On the Surface (Imperfect Love 3)

Suddenly I’m nervous. I never imagined I would end up here with Jase—or any guy for that matter. I attend parties for the sole purpose of finding myself a wealthy guy to take me to dinner, to use as a contact. Men have never been anything more than a potential stepping stone to me. Until now. I knew what I was agreeing to when I said okay to coming back here. I know what the people our age do when they go back to each other’s places, but it didn’t hit me until this very moment that, for the first time, I’ve agreed to go back to a guy’s place. And surprisingly, while I am nervous, I’m not scared, and I don’t regret saying okay. “I better text Nick to let him know I’m here,” I tell him.

“Okay.” He shrugs. “I’m going to change.” He pulls some clothes from his drawer and hands them to me. “So you’re more comfortable.”

“Thank you.”

I pull my phone out of my bra, where I keep it when I have no pockets, and am about to text Nick to tell him where I am, when something stops me. It’s not like Jase is going to murder me here. He lives with his brother and sister. He played high school and college ball with Nick. If I text Nick where I am, I’ll never hear the end of it. So, instead, I text him that I made it home safely, and he, none the wiser, texts back that he’ll see me tomorrow.

I change out of my dress and peel off my wedges, then I throw on the clothes Jase gave me—a shirt and boxers. The masculine, fresh scent of him hits my senses, and my only thought is my god, he smells good.

Not having a hair tie on me, but wanting to get my hair off my neck, I twist and pull it all up into a makeshift bun and tie it using my hair. While I wait for him to come out from his attached bathroom, I take a slow stroll around his room. It’s a guy’s room. Simple for the most part. Plain wood dresser, matching nightstands. A large king size bed with a simple black comforter. But the walls are another story. Each one is filled with beautiful hand-drawn art. Some are shades of black, white, and grey, and others are vivid colors that pop out as if the images are coming to life. One of his walls looks like it’s been graffitied, but it’s too pretty to call it that.

Jase comes back into the room as I’m staring at one of the pictures on his walls. It’s a wolf that looks to be morphing into some kind of scary-looking skeleton. “This is…amazing,” I tell him. “Did you draw all these?”

When he doesn’t answer, I look over at him. He’s leaning against the dresser, his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, staring at me like he wants to devour me. “You look sexy as hell in my clothes,” he says, his eyes dragging down my body. I swallow thickly at his statement. I’m so far out of my comfort zone here. With him now in a short sleeved T-shirt, more of his tattoos are on display. They cover most of the skin on his arms. I wonder if he has any on his chest or his back. I bet he does.

Without saying another word, Jase stalks toward me and presses me against the wall. His hands find mine, and he pushes them over my head, my wrists making a thumping sound as they hit the wall. My mind goes foggy with lust as I get lost in this man’s touch. His knee parts my thighs and grinds against my core, forcing a shudder of pleasure from me. Then his hands release mine, and he grips my hips, lifting me. My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me to the bed, dropping me onto the middle of the mattress. He climbs on top of me, his lips immediately finding mine. We kiss hard as his hand cups and massages my breast. I squirm under his touch. I’ve never felt like this before. This turned on. This reckless. All of my man-goals have flown out the window.

Without breaking our kiss, Jase pushes the boxers I’m wearing down my thighs along with my panties. Alarms of warning sound off, but they’re too faint to pay attention to. My brain is too hazy. My judgement is too clouded. I want him. Bad. Jase’s hand pushes my thighs apart and his fingers enter me. “Fuck, you’re wet,” he murmurs against my lips. I can’t speak. I can’t respond. All I can do is moan in pleasure as he fingers me. His thumb finds my clit and massages slow circles over the tight, swollen nub.