Walking to the kitchen, my aim was to get a glass of water and a snack before I headed home to score approximately four hours of shut eye. Then I would chain myself to my computer and go to work on my design projects. That plan was changed when I saw the kitchen was in a state of disarray, to put it mildly. Someone had obviously decided to have a drunken cook up then forgotten to commence the drunken clean up. I sighed and shook my head.
“Worse than teenagers,” I muttered to myself.
Setting my bag on the counter, I unearthed my phone and headphones. Music was one of the many things I indulged in that helped me escape. Helped me remind myself to live and be happy, regardless of my past. So, a half hour later, that’s what I was doing, dancing and singing along to my favorite song while cleaning up the mess. I didn’t mind really. It was expected that I do shit like this. It may have been on the wrong side of sexist, and sometimes it did grate me, but most of the time I did it with no complaints. They were family. What they gave me in return was worth washing a few dirty dishes. I was swirling around, lost in the music readying myself to do a final wipe down then leave.
Then my eyes met something I didn’t expect.
A figure stood in the doorway. I covered my mouth to muffle the scream that came with my fright. My heart didn’t stop beating when I realized it was familiar eyes that burned into mine.
My face burned red with embarrassment. Hansen, the man who pretty much consumed my mind, the man who I fantasized about but never paid any attention to me stood right in the door. Right now, though, his eyes didn’t hold the look of a man who barely gave me a second glance for the past year. No. They held hunger. Heat.
I’d been so busy inspecting this hunger, shocked by the desire in his gaze, my music was still playing in my ears. I yanked one of my earphones out, preparing myself to say—I had no idea what. Hansen pushed off the doorway and closed the distance between us. His hands clutched the sides of my neck and his mouth dipped onto mine, silencing whatever no doubt stupid thing I was going to say.
I was so shocked I didn’t respond at first. Then his tongue probed mine, kissing me with ferocity, an intensity that I’d never even known existed. My whole body sank into his and I gave into the kiss, making a little sound at the back of my throat as his touch sent pinpricks of arousal up and down my spine. His hands moved to my ass and he lifted me, setting me down on the counter, so his crotch pressed into mine. I wrapped my legs around him, needing him closer. It felt like I’d never had sex before, I was that desperate. It was like I hadn’t been thoroughly satisfied a few hours ago. Well, I thought I’d been satisfied. This kiss, the promise behind it, showed me I didn’t know what satisfaction was.
Abruptly, Hansen’s mouth disengaged from mine, his eyes hardening as he seemed to catch himself. He stared at me a long moment, fury replacing the hot desire that had been there moments before. He stepped back quickly, causing me to lose my purchase on his delightful body.
I also lost the ability to speak as his angry stare silenced me. His eyes quickly ran over my body then he turned on his heel and left.
Without a word.
Man just kissed the living shit out of me and left?
What. The. Fuck.
I sat on the counter shocked, still half deafened by the music in my ears.
“Did that really happen?” I asked the empty room.
The room, of course, had no answer.
Over the next week, Hansen avoided me like I had some kind of flesh eating virus. Every time I entered the clubhouse, his eyes turned dark and his face turned tight, it seemed he did everything in his power to make sure I didn’t come within five feet of him.
That hurt.
No, that killed.
I didn’t think I was a bad kisser. Apparently so. I’d let myself hope that that kiss meant he finally saw me and recognized the attraction. That, and the fact that I’d been pining after him since the moment he arrived from the Nevada chapter. Just waiting for him to notice me, hoping that he’d see beyond the label I’d stuck myself with, and maybe consider me as something more. That hope went down in flames with the burn of cold indifference.
It didn’t help the guys had seemed to decide to treat me like some kind of leper also. They joked with me, were easily affectionate, like always, but nothing over G rated. No one got frisky, no one yanked me off into their rooms, no one even suggested it. It confused me. Hurt me. Was I getting phased out? Were they sick of me? Was my adopted family abandoning me?
“You got the clap or something?” a throaty voice asked from beside me.
I moved my eyes from the perusal of my beer bottle to Scarlett, who had seated herself behind me on the sofa. Her blonde hair was piled atop her head, her face slathered with expertly applied, yet completely over the top makeup. It wasn’t bitchy, the expression on that made up face was merely curious.
“Excuse me?” I asked, confused.
“The clap? Herpes, warts? Something to make the boys put you in quarantine for?” she clarified.
I jerked back. I was religious about protection. I knew my sexual habits weren’t what mainstream society deemed as appropriate for a woman, I didn’t give a shit. I certainly wasn’t going to feed the stereotype that club girls were somehow dirty.
“No, of course not,” I exclaimed hotly.
She shrugged her shoulders, leaning back on the sofa. “Well, something’s got them…” she nodded at a couple of the men who were sitting at the bar, “…making sure Kim and I are kept busy the past week. Not that I’m complaining, but whatever that something is, seems to have gotten you on the no screw list,” she observed with a raised brow. I expected there to be some kind of bitchy satisfaction at this, but there was only curiosity and if I wasn’t imagining it, concern.