Sucker Punched (4 page)

Or worse, I’ll ask him to take me right here on this bench.

He leans in, lowering his voice. “If you think I’m good at this, then you should see what else I can do.”

My face burns hotter as I look away. This is clearly not his first rodeo, but I have no idea what I’m doing. What do I even say to that? 

‘Will you show me?
’

Before I can say anything, he scoots closer. “Tell me, Duchess, are you here for business or pleasure?”

I have half a second to wonder why he keeps calling me that, until I hear the way his voice wraps around the word “pleasure.” It sends shivers dancing across my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I’ve never been this affected by just a voice before. I’m pretty sure he could read me his grocery list and it’d still sound sensual in that low, gravelly tone.

Swallowing, I try to steady my erratic heart. I’m almost positive he can hear the loud thumping above the music. “Pleasure.”

“So you’re not one of these Xena: Warrior Princesses?” he asks, gesturing around the room.

“No.” God, I’m actually giggling.
Stop it
. “I usually waitress these parties, but I took the night off to support Savannah.” Needing something to do with my hand other than fidget, I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. 

“Seriously?” His brows wrinkle. “You’re one of the half-naked chicks walking around with the trays?”

I nod, which makes his frown deepen.

“Huh,” he says, glancing at a nearby waitress.

“What?”

His mouth lifts into a lazy grin. “Nothing. I’m just trying to imagine what you look like half-naked.”

As soon as his eyes meet mine, my face feels like it’s on fire. Part of me wants to hide behind my clutch like some kind of half-assed shield, and the other part wants to tell him he can see me
full
-naked, if that’s what he really wants.

I lick my lips, about to say something in response, but nothing comes. No witty retort, no snarky banter. Just me, about to burst into flames. 

He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, looking over his shoulder at me. “A word of advice? You should never play poker. Your poker face is awful, Duchess. Like seriously, the worst.” Wincing, he laughs. “Even the tips of your ears are turning pink.”

After all this time, I still don’t deal well with people making fun of me. He’s triggering flashbacks to a time I wish to God I could forget, and before I know it’s happening, my eyes are stinging as tears rise like floodwaters.

I grab my clutch off the bench next to me and hightail it through the crowd. I’m sure my whole face is a mottled red now, but I don’t care. I’m just trying to keep these fucking tears at bay. Crying in front of a roomful of people would be the cherry on top of a
fantastic
night.

Slipping past the edge of the crowd, I make my way down the empty hallway, to the bathroom. I flip on the light, close the door behind me, and set my purse on the counter. Bending at the waist, I grip the ledge for support and stare at the black, glossy tiles lining the floor. My eyes squeeze shut as I breathe in.

Out. In. Out. In.

My throat gets tighter and achier with every second I don’t cry and let it all out. It’s like my body knows I’m trying to shut off a valve and bottle it all up, and in response, my body decides to make it as painful as possible.

Bitch.

When I can finally breathe past the knot in my throat, I straighten and look at myself in the mirror. The second before I see my reflection is always the worst. I’m terrified for half a second that the person I’ll see is someone else. Someone I’ve been trying to leave behind for the past three years.

I’m not the pimple-faced, gawky girl I was in high school. Birth control evened out my skin and gave me the curves I never had. The occasional spray tan keeps me from looking completely translucent, although I’m still on the pale end of the spectrum. Hair dye and Frizz Ease are
godsends
when your mop of curls looks like Carrot Top’s stylist got ahold of you.

And I am a firm believer that makeup is man’s greatest invention.

But even with all that, I still don’t consider myself pretty. I hate that every time a guy looks at me, my first inclination is to wonder if I have something on my face. I hate that I’m used to being invisible.

And I really hate how stupid I feel for thinking that maybe—just maybe—someone was finally starting to see me.

He was probably just trying to keep me company while Savannah and his brother are gone. Guys like him are flirty by nature and I shouldn’t have read too much into it. More than likely, Declan just told him to keep an eye on me. The thought stings, although I’m not surprised. 

Guys like him never talk to me. Not unless they want revenge on their cheating girlfriends.

I puff out a harsh breath and grab my clutch. I’m done with tonight. Hell, I might even be done with men.

As I wonder how hard it would be to become a lesbian, I open the bathroom door and turn the corner, where I almost run smack dab into Declan’s brother.

“Jesus.” My hand flies to my chest as my heart tries to restart itself.

He winces. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t mean to embarrass you out there either.” Glancing over his shoulder, he hitches his thumb toward the lounge area.

“You didn’t embarrass me.” I jut my chin out, suddenly glad I wore my tallest heels. It’s a huge confidence booster, being eye-to-eye with someone. 

Well,
almost
eye-to-eye. He’s still got a good two inches on me, which is pretty damn impressive since I’m five-nine without heels.

He looks doubtful. “I didn’t? So you always run to the bathroom like a bat out of hell?”

“Do you always follow girls to the bathroom like a perv?”

He scowls. “That’s not—” Huffing out a breath, he runs his hands through his hair.

I feel bad for making him flustered. Kind of. “Look, I get it. Declan told you to keep an eye on me while they’re gone, but it’s okay. I’m just gonna go home, so. . .at ease, soldier.” I half-heartedly salute him before trying to step aside.

He puts a hand on the wall, caging me in with his arm. My gaze automatically flits along the toned muscle in front of my face, and I scowl. 

Not because he’s blocking my path, but because I like the way he fills out the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel shirt. 

Damn it, now I’m the one imagining him half-naked.

“First of all, Declan told me to stay the hell away from you. And second of all, I don’t take orders from Captain Fuckwad.”

“Declan told you to stay away from me? Why?”

He looks at me like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because he knows you’re way too good for someone like me.” Removing his arm from the wall, he scratches his chin with his thumb. “I could stand here and hit on you until I’m blue in the face, but the truth is, I think you’re fucking beautiful. And I don’t know how a jackass like me can make someone like you blush, but I love that I do. It’s by far the prettiest shade of pink I’ve ever seen. All I can think about is finding out how far it spreads, but I doubt you’ll give me the honor. And you shouldn’t,” he adds quickly. “I definitely don’t deserve it.” He sticks his hands in his pockets, giving me a hopelessly awkward, self-deprecating smile that makes my knees go weak. “But I also can’t say it won’t be the biggest regret of my life.”

My mouth flops open at his directness, while my stomach flips. There’s no misunderstanding such a bold statement, and my reaction only makes his smile widen.

The way he’s looking at me right now—like I’m some kind of delicious treat—makes me feel desirable for the first time in my life. It’s an intoxicating feeling, and when you factor in the actual alcohol buzzing through me, it’s making me feel. . .bold.

I’m tempted to throw caution to the wind and go back to this stranger’s house, where he’ll no doubt show me a night I’ll never forget, but I’ve never done anything like that.

Let me rephrase that: I’ve never done
anyone
like that. All the guys I’ve been with—all two of them—were very straight-laced and safe. This gorgeous mystery man has a reckless charm that oozes sex appeal. He’s way out of my missionary-in-the-dark league.

At heart, I’m a good girl. I don’t sleep around. I get good grades. I don’t do drugs or smoke, and I don’t get drunk very often. Aside from my tendency to cuss like a sailor and the fact that I’m more sexually frustrated than a fifteen-year-old boy, I’m basically Sandra fucking Dee.

Waitressing these elite parties in a skimpy dress is the most rebellious thing I’ve ever done, and that’s just. . .sad. I’m twenty-one and I’ve never sowed a single wild oat. I’ve never done anything stupid or reckless or fun.

I’ve never
lived
.

The realization has me closing the distance between us, until my lips brush his and he captures my mouth in a searing kiss. Melting into him, I’m robbed of breath and logic all at once. I don’t have the brain cells necessary to think of all the reasons why this isn’t a good idea when he’s kissing me with this much skill and precision. All I can do is stand here and appreciate the softness of his lips, the boldness of his tongue, and the playfulness of his teeth nipping at my bottom lip.

It’s not the sloppy, rushed kiss of the inexperienced guys I’ve dated. It’s controlled and invasive, and unapologetically so. With just his mouth, he’s showing me how he’ll fuck me.

And I don’t even know his name yet.

Breathless, I pull back, feeling drunk on him. “Oh, wow.” My fingers touch my lips. I can still feel him there, like an echo on my skin.

A chaotic, fluttery feeling settles deep in my belly, sinking down into my bones until it saturates me. It’s nice at first—kind of bubbly, kind of warm—but then the feeling detonates, multiplying inside me at an alarming rate until I’m standing here, obliterated.

This has to be that elusive “spark” everyone keeps raving about. To me, it feels more like napalm.

My eyes are glued to his lips, watching them curve into a cocky tilt.

“It’s Blake, actually, but I’ll answer to ‘Wow.’” Leaning in, he kisses down my jaw and then nips at the area just under my ear. “Or ‘God’ if you give me a minute.”

“I’ll give you all the minutes.” Clutching his shirt in my fists, I pull him back for another kiss.

With every sweep of his tongue and brush of his lips, I feel myself falling further down the rabbit hole. It’ll probably hurt like hell when I finally land, but right now, I’m so drunk on this man and what he makes me feel that I can’t bring myself to care.

That, or maybe I’m just drunk.

I’m worried my nerves will get the best of me if we drive all the way back to my place or his, and I’ll end up chickening out. I don’t want to, though. I want to do dirty, filthy things to this man, so I need to act fast, while I still have some liquid courage flowing through me.

Pulling back, I lick my lips. He tastes like the perfect combination of bad decisions and a good time.

The hallway’s starting to tilt and I feel a bit light-headed. “You really want to find out how far my blush spreads? Let’s do it. Right here, right now.”

Blake doesn’t waste any time. His lips crash into mine in a rough kiss and I swallow his groan, tangling my fingers in his hair. His hands cup my ass, lifting me with ease, and my legs wrap around his waist as he carries me back into the bathroom.

Setting me down on the counter, he fists the sides of my dress, pressing into me. My breath catches when I feel just how hard he is.

Oh my god, this is really happening.

My heart beats faster with every passing second. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but at the same time, I have no intention of stopping.

Desperate to feel more of him, I slip my hands up his shirt, running my fingers over the tightest abs I’ve ever felt. The hard ridges are hot to the touch and automatically flex under me. It has my pussy clenching in response as a soft moan slips from the back of my throat.

I sound like a total sex kitten, and I don’t even care.

He needs to get these clothes off before I rip them off.

Blake pulls back, breathing heavily. His mouth hitches up into a cocky grin. “You like that?”

Without thinking, I nod and reach for his belt buckle. “Can I see it?”

He covers the fly of his jeans as the rest of his mouth splits into that stupid, sexy smirk. “See what?”

Heat blooms across my face. Bastard wants to hear me say the words. I’m about as good at talking dirty as I am at theoretical physics.

“You know,
it
,” I practically whisper. I gesture to the tent in his pants, getting frustrated. “Your. . .penis.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what I like to call the fine art of seduction.

God, I am so smooth. Penis?
Really?
Who says that outside of a doctor’s office?

Instead of laughing at me like he should, he leans in and kisses me again. When he pulls back, we’re both breathing fast. “You have no idea how much I want your hands on me, but it’s got to wait. My cock’s a selfish bastard and once you pull him out, it’s all I can think with. I want to take my time with this. I want to play with you first. I want to get you so worked up that you’re begging for it.”