Page 109 of The Stud

We warmly laugh and scoot in tighter together while working our way to the opposite side of the room where the DJ –that Joey apparently hired on behalf of the team– is open to suggestions from those footing the bill.

Once our Shakira request is in, Tanner and I fade into the crowd just enough to hide from the paparazzi amount of photos the Slayers and random other party guests are taking of the event.

My brewskie free hand drapes around his neck while I let my hips rock to the rhythm with his.

Brush.

Grind.

Wind in small circles to the easy-to-follow beat.

We grin, share sips of his drink, sneak small kisses, and sing along to familiar tunes.

For what feels like hours – despite knowing it’s only minutes – I openly allow myself to do everything it means to be a Slayer.

To be “one of the girls” instead of “one of the boys”.

I dramatically whip my hair around and strike goofy dramatic poses.

Theatrically bat my eyelashes just to get him grinning.

Continuously turn chaste kisses into more lascivious ones that are deeper.

And longer.

And attached to ass grabs from him as well as me.

I eagerly enjoy his embrace, grateful for the opportunity to do it in public without care or concern who may be watching or clicking.

When “Girl Like Me” comes on, it’s impossible to dial back my elation or enthusiasm.

Switching positions so that Tanner’s behind me while I wiggle my hips and pop my ass on the beats presents him with views he struggles to resist. The sight of seeing his name and number and me wearing it with pride has him grinding against me harder.

Panting near my collarbone.

Gripping my inner thigh and possessively growling.

“GreatEight, I can’t wait to get you home, Slayer…” Nips at my neck convince me to let my head loll back onto his shoulder, hips still rolling. “Start the new year with you…” A strong bite of my earlobe has me whimpering. “Inside of you…”

All of a sudden, the music cuts out and counting begins, yet rather than joining them, Tanner swiftly smashes his mouth against mine, forgoing the tradition of waiting for the clock to strike midnight. Our tongues frantically tangle, growing wilder on every lash, faster on every whip, overindulging so recklesslythat we easily kiss past the moment of time change and well into my birthday.

My birthday, which is now the first one I’m cellying with anotherpersonin years.

And what I’m hoping won’t be the last one I celly with the dude I’ve definitely fallen for.

Chapter 17

Arden

I’ve never had anyone lick chocolate mousse off my nipples.

Or reallyanythingoff of me.

And more importantly, I’ve never had it done on my birthday.

Actually.

I’ve never hadmedone on my birthday.

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