and then he’s kissing me again. But this time, he’s directing each movement. His mouth moves to my neck, hishands to my ass, and I let out a moan when I feel the thick rod between his legs pressed up against me.

Memphis licks and nibbles at my skin. My neck, over my clavicle, then down the deep V of my top. He tugs the stretchy material to the side, revealing the meaty flesh of my breast behind a bralette, zeroing in on my nipple and circling the nub with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth through the lace.

I squirm, the pulse between my legs growing as he lavishes me with his attention. First one breast, then the other. Over the material and then tugging that to the side as well so his tongue is directly on my skin.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had this much focus on my breasts, and I grow wet as he continues, my lower lips surely glistening with desire.

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