Page 12 of Fall From Grace
She hasn’t moved away from me, and I’m not ready for rejection, so I hope I’m picking up what she’s putting down.
“I’ve never—” She sucks in a hard breath and pauses, giving my mind enough time to think up a whirlwind of possibilities. She’s never what? Never hooked up with a stranger at a club before? That much is already obvious. Never kissed a stranger? That’s clear, too.
But maybe she means something else.
“I’ve never been bad,” Wren finally says, stopping my mind from racing.
“Not surprising.” I lift a hand to her chin, which I take between my thumb and index finger. I angle her head back, half expecting her to push me away or step back, but she does neither. She lets me, and I take advantage of that. “I’ve been told I’m a great teacher. Let me show you how fun it can be to be bad… we can be bad together.”
Her eyes fall to my mouth, just for the quickest of seconds. If I wasn’t zeroed in on her, I wouldn’t have noticed that falter on her part, and now I know her denial of interest in me was just for show. She’s attracted to me. Of course she is.
As I debate on kissing her, on testing whether or not she really wants to be bad tonight, I decide there’s another test we could run. I let go of her chin, take one last swig of my beer, and then pull her by the hand to the dance floor, all without saying a word. We’re dancing within a minute, my hands on her hips, my fingertips digging in just a bit harder than what’s comfortable. Firm. Firm enough that I’d feel her if she chooses to pull away from me.
And, you know, go back to her goody two-shoes self.
But she doesn’t. She remains right where she is, with her backside pressed firmly against me as we dance to the quick beat. I’m normally no fan of dancing like this—music like this isn’t my thing. I like the harder stuff, not the auto-tuned shit—but I can’t lie, having her ass rubbing all up on me is nice.
The nerd has a fine ass, and soon enough I’m sporting a hard-on through my jeans.
Hey, she might not be my type, but tonight the nerd is looking fine. It’s like she’s begging me to tempt her, to pull her over to the dark side. She wants to be bad tonight? She’s come to the right place. No one’s badder than me. I wrote the fucking book on being bad. Hell, I got kicked out of Black Sacrament for being bad at the wrong time.
I’m not perfect. Never claimed to be. Sometimes I say things I shouldn’t.
She grinds that ass on me, and I respond in kind. She has to feel the bulge in my pants; I make no moves to adjust myself and try to hide the erection. It isn’t like I’m the only one dancing with a hard dick—I’m sure the majority of guys grinding on their chosen girls are experiencing the same issue. A hard-on comes hand-in-hand with grinding on asses, even with layers of clothes between bodies.
A few songs pass, and eventually I spin Wren around so that her front is against mine. We’re on the outskirts of the dance floor, not quite surrounded on all sides by other people, but it’s hot, and her hair is getting messier by the minute. She already looks undone, and we’ve only danced together. I can’t help but wonder just how undone she’ll look when she’s under me, squirming and writhing while I show her exactly how bad I can be.
Wren tilts her head back, her dark eyes meeting mine. She’s slow in lifting her hands and setting them on my chest, all the while moving with a cautiousness that tells me she’s not used to this sort of thing. From underneath those eyelashes, her expression says more than words could, and for some reason, my grinding on her slows to a halt.
And then, strangely, I swear it’s like everything stops. The music. The crowd around us. Everything. The look she gives me,the way her lips part, how her hands rest on my chest… even the way her body fits against mine. But it’s mostly the look. It’s the look on her face that makes everything stop.
I don’t think anyone’s ever looked up at me like that before.
The girls I’ve been with were full of lust and desire, forthcoming in what they wanted from me, what they wanted me to do to them. Some of them may have hoped for more, that they’d be able to take off my mask and get to know the real me, but none of them ever did—and those that I was with when I was not in my stage clothes and my mask, well, I was never interested in becoming anything more. I never wanted anything more.
But, fuck, the look on Wren’s face makes me wonder if wanting more isn’t something to run from.
A stupid thought, because I don’t know this girl, but that thought is suddenly inside me all the same.
My hands on her hips roam her body, moving upward, and they stop only when I cup her face. All the while, she never stops giving me that damned look that tugs at something inside me I swore never existed. I have to lean at an ungodly angle since she’s so short, but I manage to take her lips in mine and kiss her hard.
It’s not like I moved fast. She had to know what I was doing, what my goal was. Still, somehow she acts surprised when my mouth meets hers, and it’s a few moments before Wren starts to kiss me back.
I’m not someone who likes to go slow. I’m a hard and fast kind of guy, and I kiss like I fuck: like an animal, in other words. I take what I want, even if it bruises. I don’t think she’s used to kisses like mine, and it makes me wonder just what kind of guy she’s used to being with.
Boring ones, probably, guys that’ll never match up to me. I’ll ruin her typical type for her. I’ll make this good girl a bad one.
When I pull my mouth off hers, both of us breathing hard, I crack my eyelids open to find her eyes are still shut. It’s only when her eyelids lift that I say loudly, in an effort to talk over the music, “You want to get out of here?” I don’t know if she hears me or not.
She must, or she must guess what I said, because she gives me a single nod.
That’s all I need. I take her by the hand and lead the way. We zigzag through the club, around the people, and the moment we step out into the cool night air, Wren sighs and mutters, “Wow. I didn’t realize it was so hot in there.”
We turn right and follow the sidewalk until we hit a parking lot, and I bring her to my car, keeping a firm grip on her hand while I grab my keys out of my pocket to unlock it. Honestly? A part of me half expects her to change her mind now that we’re not in the club—I may be many things, but I don’t force things like this. Nobody’s ever changed their minds when they’re about to be with me, but they do say there’s a first time for everything.
After my car is unlocked and I open the passenger door for her, I spin her around and push her against the car, just beside the open door, pinning her with my lower half. I’m still very much sporting a hard-on; my dick is going to be raging with need until we get to my place.
I tower over her, taking her head in my hands again, much like I did in the club, only here and now, there’s nobody but us. Nothing but the gentle breeze of the cool night air twirling around us, cooling down the hot blood that pumps through our veins.
