Blame It on the Tequila

He finally looked away from the photo, lifting shadowed eyes to mine, and I held my breath, waiting and waiting.

Why wasn’t he repeating what he’d done earlier? Why wasn’t he dragging me away to his room? Why didn’t he look as desperate as me?

“Unless there’s nothing to talk about, and I’m making a fool of myself with announcing my one-sided feelings.”

At this, he finally reacted. He tipped his head back and barked a single laugh. “Ha! Fuck no. You are one-hundred-percent, not alone in this. Jesus, Nova,” he said, sighing, rubbing his hand over his hair and massaging his neck. “There’s a whole set of encyclopedias filled with what we don’t say. So, trust me, you’re not the only one.”

“You think about it, too?” I asked hesitantly.

He shook his head like he couldn’t understand my question. “All the time,” he whispered, slowly closing the gap between us. “Why do you think I come to you almost every night?”

Each step he took, my heart worked harder, pumping the adrenaline like fire through my veins. Each step, I panted for him, desperate and out of breath for wanting him. “My bed is better?” I offered.

His lips quirked up, and his eyes grew heavy. “Why do you think I stay away from other girls?”

“You do?” He nodded, and I swallowed, forming another breathless quip. “Maybe you’re holding out for Oren.”

Finally, he stood inches away—so close I had to tip my head back to keep a hold of his heated gaze. He locked me in place, and I was his willing victim. Take me, I pleaded back to his burning promise.

“No, Nova,” he explained, brushing a loose wave behind my ears, his rough fingers softly grazing my cheek. The caress was nothing, but it might as well have been a direct stroke against an erogenous zone the way it sent goosebumps down my spine. “It’s because I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop watching you—wanting you.”

I was lost in him, reaching out to grip his waist to hold myself steady. All the blood rushed to my lower body, leaving me lightheaded. I’d seen Parker almost every way you could see someone, but I’d never seen him like this.

I’d never seen him with all his attention focused on me like I was an oasis in a desert. Like I was a 1968 Stratocaster played by Jimmi Hendrix. Like I was the one thing he ever wanted, and now that he had me, he was going to do whatever he wanted.

“I haven’t jerked off this much in years. I fucking ache for you.”

Heat bloomed across my cheeks. I knew a lot about sex…from reading about it. Experience-wise? I was a novice at best, and I definitely didn’t talk about it openly. His blatant announcement conjured an image of his arm flexing, his lips parted, his eyes closed in pleasure. An image I wanted to actually see—needed to see.

“Do you ache for me, Nova?” he asked, backing me up against the wall like we were at the bar.

I was downright panting now and licked my lips to bring moisture back to my mouth. He tracked the movement with first his eyes and then his thumb.

“I think I do,” I answered honestly. I didn’t know what this tightly coiled tension pulling all my focus into the center of my body was, but I knew I’d never felt it before. I thought about Parker all the time. I imagined kissing him and touching him, but nothing compared to the inferno that consumed me in this moment.

He cocked his head to the side, considering my answer. “Think? Do you touch yourself and think of me?”

“I-uh…umm…” Fuck, words were hard. My brain short-circuited over the question, fighting my instinct to pull away from the topic and also shoving on because I wanted to be all-knowing with him. I wanted to be on his level and show him I could handle him.

“You do touch yourself, right?”

“Sometimes,” I choked out. “I just…I…I don’t know.”

His finger abandoned where it rested on my neck and trailed down my chest until he brushed my nipple.

“Here?”

I whimpered when he circled the hard tip, nodding my head.

“What about here?” he asked, dragging his fingertips down my stomach and gently grazing between my thighs like a whisper, there and gone before I could register it.

Again, I nodded, unable to form any coherent words.

“Have you made yourself come?”

Doing my best to hold his gaze, I bit my lip and jutted my chin, trying to show a confidence I was nowhere near having—and shook my head.

“Oh, Nova,” he chided. “Then you must ache for me. It’s been building this whole time with no release.”

His hand rested in the curve of my waist, and he leaned in, running his nose along mine. I clung to his shirt like a lifeline. If he wanted to pull away now, he was going to have a fight on his hands. So, to show him how much I wanted this, even if I didn’t fully know what this was, I demanded it.