This was exactly what I’d come here for. This man was a forceful, greedy kisser, exactly what I wanted tonight.
Exactly what IthoughtI wanted.
There was nothing unattractive about this man, but did I actually want him? Did I actually want sex with anyone?
I…
No, I kind of didn’t.
And now that I was on that bullshit train of thought, I was suddenly raw in ways I didn’t need to be in a club. Apparently I wasn’t drunk enough. Except…
Ugh. No. Getting more drunk seemed like a bad idea. I didn’t even know why. I was just sure that more alcohol would only make things worse.
I can feel worse than this? How? That doesn’t seem possible.
The stranger bumping and grinding against me, getting so hot I wouldn’t have been surprised if he came in his tight pants, was suddenly unwelcome. He wanted to have sex with me. I’d wanted to have sex with him, but now even making out with him made my skin crawl. Getting naked? Getting fucked?
Oh, hell, no.
I didn’t even know why. Was it the alcohol coming back to haunt me? Too much too fast?
Shit, I had no idea.
I put my hands on the guy’s chest and nudged him back. He resisted a little, but then took a step and grinned expectantly.
Oh. Did he think…?
I swallowed the bile rising in my throat, and I shook my head.
His expression suddenly darkened. “What the fuck?” His voice barely carried over the music.
“I can’t.”
“What?” He scoffed and cupped my dick, which was still hard, through my pants, making me gasp. “Feels like you can do just fine. And you don’t even need to be hard while I’m?—”
“No.” I shook my head as I batted his hand away. “I—think the booze is making me sick.” Eh, close enough.
He arched an eyebrow. Then he rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You’re a little bitch.”
I blinked. “I?—”
“Fucking cocktease,” he muttered, and he stalked back toward the dancefloor.
I stood there stupidly for a moment, wavering badly on my feet.
I almost slept with that guy?
I almost slept with that guy.
Holy shit, I shouldnotbe here.
I really did feel sick right then, but I didn’t think I was going to throw up or that it was the alcohol. Not entirely, anyway. Slumping against the wall, I tried to will my heart to slow down from the sudden panic. Somehow I was still teetering precariously on that knife’s edge where I was lucid enough to know I was drunk enough to do something I’d regret. Somewhere in my liquor-soaked mind, I held on to asliver of awareness that said I was too fucked up to get anymorefucked up.
One more drink…
One more deep, alcohol-flavored kiss…
And I would absolutely do something I shouldn’t.
