“You want to talk about it?”
She snorted. “Fuck no.”
He set his bottle down directly across from her on the island, then braced himself on his palms. “You want him.” It wasn’t a question.
Once again, she snorted, but this time, couldn’t meet his eyes. “No,” she said with a surprising amount of vehemence. “I don’t want him. I want him to stick to his whores and leave me the fuck alone.”
Why he pushed this, he couldn’t have said, but he also couldn’t stop himself from saying. “No. You want him to forget the whores and just be with you.”
I get it. The man’s potent as fuck.
Her eyes widened as her head moved right and left. “You’re wrong,” she whispered.
“I don’t think so.”
Suddenly Jazz straightened. “No!” she said with force, slamming her glass on the granite. Dark purple liquid sloshed over the rim of the glass and down her hand, splashing on the counter. “You’re fucking wrong,” she said. “What the fuck is this, Gumby? I thought you came here for me. I thought you wanted me, and now you’re trying to push me toward him. Toward a man who thinks it’s his mission to fuck as many people as possible. Would you want to be with someone like that?” Her tone seemed almost accusatory.
Ridiculous. She couldn’t possibly know what happened between him and Screw. How the other man proved beyond a shadow of a doubt why men and women shed their pride to be with him for just a few moments time.
“Shit,” she said looking down at her wet hand as though only now realizing she’d spilled the wine. With a huff, Jazz moved to her sink, grabbing a wad of paper towels from the countertop holder. Her shoulders stiffened then slumped.
Fuck. He’d jacked that up, making her crappy night even shittier.
“Babe,” he said, moving in behind her. “I did want you.” Fitting his front to her back where she stood at the single sink, he continued, “I do want you.” It shouldn’t have been possible for him to be as hard as he was, not after the epic orgasm less than an hour ago, but there he was, hard, throbbing, and nesting his erection in the small of Jazz’s back. “But you said just friends.”
“This is so fucked up,” Jazz whispered, breathy.
She didn’t know the half of it. What was his plan here? To fuck her? Here in her kitchen while his cock was coated in dried saliva from Screw’s mouth?
Fucked up didn’t begin to cover it. Yet still, as though of their own accord, Gumby’s lips moved to Jazz’s neck at the same time his arms closed around her. When he kissed the side of her throat, a shuddered sigh left her. He took that as consent to move forward and nipped at her jaw before kissing a path up behind her ear. With her short hair, he had perfect access to what was clearly an erogenous zone. Jazz trembled in his arms.
Paper towels forgotten, she shifted her hands to cover his where they rested against her flat stomach. “Gumby,” she said when he licked the shell of her ear. Fuck, his name said in that low, near moan shot a spike of lust straight to his dick.
Jazz craned her neck, turning her chin until their lips were just millimeters apart. Despite the voice of reason whispering just how fucked up he was for kissing a woman while the memory of Screw’s mouth devouring his cock still played on a loop in his mind, Gumby captured her lips in a searing kiss.
Nothing gentle came from the meeting of their mouths. Without breaking the connection, Jazz turned in his arms, wrapping hers around his neck. She stood on her toes and with a little growl, tried to get even closer to him.
Gumby chuckled as he lifted her ass then settled her on the edge of the sink. Her legs went around his waist as though they’d done this a thousand times before. Jazz tasted of wine and frustration; the aggravation of the night having caught up with her. Gumby had no problem being the man she took that stress out on, especially if it turned into sexual aggression as it seemed to be.
They ate at each other’s mouths, fighting for control of the kiss. When he nipped her lower lip, Jazz whimpered and for some un-fucking-known reason, Gumby got a flash of Screw on his knees sucking him like his life depended on it. The combination of that image with Jazz’s mouth on his and her body beneath his hands sent him to a level of desire he’d never experienced before.
The need to fuck nearly consumed him. As his tongue battled Jazz’s and she moaned into his mouth, he slipped his hands under the hem of her long-sleeved T-shirt. Fuck, all that soft, warm skin felt like heaven beneath his fingertips. His thumb ran over a tiny ridged line, peeking up from the waistband of her jeans, a scar perhaps. The little bump barely registered because at the same moment Jazz rocked her hips, causing her denim covered pussy to grind directly into his dick.