Can't Text This (Page 1)
“Shit. You okay?”
“I’m good, just hit my head on the soap dispenser. Don’t stop.”
The stranger chuckles. “Didn’t plan on it, Monty.”
I giggle when he says my name, partially because I’m a little tipsy, and partially because it reminds me of when he first said it.
“Hey, I’m Monty.”
“Hi Monty. Wanna see my python?”
He uttered the words with a cocky grin, and I was a goner.
In my defense, that was the best pickup line out of all the guys tonight, and since I’m determined to enjoy myself since starting fresh in a new town, here I am: perched on the bathroom counter at a dive bar named Lola’s with a guy I only just met.
He’s a new adventure, and I’m enjoying the exploration.
His touch is gentle, yet firm in the best of ways. Large hands grasp my waist, holding tight enough for him to leave red marks but not bruise. It’s sexy, makes me feel safe, warm, alive.
Or that could be his lips roaming over my jaw. His stubble rakes over my skin, and I live for this moment.
I’ll be the first to admit this isn’t me. I’m not this girl. I don’t make out with strangers. Heck, I don’t even pick up guys in bars. I’m your average Mary Jane, the girl next door.
I know it and I own it.
I don’t have a single come hither bone in my body, but there was something about the way this man’s eyes slid over me that made me feel worthy of his kisses.
Or it’s the booze talking.
Yeah, it could be the booze.
His lips travel down the side of my neck and I lean into him, enjoying the contact more than I probably should. The kisses are slow and wet and perfect. He runs a hand up my back and into my hair, wrapping it around his fingers and pulling lightly until my head is tilted just where he wants it.
He runs his nose along the column of my neck, and I’m so stupid over this, thinking it’s the hottest thing ever.
“You smell like beer and sweat and flowers.” A soft kiss. “Why flowers?” he mutters.
I don’t answer him.
He’s captured my mouth with his again.
He moves his lips slowly against mine, learning and teasing, seeing what he can get away with, seeing how we fit together.
The hand that was entwined in my hair is now cupping my face, and the pressure he’s putting on my jaw is…hot. It’s not too much, but it’s not enough either.
His tongue finds its way inside my mouth and I nearly come apart. Such finesse. Certainty.
This guy knows how to kiss.
I mean, I’ve only kissed three guys in my lifetime, but I’m certain he’s the best kisser on earth. With the way he’s setting my skin ablaze, there’s no way there’s anyone better.
He pulls his mouth from mine and his lips find my jaw again, this time traveling up to that spot just behind my ear.
I giggle at the contact and he laughs, the vibration against my neck making me squirm.
“Shut up. It’s been a while.”
“Uh huh. That’s not the reason you’re reacting the way you are, though,” he argues.
“You’re right. It’s because I’m super into you because I know you so well.”
He tsks. “Was that sarcasm I detected? Someone’s got a mouth on her.” His lips meet the shell of my ear. “I like that.”
I want to push him away and pull him closer all at once.
Push because this isn’t me. This isn’t who I am. I don’t lash out with sharp words, and I sure as hell don’t make out with strangers in bathrooms.
Pull because I don’t think kissing could ever get better than this.
There’s also a little dose of shame.
“I’m not usually this…forward with guys.”
He runs a hand over my sweater, pulling at the collar of the crisp white shirt underneath it. “I couldn’t tell.”
“Are you making fun of me? I’m sitting in the shame corner over here and you’re making fun of me?”
He withdraws a bit, and I miss the feel of him against me. I curl into myself, trying to regain some semblance of warmth.
His dark brows are slashed together. He stands there, hands settled on either side of me, waiting for me to answer.
Under the yellow glow of the light overhead, I take a good look at the man who was just firmly planted between my spread legs.
His caramel skin is covered—and I mean, every single inch, right up to his thick neck—in tattoos, ones I can’t quite discern in the shadows but look beautiful nonetheless.
There’s delicious stubble lining his strong, angled jaw and plump, rose-colored lips. I can’t make out his eye color clearly, but right now he has that glassy look about him. He’s had a few too many drinks too.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’re adults, and we’re enjoying each other’s company—no shame in that.”
I squirm beneath his scrutiny.
“Unless you’re not into it…”
“I am,” I say too quickly.
Another grin. “Yeah? Then what’s the big deal?”
I shake my head. “There isn’t one. I’m being dumb.”
He pushes himself off the counter and it creaks under the shifting weight.
That’s another thing: he’s huge—like, muscles on muscles kind of huge, the kind that tells me he’s probably hiding a six pack under that tight gray shirt of his.
The thought overwhelms me because I’ve never seen abs in real life. My fingers itch to touch him, and before I know it, I’m pulling him back between my legs. My hands fan out on his stomach and he shakes his head.
“What are you doing, Monty?” he whispers, his breath brushing over my lips.
“You have abs—I’d guess eight.”
He hisses when my hands collide with his bare skin, and I love the way it sounds. It’s like he can’t get enough of our contact either.
I run my fingers over his middle.
His chest begins to move rapidly.
He reaches out and stills my movements, locking eyes with me. There are so many shadows between us I almost can’t see him.
And it’s making this encounter all the more enticing.
“Six. It’s six, Monty.”
I frown. “You ruined the surprise.”
He crushes his lips to mine and I gasp at the contact. The movement is so rushed that I slide forward on the counter, my butt now barely hanging on to the edge. I wrap my legs around his waist for more support, and right behind me, following him into the bathroom earlier, it’s the smartest move I’ve made all night.
His erection brushes against all the right spots, and it feels just like the python he called it.
I’ve heard many curse words in my life. I’m not against cursing it’s just never sounded right coming out of my mouth, so it’s not something I do.
But that word leaving his lips? That didn’t sound like any curse I’ve ever heard. It sounded like a prayer.
And I’m praying right along with him.
His hands slide up my bare legs and under the knee-length skirt I’m wearing. I don’t stop him when he reaches my thighs, or when he reaches the edge of my panties.
I’m too lost to acknowledge that I shouldn’t be doing this with a stranger, too lost to care when he runs a finger along the band lining my thigh, too gone when his knuckles graze my swollen lips.
He buries his face in my neck as he fingers the hem over and over again. I want to combust every time he brushes against me. He’s unsure if he should press forward or not.
“You can touch me, Robbie.”
Another prayer and one of his fingers dives into my underwear, seeking out my center.
“You’re so wet,” he whispers before taking my mouth with his again.
My body heats at his words—or at his kiss. I can’t tell which, but I know I’m not used to hearing words like that.
He adds another finger and I lose all ability to move. He glides his fingers in and out of me, and I gasp in shock when his thumb presses against my clit.
“Do that again.”
He lets out another throaty laugh at my instruction and obeys, circling his thumb and teasing the bundle of nerves with just the right amount of pressure.
He doesn’t, and I ignite.
There’s no other way to describe it. I unravel beneath him, legs quaking, breath stuttered, eyes rolling into the back of my head.
I’ve read about this in those magazines my sister reads, heard it’s the most euphoric feeling in the world…and they weren’t wrong.
I cling to Robbie as I come down from the high, my breathing returning to normal, his fingers still languidly stroking my clit.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.
A pounding against the door yanks me out of the haze and clears my foggy brain in an instant.
What have I done? I’m in a public restroom with a stranger! I just let him…let him…do dirty things to me!