She rubbed her palms down her outer thighs, wiping the clamminess off and onto her jeans. Slowly, she turned to see him standing at the opening of the two half-walls that separated the area where she stood and the main part of the bar.
“I don’t want to play pool,” she forced up her constricted throat.
“Me, neither.”
Then why was he just standing there?
“What do you want, Syn?”
He just answered his own question. That was exactly what she wanted, what some people considered a sin.
She took a sip of her water, trying to swallow down the lump that had wedged in her throat. The lump that prevented her from simply coming out and saying what she wanted.
Most times, she could be as outspoken as him.
Just not this time and not about this.
Her weakness was dealing with men when it came to sex. It was one reason, among others, why she hadn’t had much. But she reminded herself it was only sex. Nothing more. Nothing less. People did it all the time. She was making a bigger deal out of it than she should.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Right?
“This ain’t happenin’ ’til you tell me how old you are. Tellin’ you now, if you don’t answer this time, gonna call Tater back to come pick up your ass and drop you off at that rat trap on wheels you call a home.”
Truthfully, that may be for the best.
“Know that’s not what you want.”
He was so damn confident. She was torn about whether it annoyed her or if she was envious. She lifted her chin. “What do I want?”
“Same as me.”
“You could be right; you could be wrong.” She mentally groaned at her stupid non-answer. Why was she putting this off? She wanted him and he was obviously willing to oblige.
Was she purposely trying to tank this opportunity?
Unlike her, he probably had plenty of sex and didn’t need to work hard to get someone to have it with him.
“I ain’t wrong. Also ain’t gonna play games. Never needed to, ain’t gonna start. So, if you wanna play games, and I ain’t talkin’ about pool, then let me text Tater.” He pulled his cell phone from his back pocket.
Before he could finish typing out a message, she moved.
She stopped when she was toe to toe with him and put her hand on his phone, blocking him from sending it. “Don’t,” she whispered, tipping her face up to his.
One of his dark eyebrows rose. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t call him back.”
“Need him to take you back to your bus.”
“I don’t want to go back to the bus.”
“Then what do you want, Syn? Need to hear it. Loudly. Clearly. No fuckin’ games.”
She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, inhaled a deep breath, then slowly released both. “You.”
He gave his head a little shake. “Me what?”
He wanted it loudly and clearly. “I want you.”
He drove his fingers along the side of her head and into her hair, using it to tip her face up even higher. “You know what else I need.”
The deep, demanding timbre of his voice caused her to fight a shiver. “A condom?”
His jaw tensed, his fingers slipped from her hair and he took a step back, lifting his phone again.
“Twenty-three,” she spouted out before she fucked this whole thing up.
He stared at her for a few seconds while her heartbeat thumped in her ears. She wasn’t underaged, but was she still too young for him? Even just for sex? Maybe he preferred an older, more experienced woman.
Something she was not.
Had she experienced a lot in her twenty-three years? Yes. But she didn’t have the same confidence about sex like she did other things.
Like music.
Making love should be like making music. The passion and connection should come from one’s soul. But she knew what they were about to do—or so she hoped—had nothing to do with the act of making love. What she wanted from him would only be a physical connection and not an emotional one.
Afterward, there would be no expectations of anything more. It would just be about the “here and now.” But she needed him to be willing and for her to stop trying to sabotage this opportunity.
Otherwise, yes, he should text Tater and have the prospect take her “home.”
She didn’t want that.
She wanted him. The man standing before her, now not saying a word and his expression unreadable.
She didn’t fuck up, did she?
Her breath seized as he surged forward and his much larger body almost plowed her over. But somehow with his hand once again threaded through her hair and the other one on her hip, he kept from knocking her to the ground. He drove her backward until her ass hit the pool table behind her.
He said nothing. But then, nothing more needed to be said.
Nothing could be said, either, since their mouths were too busy when he took hers. His tongue tangled with hers and invaded her mouth, his weight pressed her into the end of the pool table and his thick hard-on was unmistakable.