“I hope you’re ready,” came a singsong voice from down the hall.
“Oh, hell,” he muttered before clamping his eyes shut and sliding down so he was lying on the couch again.
If he was lucky, she would think he was asleep.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” she teased, the weight of her returning as she straddled his hips.
Instinctively, he reached up, put his hands on her thighs, slid them up to her hips.
And damn it all to hell, she was curvy and soft and so damn feminine. His cock made the connection, decided it liked the fact that she was hot and eager for attention. And his brain … well, his brain was completely on board with the euphoria that came along with the distraction. His heart, on the other hand… That damn organ was clenching tightly in his chest, shouting that this was wrong, that he loved JJ and he was stupid to be here.
But his brain and his cock overruled his heart, telling the damn thing it was stupid. JJ didn’t love him back and he was simply wasting time.
When Blondie leaned down, her breasts pressing against his chest, her lips sliding over his neck, Baz kept his eyes closed, allowed the sensations to mingle with the whiskey, numbing him once again. All thoughts of where he was, what he was doing, and whether or not he would have regrets come morning slipped away. As did his clothes, hers.
And a short time later, after she rode him like a wild stallion, Baz lay in the darkened room, let her cover him like a blanket while self-loathing tried to seep through the lingering effects of the whiskey.
Thankfully, it wasn’t long before he drifted off.
Or maybe a better way to describe it was passed out.
The next thing he knew, Baz was rolling over, opening his eyes, trying to acclimate to where he was, why he was there.
He exhaled heavily, before closing his eyes with a groan as it all came back to him. The bar, the whiskey, the blonde with the soft, curvy body and all her purple twinkly shit.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.”
The cheerful voice had him wrenching open an eye, peering up at her.
Nope. It wasn’t a dream. There was the blond woman from the bar, smiling down at him like she was happy to see him.
Oh, hell. Had he…? Had they…?
“Feeling better?” she asked with a giggle.
“I don’t know,” he admitted truthfully, trying to ignore the unease tightening his gut. “Am I?”
He forced his head to clear so he could recall the rest of the events of last night.
Going to HQ. Talking to JJ. The diner. Moonshiners. Beer.
Definitely didn’t explain the blinding pain behind his eyes.
Oh, right. He’d only started off drinking beer last night. That had quickly turned to whiskey. One Jack and Coke, then another. After that, those morphed into half a dozen shots until he’d had enough to make driving impossible. But since he was here with Blondie in what he assumed was her apartment, apparently that hadn’t been an issue.
“You passed out on me, you silly boy.”
Silly boy?What was she, twelve?
Jesus Christ, please don’t let her be under eighteen. She couldn’t be. She’d been drinking last night.
He exhaled his relief.
“And to think, I got all dressed up for you and you didn’t even take time undressing me again.” Another giggle. “You justwhooshedit all off me like a starving man.”
There were flashes of memory, her, him, the couch. Her lying on him, rolling on a condom, riding him like he was a contender in the Kentucky Derby.
God, he’d lasted, what? All of three minutes, maybe? The whiskey had certainly affected his ability to perform.
