You have some women who enjoy it in a slow and relaxing pace, and others who run for the hills if you go anywhere near their asshole.
Zoey’s that woman.
The ass woman.
And my sudden need to get near her ass and show her what I want to do with it needs to be curbed on so many levels. These thoughts are so unnatural.
“So, what do you need? A shot? One or two, maybe three?” I ask, dulling down my tone to ease her insecurity.
“Excuse me?”
“What do you need, so I can prove to you that it’s all in your head and you dated a loser who has no clue what the fuck he’s doing?”
She laughs nervously, unable to make eye contact with me. “You’ve had too much to drink. Are you asking me to have sex with you?”
In hindsight, I am. What’s so wrong with that? Maybe we could try that whole friends-with-benefits thing.
Taking a deep breath and allowing the alcohol to talk, not the usual levelheaded Drew, “Zoey, I need to be honest with you. There was this one time when I overheard you and Jess. Basically, you asked him to finger your ass.”
“Um… what?” she says, her normally pale skin flushing a bright pink.
“You heard me. So listen, women don’t usually say that shit, and if they do… hallelujah. My point is, you can’t be that bad. No woman who likes it in her ass can be that bad.”
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation on the dance floor… of a wedding…” she trails off, avoiding my eyes and staring embarrassedly at the floor. Her skin feels like it’s on fire, and I yearn to run my hands along it and feel the effect I’m having on her.
“Hey, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You should be proud.”
Shaking her head with a cute smile, she manages to drag her eyes up to meet mine. “Proud? That I like things in my ass? Are we seriously having this c
onversation?”
“We’ve had worse conversations,” I remind her.
“Oh, no. I think this one tops them all.”
I don’t have enough alcohol in me to be able to maintain this conversation, and so, I drop the ass talk attempting to carry on dancing. It’s a lot harder than I think to forget our conversation, plus my cock’s in pain from having massive blue balls. The only thing deflating my cock at a rapid rate is some drunken man with no teeth who attempts to dance with every woman on the dance floor, and when that fails, he moves onto the men.
Men—myself included.
The music slows down again, a mellow and sexy beat which sets the perfect mood. I can see the fucker standing leisurely at the bar with a drink in hand. He’s watching us like an animal ready to attack, and with a satisfied smirk, I slowly move Zoey’s hair away from her neck again and brush my lips against her skin kissing her as I trail down to the base of her neck. This time, her eyes close, and she presses carelessly against my groin.
Fuck, is she even wearing a bra? Her nipples are erect, and that doesn’t help the fucking hard-on I’m trying to control, again. My eyes move up purposely making contact with Jess. His stare is hostile, his face fueled with rage as his choice of liquor appears to be some hard scotch. The bartender speaks to him. Lashing out, he slams the glass on the counter, his body suggesting he’s demanding another.
That doesn’t deter him from turning his attention back to us.
Checkmate, fucker.
I’m going in for the kill.
I move my hands to the back of her neck, directing her face so her lips are flush with mine. Kissing her softly, rolling my tongue, I pretend she’s mine, and that the world around us doesn’t exist.
The timing is impeccable.
The DJ switches the song, playing a popular Jason Derulo song. Maybe it’s the champagne letting my inhibitions go, but damn does she look sexy with her body moving against mine.
I fucking want her.
And I don’t care about anything else right now.