Longing: Club Inferno (20 page)
Read Longing: Club Inferno Online
Authors: Jamie K. Schmidt
I hadn’t come here for anything other than liquor-induced escape.
At least that’s what I told myself.
I wasn’t brave enough to look much deeper.
“Watch and learn.” Willow turned toward me, adjusting her push-up bra. “I expect to have a free Crown and Coke in my hands in three, two, one…”
She left me to strut toward the bar. I should’ve been nervous on my own, but honestly, I was too drunk to care.
The hazy air throbbed with vintage Pearl Jam and for the longest time, I stood stone still on the edge of the fray, just taking it all in. Couples dancing. Couples laughing. Couples leaning their heads together for deep-mouthed kisses so primal I felt voyeuristic watching. And then I felt hungry, angry, frustrated by having no outlet for my own sexual needs other than squeezing my thighs together, willing my racing pulse to slow, willing the old nemesis away.
“Desire” was no longer in my vocabulary.
Unfortunately, the vodka said “horny” was.
Needing more to drink, I found Willow. The target she’d found looked like an off-duty mechanic. He wore jeans and a dark blue shirt with a patch that read
TIM
.
We exchanged pleasantries that grew more pleasant when he bought me three double shots of Skyy.
Buckcherry wailed about a crazy bitch and the bass centered in my core. I became that bitch. Needed with every breath of my being to be her. Just for tonight. Tomorrow, I’d willingly return to my self-imposed coffin.
Not needing a dance floor, I closed my eyes, waving my arms Mata Hari style over my head, swaying my ass, my full, aching breasts, all the parts of me I struggled on a daily basis to forget. And then he was there, my mossy-eyed stranger, slipping his hands around my waist in a way so perfect I couldn’t have dreamed it. A slow version of Nine Inch Nails’ “Hurt” began to play. And I did hurt. Still hurt. Would
always
hurt. And my eyes stung and throat ached and when the stranger leaned in to kiss me, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
I didn’t know him.
He didn’t know me.
Yet in that moment, nothing mattered but the music. The heady sexual power coursing through every inch of me. My arms fell in a slow tumble, resting around his neck. I slid my splayed fingers into his hair, pressing him closer, deeper. I was in control and I pushed him into the nearest dark corner, where, when our midsections brushed, there was no denying his attraction. I was wet and humming, flying in a netherworld of raw emotion. All of it turned topsy-turvy in my head and I couldn’t stop kissing, kissing this stranger.
I raised my right leg, rubbing it up the length of him. He caught me by the back side of my thigh, clenching me hard, pulling me against his raging erection. My dress rose higher and higher until air kissed my pulsing core and my thong wedged deep, creating maddening pressure.
Not thinking, just doing, I reached for his waistband, tugging, struggling to find the button.
“Whoa,” he said, “let’s take this outside.”
I nodded.
We somehow found an emergency exit and stumbled through, crashing against the concrete-block wall on the far side of a Dumpster. The cold didn’t matter, because I was so hot. I wanted this—
him
—desperately until nothing mattered but getting him inside me, pounding out the hurt, the pain, the confusion never granting me peace. I wasn’t dead. I was so very much alive but screaming through a self-induced coma this stranger had somehow broken through.
Our kissing took on a fevered pitch, a mad wanton sweeping of our tongues. He tasted of vodka and lime and hope.
He let me spring his cock free and when I knelt to blow him, his satisfied groan tore through me. “Yeah…Just like that.
God, don’t ever stop…
”
Suck it good, baby! Oh yeah, that’s the way your Blaine Daddy likes it!
Like a needle scratching a record, sanity returned.
I froze, letting his still-hard cock pop from my mouth. What was I doing? This was insanity—beyond that, it was sick. I wasn’t horny but clearly needed psychiatric help.
“I-I’m sorry,” I said, now shivering, crying so hard mascara ran into my eyes. “I-I can’t do this. I thought I could. I wanted to, but—”
Unable to finish my sentence, I did the only thing I’d ever been good at—running.
Love stories you’ll never forget
By authors you’ll always remember
eOriginal Romance from Random House
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