Page 3 of Blindside Me
God, I need this.
We collide with the couple next to us, and I’m half-surprised my partner doesn’t shove them away. His hardened expression looks like he could break them, but he moves me again and keeps his focus like it’s all he’s ever done.
Like he’s incapable of failing at anything.
“Where’d you come from?” I blurt out, not even thinking, as his hands slide under my shirt again.
“Does it matter?” He echoes me.
“Not even a little.” I lean into his touch, basking in the way we fit together.
He smiles, and it makes him stupidly gorgeous. We keep moving together. His greedy hands keep roaming along my body as if he’s already planning an after-party for two. Heat floods through me as his fingers continue their exploration. This is so unlike me. I don’t usually let guys get this far without figuring out what they’ll cost me in the long run. But I’m not thinking about that now. Or thinking at all.
The beat changes to a different tempo, and I find myself again grinding into him. His noticeable bulge makes me smile, and I’m tired of waiting.
“Wanna get out of here?” I ask.
“You’re hot.” He’s close enough that the words vibrate against my neck. “But drunk.”
He’s close enough to know that, too.
I don’t bother denying it. Instead, I pull away just enough to see those dark eyes watching mine. This guy thinks he’s got me figured out. Thinks he knows exactly what kind of girl I am.
He might be right about that, too.
I slide my hands up that rock-hard chest I’d already admired. “I know what I want.”
“Is that right?” His cocky grin says it all.
He thinks he knows exactly what this is. That makes two of us.
“Let’s go.” Grabbing his hand, I lead him off the dance floor without a word. The club is a whirl of lights and noise behind us as we cut through the crowd and find a dark hallway.
I don’t think. I just act. I shove open the first door I see—thank God it’s a bathroom—and drag him inside. The lock clicks, and he’s on me before I can breathe.
His kiss is urgent and demanding. His tongue is slick, tasting like whiskey and sin.
I groan into his mouth as my hands claw at his shirt and pull it up over his chest. Goddamn, I hit the lottery with this guy. His abs are rigid and defined. I can’t resist running my fingers over them. His breath hitches as he shivers under my touch.
“Fuck,” he growls against my lips, sliding his hands under my shirt. His rough fingers brush against my nipples, causing them to tighten as I instinctively arch into him, desperate for more. But I’m not giving him my body. Not tonight. Tonight, I’m taking.
“No time for talking.” I’m greedy for the escape he gives me, already tugging at his jeans. My fingers fumble, but I get them open and yank his pants down just enough to free his cock.
Holy shit. Lucky lottery winner indeed.
He’s bigger than I expected. Bigger than anyone expects. It’s thick, heavy in my hand, and already leaking. My mouth waters just looking at it. I drop to my knees without a second thought and wrap my fingers around the base, while grabbing hold of his thigh with my free hand.
“Dammmn.” His low and gravelly groan fuels me on.
I don’t waste time, parting my lips and taking him into my mouth, inch by inch. He twitches against my tongue, which draws a moan from me. I don’t know why this turns me on so goddamn much, but there’s nothing better than having a man fill my mouth.
“Fuck, that’s good.” He tosses his head back and tangles his hands in my hair.
I suck hard and swirl my tongue around the tip before taking him deeper. My jaw aches as I stretch to accommodate him, but I don’t care. The way he groans, the way his thigh tenses under my hand, it’s worth it.
“Jesus Christ,” he hisses, his fingers tightening in my hair. He pulls me closer, guiding my head as he fucks my mouth. Tears prick the corners of my eyes as he hits the back of my throat. I gag but don’t stop. I can’t. Not when he feels this good. Not when this helps break through some of the numbness that doesn’t seem to go away.
The bass from the club thuds through the walls, matching the rhythm of his hips. My pussy throbs, wet and aching for him, but this isn’t about me. Not yet.
