Ordinarily, that kind of arrogant instruction would send me running for the door, but it’s kind of hard to run with your legs spread wide and a hot guy kissing his way down your body, and with every inch of skin so sensitive that just a touch sets my whole body on fire.
Fuck you, I tell him silently, as Jacob pulls my panties off. Fuck you and your cynical bullshit, and your superiority complex, and the fact you called me “woman,” and—
Holy shit!
He licks up against my clit and I suddenly couldn’t care less about his attitude because OH. MY. GOD. What he’s doing with his tongue is probably illegal in five states, and I never want it to stop.
He licks faster, and slides his fingers back into my pussy, moving them back and forth in a way that I never knew I wanted, a way that feels completely necessary for my very fucking survival. I’m panting now, my breath coming hard, and I grab his head and push it harder against me.
He laughs against me, a rumble against my clit, and I don’t even care that he’s winning the argument because his fingers curl higher and his tongue swirls lightly over me and I’m quivering from the inside out as I climb higher and higher and then, holy fuck, I’m there, I’m almost there, and it’s too fucking good, and this guy was right, Todd had no idea, no ideas at all, and he’s . . . he’s . . .
Stopped?
“Don’t stop,” I gasp, trying to hold onto the high. “More. Fuck, I’ll beg if you want me to.”
There’s no reply.
In fact, there’s no movement of any kind at all.
I look down. He’s splayed across my legs, face down in my crotch. I lift his head to check. His eyes are closed, his breathing deep and regular. Is he . . . asleep?
Jacob lets out a muffled snore.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
I sit up so that his cheek now drops gently down to rest on the couch instead of my bare thigh. How can this even be possible? What kind of guy passes out with his face buried in your pussy, no matter how drunk he is?
This guy, apparently.
My cheeks burning with embarrassment and disbelief, I swing my legs around, watching for any signs of life. I hold a hand in front of his nose to make sure he’s still breathing, which thank god he is, because the only thing worse than having a guy fall asleep in my crotch would be having him die there.
I untangle myself, stepping over his prostrate body, grab my panties and skirt from the floor where he dropped them, and quickly pull them over my hips, sure the rustling noise will wake him, but it doesn’t. He’s out cold. So cold apparently even my half-naked body couldn’t keep his attention.
Way to go, Lizzie. Sex with you is so boring, they pass out.
I grab my coat and walk over to the door, flipping the lock open, which seems horrifically loud in the stillness of the room. Not that it seems to bother him any. I look back at him, splayed out on the couch motionless, and muffle a sigh. Why does this kind of stuff only happen to me? I shut the door behind me and lean against it for a moment dejectedly. Okay, fine, maybe it didn’t only happen to me, but I also know for a fact that it would never happen to Ingrid Bergman, that’s for sure. Not in a million years.
Well, screw him. Screw him, and Todd, and every other person standing between me, my dreams, and the orgasms I deserve. This year is toast, and the next one is going to be better. I swear it: old pushover Lizzie is done. Watch out world, I’m coming. Or at least, I will be, once I’m back with my trusty vibrator and a locked door.
It’s time to move the fuck on, starting now. Todd is in the past, and this guy too. Because hey, at least I never have to see him again in my life.
Right?
5
Jake
I shake Lizzie’s hand, but for some reason, she doesn’t drop it. She’s staring at me like I’ve just run over her kitten without so much as an apology. “Nice to meet you,” I say, trying to take my hand back. “This is a nice, uh, office you have down here.”
“Are you serious?” she asks, shooting daggers from her blue eyes.
I blink. Okaaay, not the usual reaction I get from women, but then again, I was just lying through my teeth. It’s not so much an office as a weird den crammed floor-to-ceiling with movie memorabilia and art, buried in the depths of the museum so deep I took two wrong turns just getting here. “It’s interesting,” I correct myself. “Eclectic.” I drift over to a cabinet and pick up a weird statue. “This is a nice . . . ?”
“Reproduction Greek fertility goddess.”
I drop it so fast she snorts. “Don’t worry,” she says, “it’s not infectious.”
“You can never be too careful.” I flash her a smile, the kind that usually melts and drops panties in equal measure, but she’s still watching me with undiluted loathing. It’s a shame, because she’s got that whole hot librarian thing going on behind her red cat-eye glasses and those dark bangs. She’s wearing a pencil skirt that nips in at her waist, the fussy blouse hiding what look like ample curves below. Most of all, I’m staring at her lips, which are slightly parted and blood red, waiting for me to say something . . .
“Well, I just wanted to drop by and say hi in person,” I say, backing towards the door. She seemed nice enough over email, but maybe this is why they stashed her in the basement, so she doesn’t scare people away. “Nice to meet you, Lizzie.”
“Nice to meet you too, Jacob,” she says, a little sarcastically, and I get the weirdest sense of déjà vu.
I know her from somewhere, but where . . . ?
I look at her again. A bar, maybe? The coffee shop . . . ?
Then Lizzie reaches to tuck her hair behind her ears, and suddenly, it all comes rushing back to me.
She’s the girl from New Year’s Eve. The one who went on a petty revenge spree, with me along for the ride. Her hair is different—it was longer then—and she wasn’t wearing those glasses either, but it’s definitely her.
Shit.
“Lizzie. Elizabeth. Now I remember.” I try another charming smile. “How have you been? You look great, by the way. The hair really suits you.”
She arches an eyebrow at me. “That’s all you have to say for yourself? I can’t believe you didn’t recognize me!”
“I do!”
“After like ten minutes!” she exclaims. “Jesus, how many women have you been with if we’re all just a blur to you?”
I’m ready to argue, but even I can admit she’s got a point. After Isabel . . . well, let’s just say I spent some time working out my issues. In every possible position. “I’m sorry,” I admit. “That night wasn’t exactly my finest moment, not by a long shot.”
“You’re telling me,” she smirks, and something about her expression makes me stop.
“Wait, do you remember what happened?” I ask. “The last thing I remember is bringing you up to my apartment and having some stupid argument about movies. And drinking whiskey. Lots of whiskey.”
“Uh huh.” She taps at her computer, a smile playing on the edge of her lips. Damn, she’s going to make me work for it.
“Then . . . it’s all a blur.” I think hard, but for some reason, I can’t picture it. “But based on your frosty reaction right now, I’m guessing we hooked up?”
“Warm.” She still doesn’t look up.
“Made out?” I try again, frowning. No way would she be this mad if we just kissed a little.