She drops her skirt. “What if I wantyou?”
Shit. “I thought you two were getting along.”
“He’s nice. But he’s not you.” She steps closer. “Betz says I don’t have to leave the clubhouse even if someone pops me. I was worried about that.”
“You were?”
“Yes. But it’s okay. Let’s just do it. Let’s end the whole thing right now.”
I can’t swallow.
“I’ll get naked,” she says, laughing nervously as she fingers the bottom of her shirt. “No bra, quicker nudity.”
It whips over her head and falls to the floor.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Her skin is glossy and smooth in the half-dark of the bar. The blue neon behind me makes her body look ethereal, like a water goddess.
Those nipples are hard and pert. I don’t care what anyone says about the size of her; she’s got plenty to hold on to. My mouth practically salivates. I want her in my hands, between my teeth.
“Now, for this.” She shoves her hands into the band of the skirt and wiggles it down. Her panties come with it. She kicks them away and holds out her arms. “Ta da!”
I can’t breathe. She’s in front of me, all of her, perky breasts, perfect skin, her hair falling over her shoulders.
I take it all in, the narrow hips, long legs on top of those black boots.
She is waxed. Completely smooth. Totally untouched.
Fuck, I want to devour her. I want to do every goddamn thing imaginable.
“You can start with what we did last time.” She comes at me, slow, and I know all the blood in my body has rushed to my cock.
She lifts her foot to rest on the stool next to me. “I’m right here.” She takes my hand to press between her legs.
Jesus fucking Christ. She’s hot and smooth and wet, too.
Naked.
In my empty bar.
“Marietta …”
She clasps my hand against her pussy, and I feel a gentle throb.
“Shit,” she says. “Please don’t say no. I didn’t think I was going to feel this desperate for you. I get why people lose their heads over sex.”
She shifts her weight, and this causes my finger to slip through the wetness and press ever so slightly inside.
“Oh, God,” she says. “Oh, God. That’s. Oh. God. Please do more.” She grips the stool near her uplifted foot and clasps my arm with the other hand.
She feels so good in my hand, hot and dripping and slippery. I slide a finger inside her, not getting terribly far before I feel an unusual pressure. The hymen? I wouldn’t know. I haven’t broken cherries. All I know is some BuzzFeed article said everything people say about virginity is a myth.
Still, something’s in the way.
It doesn’t matter. Marietta is way into every movement. I thumb her clit, and she gasps. “Merrick!”
I shouldn’t be doing any of this. A house mouse is under my protection. She hasn’t told anyone in the Wild Hair her intent.
But nobody’s here. Nobody knows. And the sight of her unraveling in my hands is more than I can resist.
