He presses himself into my hip and I can feel how long and thick and hard he is.
It should make me nervous, scare me off.
But it doesn’t.
It sparks a need in me like never before.
“You’ll be calling out my name,” he sings again in time with David Gahan’s voice. At the moment I can’t even tell them apart, both are so rich and dripping with sex that it reaches deep inside of me, makes me want to take my clothes off right here on the dance floor. The press of his hard cock only seals the deal.
I want this man to corrupt me thoroughly.
“Did you request Depeche Mode?” I ask, my voice throaty, like it’s already anticipating everything to come.
“Maybe,” he murmurs. “Thought maybe I’d add Corrupt to the setlist.” He pauses and runs his lips down the length of my neck. “Though I’d have a hard time not wanting to fuck you every time I have to sing it.” He pauses. “I’m having the hardest time right now.”
I swallow, trying to find my breath while my heart is fluttering inside like a caged bird, desperate to be free.
Fucking hell.
He finally said it and it sounded sexier than I ever thought possible.
He finally said he wants to fuck me.
And I am more than fucking ready.
His lips slide down to my shoulder where he slowly brushes the thin straps of my dress and bra off and starts leaving long wet kisses and my hands go up, disappearing into his hair. Every muscle inside my body clenches.
He pulls back, enough for his hooded eyes to meet mine, raw lust burning behind them, the music and the alcohol and the years of pent up sexual frustration are combining to make me want to be stripped bare of every single inhibition.
I don’t know how long our eyes are locked like this. Our bodies are locked like this. Our hearts are locked like this. An eternity passes where all our unsaid words are passed between us like prayers.
“Sweet girl,” he whispers to me seconds before his mouth crushes mine.
I groan against his lips, his mouth hot and wet and hungry. This is a deep kiss, the kind of kiss you shouldn’t have on a public dance floor. It’s pulled out from a wild and charged place far inside me, a place I’ve always kept the bars on, keeping back my primal instincts like you would predators in a zoo.
I’ve never felt this kind of starvation before, you’d think I’d been deprived for him my whole life.
And I have been.
I’ve been deprived of everything, these kisses, this touching, so much.
So much.
But not anymore.
“Laz,” I gasp as I pull back, my heart a jackhammer as my eyes search his.
We should get a room.
Ask him to your room.
Ask him to go to the bathroom with you.
Fuck, do something!
“You’ve got such perfect lips,” he says, running his thumbs over them before leaning in and taking my bottom lip between his teeth, sucking, tugging. His breath is ragged, the heat coming off him is staggering.
My eyes roll back in my head, my patience a thin line ready to snap.
“I could kiss you for days,” he murmurs, his hands sliding down my back to my ass where he grabs hold.
“I think I would go mad.” I gasp, my fingers pressing hard into his taut shoulders. Somehow we’re still moving to the beat, yet it’s no longer the beat of the song but the beat of something we’ve created just between the two of us. An easy rhythm, like our bodies were built to move this way with each other.
God, is this what fucking him is like? Is it somehow better?
As if he can hear my thoughts, Laz pulls me closer. “By the way, I fuck better than I dance,” he whispers in my ear. “Better than I sing. Better than I write. Better than I do most things.” He brushes a swoop of hair off my shoulder and slowly licks up the side of my neck before his lips come together right behind my ear. “Bet you didn’t know that about me. How much I love to fuck and how good I am at it.”
Holy shit.
I try and swallow but can’t. I’m wordless. I’m on fire.
I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.
That’s the thing I would normally say.
But that’s not happening tonight.
I want to be shown.
I want to know for once exactly what he thinks of me.
Exactly what he wants to do.
I press my hand into his chest, pushing him back just enough to look him dead in the eye.
“Prove it.”
Chapter Twelve
Marina
“In Your Room”
I can’t believe I said that.
Prove it.
Laz’s mouth twists into a smile. He bites his lip for a moment, studying me.
Then kisses me.
“I’m taking you to my room,” he says against my mouth.
My eyes widen.
It’s fine.
I’m Fine.
I can do this.
Oh my god.
I nod. “Okay.”
His smile widens. Cunning. Beautiful. I don’t care that he’s looking at me like he’s going to eat me alive. I want him to eat me alive.
Oh god.
Did I even shave?
He grabs my hand and leads me out of the bar.
The humid air hits us in the face the minute we step out onto the street. Everything in this moment feels more alive than normal, like all my senses are heightened in anticipation of what’s about to happen.
I’m squeezing Laz’s hand so tight, like I might get swept away down the street by an errant breeze, even though the hotel is literally next door. There’s just been too many opportunities that have been ruined by fate so far, I’m not chancing it.
“Should we have told Jane and Naomi?” I ask him as we walk through the lobby.
“None of their business,” he says, nodding at the front desk as we pass them.
He’s right. Even though I do have Jane’s condom in my purse. I hope he has a bunch because it would be too weird to use this one. He’d probably wonder why I have a condom to begin with and then I’d have to explain his stepsister gave it to me because she anticipated he’d fuck my brains out tonight.
Oh my god. He’s going to fuck my brains out.
I feel like I need to remind him again that I’m a virgin and this is my first time and I don’t know how much I’ll be able to take, if I’ll be any good, if…
But the moment the elevator doors open and he hustles me inside, he’s attacking me. Hands, lips, teeth, tongue. I’m pressed back against the mirror and his fingers wrap around the small of my waist, hoisting me up high. My legs go around his ass and I’m ready to fucking lose it, lose everything right here.
Then the elevator beeps, the door opens.
It’s the 8th floor.
His floor.
We smile at each other, both aware of this moment, that anyone could have been standing there, and he lowers me down to the ground like I’m just a feather.
I can barely feel my feet.
I can’t feel anything except each inch of skin he’s touched.
He grabs my hand, leads me down the hall.
I’m so nervous.
Each room we pass by, I think it could be his.
I feel like every person inside knows what’s happening out here. That my innocence and lack of experience is tangible, the lamb being led to the wolf’s den.
But Laz isn’t a wolf. He may have canines in his smile, he may have a sly, dark look to him at times. But despite it all, it’s still Laz. My Laz. A friend beneath all of this animal. And if I stopped him right here in the middle of the hotel hallway and told him I didn’t want to do this, he would understand.
He stops by his room, fumbles for his key. His hands are shaking.
Could he be nervous too?
The door opens.
I step inside first, inspecting the room like I’ve never seen it before, which is ridiculous b
ecause it looks exactly like my room, only the bed is on the other side.
For some reason, that makes my heart trip.
The bed. Made up by the maid while we’ve been out.
I can’t believe that’s where I’ll end up tonight.
Hell, you might not make it that far, my brain pipes up. He could fuck you against the wall like he almost did in the elevator, maybe on the floor.
Laz closes the door behind us with a soft click.
The sound brings my attention back to him.
I don’t think I can feel my feet anymore. I’m surprised I’m still standing.
I stare at him, my eyes are big and wide, my jaw wired shut. I’m frozen.
“Want something from the mini bar?” he asks, walking past me, his hand trailing along my waist as he goes. He crouches down and opens it, pulling out a small bottle of champagne.
“Are you paying for that or are the publishers?”
“Someone is,” he says, eyeing the printed sticker on the mini fridge. “Apparently it’s one of those things where you’re charged the moment you lift it up.”
“Sneaky devils,” I say, my voice sounding unnaturally high. Maybe it’s just me. As much as I want him to keep talking, to ease us back into the people we usually are to each other, on the other hand…
I want him.
I want him and I’m absolutely terrified.
Laz gets back up, unscrews the cap of the champagne and grabs two glasses from the desk. Fills one up, hands it to me. Fills up his.
But he doesn’t take a sip right away. He watches me, eyes steady. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He looks so different here in the room, in this foreign space I’m not used to. All his clothes are black, the bed and walls and furniture are white. The contrast is so stark, it’s almost surreal.
“Marina,” he says softly. “We don’t have to do anything.”
There is weight to his words. I know his heart. I know he means them.
I nod. “I know. I want to.”
“Are you sure?” he asks. He nods at the glass. “You’ve had some drinks.”
“I’ve never felt more sober.” I pause, my breath short and shallow. Anxious. “Do you still want to?”
He smiles, gives his head a shake. “You have no idea, do you?”
“About what?”
“How I feel about you.”
Okay. I didn’t think that would cause me to sway, but it does. I reach out, put my untouched glass on the desk and lean on the edge of it.
“How do you feel about me?” I whisper.
Do you love me?
Please say you love me.
“I’ll show you,” he says. “I’ll prove it. Just as you asked.”
He finishes his champagne and comes over to me and just like that, the little distance between us closes up, the moment we had to retreat into our old roles, it’s all over.
His mouth is on mine and his hands are on me and my heart is with his and I am drowning on my feet.
“You’ll go slow?” I whisper against his lips.
“I’ll go slow, I’ll go fast, I will do whatever you ask.”
I smile against him. “That was almost a poem.”
“Almost,” he says. He cups my face in his hands. “Marina, I’ve never wanted anything, anyone, in this whole bloody world as much as I want you.”
I’m choking up.
I’m turned on.
I’m a mess.
“How about I take the pressure off,” he says, his hands dropping away and leaving my skin feeling bare and cold where his warmth once was.
He takes a few steps back until his legs hit the edge of the bed.
With his eyes burning holes into mine, he starts unbuttoning his white dress shirt. Before I can process what’s happening – that he’s stripping in front of me – his shirt is undone, pulled off, being discarded on the floor.
Holy bejeesus.
Just with the way I ogled his legs before, I’m soaking every single inch of his upper body. I’ve seen it before, on the beach. I know where his tattoos are, but I’ve never had a good look at them. I know he’s ripped but I never allowed myself to drink it all in.
Now I can. Now he wants me to look. And why not?
Lazarus Scott looks like a sex god.
I can say that without even having slept with him because honestly, this view of his body alone is worth the price of admission.
It’s always been obvious that he has these amazing, wide, broad shoulders that lead to muscled arms and a trim torso. I’ve admired that since forever, especially when he wears tight, thin T-shirts.
But now, shirtless, I can see how firm his chest is, a dusting of chest hair between his pecs, half camouflaged by the tattoos that work their way down and across his body. I wonder about their stories, their histories. The ink looks old, words and symbols and skulls and a map of England and the union jack. His body is a treasure map, something that goes beyond surface symbols.
The ridges of his washboard abs, the slim Vs of his hips as they disappear into a grey waistband, the flat plane of his belly—I want to run my fingers all over him, just to see what that all feels like.
I manage to drag my attention back up to his eyes. He has the cockiest smile on, tempered only by the heat in his gaze.
He starts undoing his belt. Then the button of his pants. Then his zipper is pulled down with a sound that echoes throughout the room.
His pants fall to his feet, he steps out of them, out of his shoes and socks and now he’s just in his briefs. The outline of his cock is completely visible, long and thick and curving up toward the band, barely contained. Through the thin fabric I can see everything, including the faint marks of his piercing.
Probably not a Prince Albert, I think to myself and wonder if I’ll be telling Naomi later. Maybe.
Then he pulls the briefs down, tosses them to the side and stands there with his cock out and I’m…I’m…
Terrified.
It’s so oddly alien, even after seeing a million cocks, both wonderful ones from online porn and shitty ones from unsolicited dick picks. It’s also massive. I don’t have a lot of experience to measure it to, obviously, but either my vibrator is shyly modest or Laz has one fucking huge cock.
And right at the end, along the ridge, near the swollen dark tip, are two barbells, two rungs of a Jacob’s ladder. Am I crazy for being relieved he only has two? I’m not sure my virginity could handle his cock, let alone one lined with metal.
“That’s not going to fit,” I blurt out.
He lets out a hoarse laugh. “I’ll make sure it does. Now, are you going to need a bowl of popcorn for the show or do you want to get naked too?”
I grin at him, my heart alternating between tight squeezes and low dips, like it’s on a rollercoaster ride inside my chest. My feelings are all over the place, I’m staring at a very raw, very beautiful, very formidable naked Laz, and now I’m expected to get naked. I barely even look at myself naked in the mirror when I’m at home alone.
“Just a minute,” I tell him, turning around to have the glass of champagne. I gulp it down, the bubbles going up my nose, feeling as fizzy as my brain.
Laz has closed the gap between us by the time I’ve turned around.
I can’t even react. This big naked man is right up against me, one hand disappearing into my hair. He kisses me, softly, sweetly, enough so that all my worries and hang-ups start to melt, like an ice cream cone in the sun. I’m dripping into his hands, his touch, his lips.
While our kiss deepens, our tongues moving harder yet slower and then faster against each other, his large hands slip to my shoulders, palming them briefly before running the straps down. They reach around, pushing down the back of my dress, undoing my bra.
I know what he’s doing and I couldn’t appreciate it more. He’s removing my bra without removing my dress. He knows what makes me feel more comfortable.
He pulls my bra out, the straps briefly getting tangled before he thr
ows it on the armchair.
He kisses every bare inch of skin. Neck, collarbone, shoulders, arms, the swells of my breasts. My nipples harden underneath the fabric as his fingers brush past them teasingly. My breath hitches in my throat, needing more from him, wanting more, yet being afraid of getting it.
He drops to his knees. My hands go to his hair, wrapping his locks around my fingers and holding tight because if I don’t, I’ll fall right over.
I peer down at him, stealing a look, watching the muscles in his back move, the tattoos he has back there. I see words I can’t read etched below his shoulder blades.
His head goes back as he stares up at me with an open, wanting expression. His hands trail up my calves, up my thighs, going under my dress and rising up, up, up, his palm shooting electricity into my skin. His eyes never leave mine.
I’m holding my breath. I don’t care. How could anyone breathe through this? I’m afraid if I exhale, everything might blow away, dissolving like a dream.
This is Laz.
On his knees.
Looking up at me like I’m his place of worship.
No matter what happens, don’t forget this. Don’t forget this.
His fingers keep going up the outside of my thighs, wrapping around the lacy edge of my underwear.
He pulls them down, slowly, inch by inch. Even the silky fabric brushing down against my inner thighs makes my body shiver.
I lean into him, step out of them. Slip off my heels.
“Get on the bed,” he says thickly. “On your back.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice so tiny and thin against his. I’m actually glad he’s being bossy, I wouldn’t know what to do otherwise.
I go to the bed, lie down on top of the cool covers.
Lift my head and watch as Laz comes to the foot of the bed and gets on it, prowling between my legs which I instinctively open wider for him.
He doesn’t say a word but he gives me a look, a hungry one, an amazed one, and that’s when I slowly lean my head back into the bed, close my eyes, my fingers gripping the covers already in preparation for what’s to come.
Just breathe, I remind myself but then I’m gasping for breath as he parts my legs with his hands and pulls my dress up to my waist so I’m completely exposed and bare for him.