Within a heartbeat, my lips are on hers, tempting, tasting, seeking the combination of heat, comfort, and need from her all at the same time. Our mouths move slowly at first, asking questions that our words haven’t: What the fuck are we doing? Don’t you want me regardless of the consequences? We don’t like each other, so why are we doing this?
And I really don’t care about the answers to any of them because her soft curves and the enticing heat of her body draw me in and prevent coherence from being a priority. The memory of the feel of her beneath me has me deepening the kiss, taking what I want in the form of tongues melding and teeth nipping. Soft moans fall from our mouths as our hands begin to roam and rediscover each other’s body.
The clink of the bottle hitting the glass when I set it down shakes me from the haze of desire. Reality comes crashing down around me as my thoughts start trying to align despite the sweetest of drugs, lust and alcohol, running rampant in my system.
My dick’s hard in my pants, the taste of her kiss is on my tongue, yet again the niggling idea that she’s playing me hits me hard and causes me to tear my mouth from hers. My hands frame her face, holding tightly as I stare through the moonlit night into her desirous eyes, and our labored breaths reflect the restraint that’s nonexistent between us.
She came to me. She wanted a game. She kissed me first. Fucking déjà vu hits me and won’t let go as much as I want to toss it off the side of the damn building and forget all about it! But I refuse to be the next in her line of men here, refuse to be the pawn in her rigged game of chess when I can’t figure out the endgame.
“I want you,” she murmurs, voice thick with need, eyes coaxing me to believe her as she leans forward and brushes her lips to mine again.
And fuck… I want to sink into her in so many ways, but I grab onto the slippery slope of my resolve, and my fingers tighten on her cheeks to push her away from me.
“I’d much rather fuck you than the consequences. And believe me… I will,” I tell her, my voice strained, licks of desire snapping at my nerves trying to singe my senses into overriding my rational mind. “But it will be of my own volition. Not because you came to me with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and an agenda in your back pocket.”
“I’m not —”
I use my lips to cut off her retort and to satisfy the loud voice in my head telling me that I’m fucking crazy for pushing her away. And I know it’s a mistake the minute I taste her, but I don’t care. As soon as I’ve branded my lips to hers, I tear them away just as quickly.
“Don’t lie to me to avoid giving me more reasons to dislike you. I don’t play dirty like you. I take what I want when I want it, and hell if I don’t want you, Beaux… but not like this. Not with some deceptive pretense wrapped around us like the sheets I want to lay you down on.”
“There’s no agenda,” she says, her voice soft and even with a tinge of disbelief that I’m reacting this way, yet there’s something in her eyes that tells me differently.
“I call bullshit, rook.” And this time I’m fully aware of the double entendre of her being a rookie and the chess game she’s playing with me. “You want something from me, and it has to do with whatever you’re hiding up your sleeve. So now we’re playing this game on my terms from here on out. How’s it feel to want something you can’t have?” My gaze flickers from her eyes in time to catch the quiver of her bottom lip before she shoves back from me, the sting of rejection clear on her face.
“I understand more than you’ll ever know,” she whispers. And I swear in the short glimpse I have of her eyes before she turns on her heels and walks away, I see tears glistening.
Her footsteps resonate off the rooftop until I can’t hear them anymore when she enters the stairwell. I’m left in the darkness of the night with my unsettling thoughts.
Alone.