Without giving a guy any warning, she brushed against my hard-on through my jeans and deftly unbuttoned them one-handed. A groan pulled from my lungs. I helped her with the zipper until she threw her hands wide and stepped back. Herface said I was a dumb fucking idiot for not knowing how to follow instructions. My hands met the mattress again with a growl of frustration. I lifted off my ass, meeting her eyes in a challenge.
This felt like a power play, and I was certainly not the one in charge. But I also found that I didn’t care.
Lydia shucked off my jeans, leaving me in my briefs. Her eyes widened at the sight of my cock, still covered but desperately trying to break free. She schooled her features quickly, back into this sultry indifference that she seemed to have perfected during her time away. Her black ripped jeans were the next thing to go. She had a tattoo on her upper inner thigh that I couldn’t make out through my hazy eyes, but it was the nasty bruise on her hip that caught my attention. It looked new. Now that I had noticed it, I caught another one, faint and yellow, across the left side of her ribs.
When she straddled my lap, sitting just at my knees instead of where I wanted her, I wasn’t thinking about any blemishes on her skin, that was for damn sure. I flexed my hands, gripping the comforter for just a second before forcing myself to relax. Or at least look relaxed.
“You can come closer, you know,” I told her, my voice husky and strained.
“I can do whatever I want. I don’t need your permission.” There was anger, determination, and challenge in her eyes. Was she talking to me? Or was that a message to herself?
“You’re a brat, you know that?”
She leaned in close to my ear, still not scooting that bouncy ass further up my legs so she could sit on my dick. “Oh, I know,” she whispered, the telltale sounds of a smirk on her lips.
Her finger trailed down my chest, circling one nipple before continuing its path lower. My head was foggy with alcohol, with lust, with Lydia. My hips bucked like they wanted my dick to meet her finger partway.
“I want to touch you, Lydia. Let me touch you,” I groaned.
She lifted her gaze to mine. “Well, we don’t always get what we want, do we?”
My brow quirked.
A hurt look crossed her face but was gone so fast I couldn’t be sure. My stomach knotted, the pain in her eyes, even if only for a second, caused a physical ache in me.
She pulled herself along my legs until her pussy was pressing against my painfully swollen cock.Fuck.Thoughts scattered in my brain. The thin fabric separating us was pure fucking torture. My mouth sought hers, my hands still firmly planted on the bed behind me. She ducked her head away from me before I could land a kiss to her sweet lips. Her hips ground into me, and I had to fist the comforter in my grasp, so I didn’t risk putting my hands on her body.
“I wanted it to mean something to you. Something more than a six-pack of cheap beers and a round of back slaps from your buddies. But no. Sometimes what we want isn’t what we get at all,” she said.
Her soft fingers danced over my abs as she spoke. A weird cocktail of emotions flooded my senses—arousal, confusion, shame.
Lydia lifted herself off me and grabbed her clothes.
“Wait. Lydia,” I called. I tried to reach out to her, but she was just out of reach. “Is this about…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish that sentence. My neurons weren’t firing properly. It was taking me too long to process thoughts. Lydia was already redressed, turning to leave.
“Wait,” I yelled, getting to my feet.
“No,” she said succinctly. She raked her eyes over the bulge in my briefs. “Enjoy… that.” She waved her black-painted nails at my raging hard-on.
I moved to stop her from leaving, blocking the doorway. Fear rounded her eyes, and she sucked in a quick breath, like she thought I was going to hurt her. My heart cracked, and I stepped back to let her pass. She was out the door a minute later without so much as a backward glance.
Fuck.
Was she talking about that night together? Our night together?
I collapsed on the bed, sexually and emotionally frustrated.
Wrapping my hand around my dick could help solve one of those problems, but it wasn’t going to give me any insight into what the fuck Lydia was on about. Honestly, it wasn’t even going to satisfy the basest desire making my blood run hot.
Only sinking myself into Lydia Wilder would solve that particular urge, and she was long fucking gone, leaving me with the worst case of blue balls in my entire life.
I made myself stew in my discomfort. I had a feeling I earned it, but I couldn’t put the pieces together in my inebriated state. I needed to pass the fuck out and hope that I didn’t even remember this in the morning.
Happy fucking New Year to me.
2
Lydia
