“I can feel how badly you want me,” she whispers. She frees her wrists from my hold. With a sultry ease the exact opposite of Vee, Ari lowers herself fully atop me, riding my crotch with expert moves of seduction.
I can’t help myself; my body reacts. I catch fire, the throbbing pulse in my throat dropping right to my dick. As her tits brush against my chin, I inhale deeply, sucking in the sweet scent of her. Her soft skin surrounds me, her tight ass grinds against my cock, and I’m gripping the cushions on either side to keep from touching her.
And when her mouth dips to my neck, I fear I’m about to lose all rational thought. Her tongue delves out to caress my throat, and I swallow hard, every muscle in my body aching, vibrating, with tension.
Only when she reaches behind her to untie her top does the blood rush back to my brain.
I reach around her back. Closing my hands around her wrists, I inadvertently pull her to me. Our chests are pressed so tightly together, I can feel her heart pounding against me. “If your plan was to torture me,” I say, forcing the words out around my tight jaw, “it’s working. I’m effectively tortured. But please spare me my last shred of dignity.”
And I truly mean this. All control over myself will be lost if she loses that top. I do not want to be that bastard. Not with her.
My words must register, cutting through the haze of lust and alcohol, because she grimaces and pushes her hands between us. Then, as her eyes flick over my face, she licks her lips. I brace myself to taste those lips…just for a second. Just long enough to sate the ramped desire burning through me.
Before I meet her there, she turns her head to the side and loses her stomach.
“Oh, shit…” I’m suddenly bent over with her, trying to pull her hair aside as she wretches.
Damn, I think, combing her soft curls back from her face, that’s even better than a cold shower.
21
Arian
Oh, holy hell, somebody kill me.
My stomach obviously didn’t appreciate the two shots of vodka Jessica fed me in the back room. I’d already downed a beer before we left the dorm, needing some liquid courage to settle my climbing nerves. That probably didn’t mix too well.
When Vee and I realized just what was expected of us at Gavin’s party, I told her no. Actually, I told her hell no. But the pleading look she gave me completely deflated my resolve. She was going through with it, regardless of whether or not I came. And how could I not? How could I let her go off with these crazy chicks and dance—no, strip—in front of the whole college football team?
It sounded so cliché; like some awful hazing initiation.
But it was really happening. And Vee was really going for it. I chugged back the beer, then told her I wouldn’t let her go on her own. She argued, knowing that this was way out of my comfort zone. But I could not, in good conscience, let my friend debase herself alone.
I hadn’t actually planned to strip myself—just tag along to watch out for Vee. But then Jessica had to hit a nerve. A very sore one. “You always do what’s exp
ected of you, don’t you?” she said. Ugh. My stomach roils just remembering those words, and how they tipped my already fragile sense of self over the freaking edge.
With my father pressuring me with an engagement to Lucas…and Ryder’s harsh argument having devastated me so thoroughly…I had to prove to myself that I could let go and make my own choices. Just act on impulse.
Oh, I so did. I threw back two shots of vodka with animated force and suited up in little more than a G-string and bikini top and found the first a-hole to prove it to.
Beck was not my first choice, but he was there. And he was close enough to Ryder. I needed Ryder to see that I can, in fact, take control of my own life. Only I guess I’m not strong enough to take control over my damn stomach yet. I felt the hot bile coating my throat. I knew it was coming, but no way was I going to let my stomach rule.
I lost, obviously. My stomach always wins. Years of training myself to purge on command has worked against me in a horribly embarrassing outcome. I didn’t even drink that much, really.
As I hunker over, saliva filling my mouth, I feel Ryder smooth back my hair. He’s actually holding it. It’s like some bad rom-com movie. I feel like a total cliché. I probably look like one, too. His other hand is massaging my back, and my stomach burns as the bile begins to worm its way back up my throat.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I manage to say, my throat closing up.
“Come on. I’ll carry you,” Ryder says, and I groan.
“Please don’t.” I chance a look at him. His eyes are clear and concerned. I can’t bring myself to beg, but I cannot allow Ryder to carry me out in front of those guys once more; it’s getting stupid.
He nods once, sits back to pull his jacket off, then wraps it around my shoulders. The sentiment hits me in my chest with a fierce ache. I’m awful for how I was just behaving, and I don’t even fully understand why I was being such a bitch. The mix of liquor and rage over my father’s demands is like setting a flame to a fuse. The explosion was inevitable.
For one second, I just wanted to lash out—to do something so out of character that I could pretend I was truly the one handling the reins of my life. I’m such a joke.
My head spins as I stand, and Ryder wraps an arm around my waist. I don’t argue as he leads me past the debauchery going on in the bar. Oh God, but I’m a hypocrite.