István’s arms flexed around me, and I melted into him. My father liked to talk, or yell, rather, about how I didn’t appreciate anything. But the male body was one thing I had no issue appreciating. István was all hard muscles and angles beneath my hands, and those girls were definitely a-wandering.
By the time he’d set my feet on the dance floor, my hands had found those delicious muscles that angled down from his hips. I bit my lip and met his gaze from beneath lowered lashes. If his expression was any indication, I had found Boardwalk and had the all clear to proceed to Go and collect my two hundred dollars.
Or forint. Whatever.
Tamás pressed his chest against my back, and I gave myself up to the alcohol and the music and the sensation of being stuck between two delicious specimens of man.
Time started to disappear between frenzied hands and drips of sweat. There were more drinks and more dances. Each song faded into the next. Colors danced behind my closed eyes. And it was almost enough. For a while, I forgot the emptiness that lay beneath the excitement and desire and intoxication. And every time the void began to creep in, when the black behind my closed eyes felt suffocating, there was another drink in my hand to chase the dark away.
That was me. One drink away from the cliff’s edge. I didn’t mind so much, though. Life was more exciting on the edge, if a little lonelier.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. There was no room for loneliness when squeezed between two sets of washboard abs.
New life motto, right there.
I gave István a couple of notes and sent him to get more drinks. In the meantime, I turned to face Tamás. He’d been pressed against my back for God knows how long, and I’d forgotten how tall he was. I leaned back to meet his gaze, and his hands smoothed down my back to my ass.
I smirked and said, “Someone is happy to have me all to himself.”
He pulled my hips into his and said, “Beautiful American.”
Right. No point expending energy on cheeky banter that he couldn’t even understand. I had a pretty good idea how to better use my energy. I slipped my arms around his neck and tilted my head in the universal sign of “kiss me.”
Tamás didn’t waste any time. Like really . . . no time. The dude went zero to sixty in seconds. His tongue was so far down my throat it was like being kissed by the lovechild of a lizard and Gene Simmons.
We were both pretty drunk. Maybe he didn’t realize that he was in danger of engaging my gag reflex with his Guinness-record-worthy tongue. I eased back and his tongue assault ended, only for his teeth to clamp down on my bottom lip.
I was all for a little biting, but he pulled my lip out until I had one half of a fish mouth. And he stood there sucking on my bottom lip for so long that I actually started counting to see how long it would last.
When I got to fifteen (fifteen!) seconds, my eyes settled on a guy across the bar watching my dilemma with a huge grin. Was shit-eating grin in the dictionary? If not, I should snap a picture for Merriam-Webster.
I braced myself and pulled my poor abused lip from Tamás’s teeth. My mouth felt like it had been stuck in a vacuum cleaner. While I pressed my fingers to my numb lip, Tamás started placing sloppy kissing from the corner of my lips across my cheek to my jaw.
His tongue slithered over my skin like a snail, and all the blissful alcohol-induced haze that I’d worked so hard for disappeared.
I was painfully aware that I was standing in an abandoned building turned bar with a trail of drool across my cheek, and the guy across the room was now openly laughing at me.
And he was fucking gorgeous, which made it so much worse.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Cora Carmack is a twentysomething writer who likes to write about twentysomething characters. She’s done a multitude of things in her life—retail, theatre, teaching, and writing. She loves theatre, travel, and anything that makes her laugh. She enjoys placing her characters in the most awkward situations possible and then trying to help them get a boyfriend out of it. Awkward people need love too.