I can’t hold back an embarrassed wince. “The drunk version of me was very keen on trying when she created that profile. But sober me is still debating it.”
“Now you’re testing my morals, red. I’ve never had to get a woman drunk so she’d want a ride,” he says with humor. “And as tempting as you are, I won’t stoop that low.”
My face is in a state of constant heat, but he still manages to make me blush harder. “That’s commendable of you, sir.”
“Do I look like someone who goes by ‘sir?’” He gestures at himself, compelling my gaze to examine him once more. “Call me Jake.”
“And do I look like someone who calls people by their first name five minutes into meeting them?” I retort, echoing his gesture.
His eyes do the same as mine did, and I swear they linger on the fabric over my chest for a moment too long. “Clarke,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
“My surname is Clarke.”
“Oh… Alright, that works better for me, Mr. Clarke.”
I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something about this man’s attitude that confuses me. When he arrived, everything about his demeanor told me he was a conqueror, a man who domineeringly took whatever he wanted. But since then, he’s been nothing but respectful of my boundaries, despite the occasional flirting.
So, even though this won’t lead to anything other than a drink and a conversation, I’m glad that I stuck around. This is a lesson in prejudice that I obviously needed.
Chapter Four
Jake
Eli is getting more thana pat on the back for this one. Jessica from the dating app is even more gorgeous than he reckoned. That means I lost our bet and owe him ten bucks. But I don’t feel like a loser as I look at her freckled features.
My best mate knows me too well; the creature I found perched on a stool is exactly my type. Hair like flames licking down her perfect silhouette, and golden-brown specks that dust her face. If Eli’s screenshots are unedited, they also scatter down her cleavage and her arse. But her beauty goes much beyond that.
Her doe eyes convey a natural innocence, the cornflower blue shade of her irises almost luminous. Above them, the perfectly drawn arches of her eyebrows match the auburn of her hair. Coral pink lips are pushed into a discontented pout just below her slightly upturned nose, and their fullness triggers fantasies I can’t ignore. If I’m a lucky lad, I’ll eventually know the feeling of that pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock.
There’s something about her that calls to me. Maybe it’s her uptight demeanor and how fun it would be to shake her out of it. I’m fine with her changing her mind and us not having sex, but part of me hopes she returns to her initial idea. Something tells me it wouldn’t take much. She’s trying to give the illusion of control and detachment, but I’m too well-versed in women to let it fool me. Is she aware I can see her knees pressing together whenever I’m flirting? Does she know her cheeks flush when I say dirty things? My only issue with the latter is that it makes her freckles fade away, and I’m torn between enjoying the sight of those or keeping up with the embarrassed arousal I can so effortlessly trigger.
But maybe she’s feigning the innocence in her eyes to drive me mad. After all, she’s the one who posted such a bold request on a famously debauched app. So maybe I’m the one unaware.
As my thoughts battle to discern if she’s a naive little lamb or an expert puppeteer, I pick up my beer and take a long gulp. Good, it’s European—none of that piss-poor American nonsense. She takes a sip from her glass, then a second, then a third, and puts it back. How many cocktails has she had? Is this her second or third? This one’s going down fast, meaning we might get very little time together. Also, if there’s a slim chance that we end up in a bed somewhere, I’ll only indulge if she’s sober. I meant what I said earlier.
“Did it hurt a lot?” she asks.
“The piercings?”
She nods. Will you look at that? Proper little Jessica is thinking about what’s going on in my pants.
“Not as much as I thought it would,” I reply.
Her frown tells me she doesn’t believe my answer. “I’d expect getting four holes piercedtherewould be agonizing.”
“Six.”
“Pardon?”
“I’ve got six piercings there. Four looked too scattered.”
Her eyes widen, her lips part, and I decide this is what I want to do all evening long: shock her with my brazen crudeness over and over again. She’s madly alluring whenever I shake her conventional and proper manners.
I take another sip of beer to hide my proud grin and then decide she can take more. “The ladder hurt, but not as much as the apadravya.” Her huge eyes become even rounder, and I can’t hold back my grin anymore. “It’s when you pierce the—”
“I know what it is,” she cuts me off before she raises her glass, taking another sip.
