“Nothing,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “Just needed somewhere to think.”
Someone walks out of the men’s room, passing between us. I can hear several women laughing through the walls from inside the women’s restroom. This doesn’t exactly come across as the best place for a think session.
I clock a door across from the bathrooms labeledstorage. “Come on,” I say, testing the knob to see if it’s unlocked. I push the door open and nod my head for her to step inside.
There’s reluctance written all over her expression and even in her body language. “Or not. I just thought it would be a little better for the thinking you need to do compared to out here.”
Lyric’s arms drop as she huffs and steps into the small storage room. On one wall, there’s a shelf of toilet paper, towels, bags of straws, and napkins. In the corner, there are cleaning supplies and a mop bucket. The other wall is stacks of unmarked boxes. The only light is coming from a single yellow bulb hanging in the middle of the ceiling.
I close the door behind us and turn to find her pacing in a small circle. Amused, I just watch her for a minute. She looks lost in whatever she’s thinking about. Her brows are furrowedinto a deepV, her expression dark and serious. And there’s a hint of frustration.
“How can I help?”
“Stop talking for like three seconds,” she says.
“I literally haven’t said anything for a full minute.” I’m careful not to laugh, but I don’t think I can wipe the grin from my face if I tried.
“Yes, but your presence is loud,” she says. “Even when you’re not talking, even when you’re all the way across the room. It’s loud as fuck in here.” She presses her fingertips to her temple.
I don’t say anything right away because I don’t know what to say. “Do you want me to go?”
“No… yes. I mean, no.”
“Then what do you want?”
She’s still pacing the small space, switching directions every couple of steps. Her hands are fisted at her sides, flexing with each turn.
“Steve invited me back to his place.” Her shoulders fall, like she’s relieved to have said it out loud. Like it was the thing weighing on her.
“Do you want to go?” I ask the question I’m not sure I want the answer to.
Lyric stops pacing and turns to face me. My eyes travel down the front of her. The leather top thing she’s wearing is so sexy. The deepVshows off the tattoo she has on her sternum. All her leg tattoos are on display through the widefishnet pattern of her stockings. The skirt is perfection on her hips.
“I want to be wanted, Waylon,” she says, voice small and distant.
There’s a rumbling inside my chest, a growling urge to declare that I want her and it scares me. If I say it out loud, there’s no going back.
I take two measured steps and slowly position myself in front of her. Toe to toe, she’s not making eye contact with me. She’s biting her bottom lip and staring at my chest.
“Lyric,” I whisper. “You are wanted. You could have any man in this bar.” I swallow hard and reach out, wrapping my hand around her waist. The pad of my thumb presses against the bare sliver of skin above her skirt. “But I’m asking you to come home with me instead.”
She doesn’t say anything, just softly shakes her head and pinches her eyes closed.
I lower my mouth to the hollow of her ear. “Do you want me to beg, Lyric?”
“Yes,” she says, pushing against my chest. Our eyes lock as she creates a little space between us.
There’s a challenge in her expression—one I can’t ignore. It’s one I can’t back down from.
I kneel—one knee, then the other—slowly. My left hand grips around her leg, just above her knee. My right hand grazes the fabric of her skirt. I lean forward and press my face against her lap, inhaling her scent. My hands trail to her ass, caressing herskin along the path. I grip her tightly, digging my fingertips into her flesh. I bury my face against her pussy through the layers of fabric in my way and listen to her breath hitch as she lurches forward.
Lyric spreads her legs to better balance herself against my weight. She runs her fingers through my hair and my shoulders relax.
I pull my face back and lift the front of her skirt. “Mmm.” I groan at the sight of her dark red lace panties caged behind these stockings. I hook my fingers into the delicate fabric and pull them over, like a stage curtain on opening night.
My tongue darts from my mouth, wetting my lips as I stare at her perfect pink flesh. I look up into her eyes. “Lyric.” I whisper as I trail my fingertips against her clit. “Let me make you feel good.” I slide my fingers into her, caressing and cupping her pussy. “Please, darlin’. I can make you feel so fucking good.” I push deeper inside her with my middle and ring finger. “Lyric,” I whisper again.
She caresses my cheek, then runs her fingertips over my parted lips before pressing two inside.
