Not even a tingle from down below.
Zac continues pawing and groping. I’m not exactly turned on, but it’s fine. First times aren’t supposed to be great anyway.
I just need to get it over with before the universe interferes.
Or before he starts drooling on your shoulder again.
I grab the hem of his shirt and pull it up over his head. His pecs are smooth and tan, not a hair in sight as I drink in the hard planes of his bare chest. Zac’s got great muscle tone, and I must say it out loud because he responds.
“I worked as a lifeguard at the Jersey Shore over the summer. Gotta keep in shape for the bab—” He pauses, as if realizing that finishing the sentence could put an end to his current hookup, and hastily says, “Beach.”
Whatever.
I’m not here for scintillating conversation.
“Less talking, more undressing.” I reach between us and unbutton his jeans. Zac grins and wiggles out of the tight denim, clearly onboard with the suggestion. A strand of hair falls loose from his bun and tickles my cheek as he kicks off his pants.
He’s wearing a pair of dark briefs, and even in the dim light, I can see he’s ready to go.
One-night-stands FTW!
“Why don’t we get rid of this too?” he asks, sliding my dress up over my thighs.
I nod and open my mouth to give consent when there’s a knock at the door. We both freeze and listen silently, hoping whoever it is will move the eff along.
No such luck.
The doorknob rattles, loud and foreboding as Marley’s chains, and I silently curse the universe.
Becauseof coursesomeone’s banging on the door.
Zac turns toward the sound, but I grab his chin and turn his face back to me, refusing to concede defeat. “You locked it, right?”
His brows knit together, and he gives a slow nod.
“Then let’s just ignore it. They’ll go away eventually.”
Surely there are plenty of empty rooms just waiting for horny couples to hook up. Itisa frat house.
“I guess,” he says, not sounding convinced—at all.
FML.This cannot be happening. Not again.
I haven’t even gotten my underwear off.
Desperate, I stretch up and crush my lips to Zac’s, hoping the distraction will be enough to make him forget about whoever’s at the door. I kiss him hard, my tongue skating along the seam of his mouth, seeking entry. He’s quick to oblige and then his tongue is gliding along mine, thrusting and searching, the cockblocker at the door forgotten.
Crisis averted.
His hand slides up my thigh, and I grab his wrist. “Condom?”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Open the fucking door, Zac!” a deep voice bellows from the hall.
Zac jerks upright, his gaze bouncing from me to the door, panic flaring in his eyes. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“What? No.” I prop myself up on my elbows and force a sultry smile, frustration and indignation warring for dominance. “Can we just forget about the guy in the hall already? He’s probably just drunk.”
