Page 3 of This or That
My confused brain wonders how long it’s been. It feels like it’s been hours, although that’s impossible. His hold on my hair becomes more forceful, and the back of my neck becomes so stiff that it aches. I don’t react.
Soon enough, his tongue brushes against mine. I’m petrified, numb, stunned… but that doesn’t deter him. Quite the opposite. He kisses me like his life depends on it, making all kinds of erotic noises that only I can hear and have a direct connection to my cock, no-holds-barred, and all of my rational thoughts short-circuit. My nerve endings go radio silent for a split second when his hand pauses before it resumes squeezing my designer jean-clad flesh… with a vengeance. My previous tensions vanish to settle between my legs.
Oh, fuck! How is this possible?
It takes another second. Another minute. Or is it another hour? To register that my work friends whistle and clap at the searing kiss. They must be as hot and bothered by it as I am.
Wait, what?
This can’t be. I’m not gay.
Coming to my senses at last, I wrench my lips from his and manage to free myself from his hold. His kiss. His spell. Instinctively, I take a step back to put some necessary distance between us.
The excitement hasn’t subsided, and other nearby patrons break into applause. What the hell is their problem?
Well, as long as nobody comments on my raging erection, I won’t punch anyone.
Wait, what?
Of course, I will. A knee-jerk reaction takes over as soon as the words “Get off me, you perv!” leave my mouth, and I slap the cheek that was previously affixed to mine.
What’s gotten into me? This sobered me up for good, and I’m just pretending to be plastered as an excuse.
Caressing his cheek, the guy’s glaring like I was the one who mauled his mouth, a knowing look flashing on his face. He has some nerve.What the fuck have I done now?He assaulted me. He forced his tongue into my mouth. He pressed his semi against my own. At the thought, I clear the lump from my constricted throat.
Dammit, what’s wrong with me?
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that I’m the one at fault here.” And the fucker cracks up in my face.
Frowning, I take another step back and ram into the arm of the couch. I ignore the guests’ requests for more. I don’t want more; what I want is to regain the upper hand.When did this go wrong?
The cowboy turns to his coworker and whispers something that I can’t hear, which frustrates me to no end. She cups her hand around his ear as she replies, and her back faces me as the revengeful stranger claims, “It was only fair to give you a taste of your own medicine.” He lets out a bitter chuckle. “I just didn’t expect…” He trails off.
Part of me hopes that he’ll admit that he liked it. Heat courses from my head down to my toes, and I will myself to remain calm, although my poker face is out of order, thanks to my alcohol consumption.
Once again, he surprises me by using my words. “You liked it, didn’t you?”
Perplexed, my thumb thoughtlessly caresses my swollen lips, but he couldn’t care less. He laces his fingers with his coworker’s, and I wonder if they are a couple. Nah, he wouldn’t have acted so recklessly.
When his hand grasps the doorknob, his head tilts my way. “I know you did.” His intense gaze bores into mine and he turns to leave the room. For good this time. He crosses the threshold and declares, “So, what’s your choice? This or that?”
Wait, what?
Chapter 3
Sunset Lover
Troy
My colorful plate contrasts with the gloomy Parisian October weather. Not that I’m sure whether this is typical, since I only got here in June. So far, the weather’s been mostly decent. The other students from my exchange program are cool and don’t give a flying fuck that I’m here on a scholarship, and my coworkers at the club are awesome. Luckily, all of them speak English, so I couldn’t complain since I don’t speak much French, although I now understand it pretty well. Granted, it’s quite a change from the Dallas-Fort Worth area where I grew up, or New York where I’ve lived for years, but I’m having a blast.
“The croissant’s mine!” I bat Anna’s sneaky hand away and smile. “If you want one, go get one. After all, it’s an all-you-can-eat brunch. It’s one of the perks of this place, on top of the trendy vibes and beautiful people.”
She groans at my sarcastic remark. The Canal Saint-Martin is all that, fashionable and full of people that the French refer to asbo-bo, but we Americans would call hipsters. Although it’s much more enjoyable when it’s warmer, the promenade and area are simply unique. Trendy furniture stores. Trendy vegan cafés. Trendy boutiques… Did I mention that the Canal was trendy and I’m not surprised that Dutch Anna chose it? “Nah, I’m not supposed to eat stuff like that,” she whines, giving me her best impression of Puss in Boots.
“Oh, come on! Considering the size of the pastry, I’d say that your agency should require that you have at least two.” I stare at my plate, then back at my friend. “It’s so tiny.” I grab a knife and slice it horizontally before slathering it with Nutella for good measure.
Anna’s dark blue eyes widen as she watches me with envy, licking her full lips. She takes a sip of her green tea after polishing off her bowl of mixed fruit and granola. Her dark shoulder-length hair sways to the rhythm of the background music that I don’t recognize. “Are we going to discuss last night’s…”—she takes a look around, thoughtful—“incident?”
