BONE DEEP Read online

  My jeans start to grow tighter, and her mouth starts to become more insistent, and just as I’m thinking we’re likely putting on a show for all the trainbounds, she breaks the kiss and says in a heavy breath, “That was…” She smiles. “Um, thank you. That was just what I needed.”

  And then she gets up and runs down the steps, leaving my heart pulsing in my ears. What the fuck just happened?

  Once at the bottom, she stops, spins, and peers up at me, her hand forming a visor over her eyes. “Hey… Will you meet me? Tonight?”

  After a kiss like that, I’m not sure anything other than “hell yeah” could come out of my mouth. “Where at?”

  Her answer is quick, as if it were already decided upon. “The Rocks Club. Eight o’clock.”

  Chapter Six

  I stop just inside the door, loud music thumping the floor and black-light ink still drying on the back of my hand. The club isn’t too crowded, but it still takes a few moments to locate Cam, sitting on a barstool with her bare legs crossed and elbows propped back on the bar. Beside her, a blonde leans in, squeezing Cam’s arm at the same time pointing to the dance floor. They both giggle, and then her eyes lock with mine as I skirt the edge of the dance floor and approach them.

  “You came,” Cam sits up straight and says.

  “So did you.”

  She grins, taking the hand of the girl next to her. “Leesa, this is Krister. I met him in town today. Krister, this is my roommate Leesa.”

  I hold out my hand and the smiling girl takes it, shaking it once. “Nice to meet you.” Then she looks at Cam. “I better go check on Brooke. She was looking a little tipsy the last time I was out there.” Leesa skips away, her long hair swinging behind her as the people on the dance floor swallow her up.

  I take the empty seat beside Cam, eyeing her skimpy tank top and the short, black skirt resting an inch above her midthigh. “You look nice.”

  “So do you.” She leans closer, running her finger down the collar of my shirt. “Actually, you look better than nice.”

  Annnd there goes the awkward, first-date—if that’s what this could be called—tension. I shift on my seat, unsure if I should pull away or close the space between us for more. Based on the seductive way she’s licking her lips, I vote the latter. But then she tugs on my arm and says, “Will you dance with me?” Without waiting for an answer, she struts toward the mass of bodies clogging the middle of the room, lights flickering and flashing, and me in tow.

  “Not sure I pictured you as the clubbing type,” I say over the thumping music, and she turns—walking backward—shrugs, then smiles.

  “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. I’ll let my dancing be the deciding factor.” And then her body is pressed up against mine, hands skimming up my chest where they come to rest at my shoulders.

  For a moment I freeze, because this isn’t the same girl I hung out on the steps with earlier today at the train station, and it definitely isn’t the same one I saw the other day—the one crying and…well, sort of lost. The girl clinging to me now is confident and assertive, and I’m not gonna lie; she’s goddamn sexy as hell.

  The sweet scent of her perfume blasts into me as she moves closer, her hips rolling to the beat of the song.

  “You know,” she says, her lips mere inches from my ear, “dancing works better if you touch the person.” With her hands, she takes mine and places them firmly around her waist.

  “Yeah, I guess that’s where I’m a little confused.”

  Ever so slightly, she shakes her head. “Don’t be. It’s just a dance. And it’s what kids our age do.” I don’t know if she notices, but her voice falters on that last part. Her eyes dim, too, but the look of sadness—more like I saw at the station—disappears in a flash, and then she’s gyrating.

  Over the next song, her hands get to know my hips. And my shoulders. Arms. And after another song—feeling her tight body pressed up against mine—I’ve suddenly forgotten about everyone else around us. Locked into her eyes, I reach out my hands, stroking over her bare shoulders. I run my fingers down her arms, savoring the tingles in my fingers and spark in her eyes. Good god, it’s getting hot in here.

  A warm line of breath trails from my collarbone up to my ear, the hint of mint accompanying the heat. Her fingers slip to my neck, and she kisses the skin there. Soft. Gentle. And then her head falls back. I catch it, at the same time pulling her tighter against me. I stroke my tongue over her neck just before grazing her with my teeth. The loud music camouflages her moan to the other dancers around us, but I let out a laugh letting her know I heard it.

  “I need some air,” Cam says, drawing up a mischievous smile. “Want to get out of here? My dorm is right down the street.”

  Her dorm? That means…

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’m burning up, too.”

  She waves to her friends a few groups away, pointing at me and then the door. They smile and nod, and I wonder if this is something they do often—invite guys to clubs only to escort them back to their dorms an hour later.

  On the way out, I grab two waters from the bar and ten seconds later we’re walking down Chesapeake Avenue, University of Chanton blooming up from the dark horizon.

  “So you go to U of C,” I say to break the silence between us.

  She takes a sip of her water. “Yeah. You?”

  “Chanton Community. I was supposed to go here, but I…um, sort of blew my last semester of senior year and lost my scholarship.”

  “Ouch.” She doesn’t ask why that is, and I think I like her a little more for that. We enter the area people call “dorm row” and head to the main door of the first building. She swipes her ID card and leads me to the second floor, all the while fidgeting with the label of her water bottle. For someone so bold, she sure seems nervous right now.

  We stop at a door and she retrieves a ring of keys from her purse, fumbling a bit as she tries to insert the key. After a short pause and a click, the door swings open. She flicks on a light, revealing a standard-looking dorm room. Two beds, a desk and small couch, and a shit ton of clothes sprawled over the room. On the wall above one bed is a corkboard cluttered with pictures and a single sheet of paper that looks like some sort of list.

  Cam drops her purse onto the floor in the corner of the room then flattens the purple comforter on her bed, pulling the edge up and over the gigantic lump of pillows. “A little messy in here. Sorry,” she says, sweeping a pile of shirts to the side with her foot. “My roommate, Leesa, gets a little crazy when she’s dressing for the club.”

  I shove my hands into my back pockets with a nod, leaning against the doorframe. “We should hook her up with my best friend. He’d school her in the I have no idea how to pick my shit up department.”

  She chuckles, but when her eyes lift to mine she stops, a line forming down the middle of her forehead as she scans the tips of my shoes perched at the edge of her room. “You coming in?”

  “Are you sure? You looked a little—”

  Quickly, she rushes forward and snatches up my wrist, tugging me into the room with a jerk. “I’m fine,” she says, a smidge on the hysterical side, guiding me to the couch. She sits. I sit beside her, wondering just what the hell I’m doing here. A beautiful girl who may or may not want to hook up tonight?

  Her leg brushes against mine as she shifts, turning to face me. The movement gives me the impression that she’s going to lean in and kiss me, that I’ll finally have my answer as to what she’s looking for, but instead she props her elbow on the back cushion of the couch and lowers her head to it with a sigh.

  “Do you want me to go?” I say sluggishly because I don’t know what else to say.

  “No.”

  “Do you want me to stay?”

  Staring at the wall to her left, she runs her fingers through her hair once, twice, and then a laugh bubbles off her glistening lips. “I don’t know.”

  “I’m going to take that as a no.” I start to stand, but she catches the edge of my shirt.

/>   “No. Wait. Just…” Her shoulders slump forward, and the girl from the train station slowly emerges. She lets out a deep breath, scrubbing her hands over her face and says, “God, I’m sorry. This isn’t me.” She glances up, spearing me with her brown eyes. “I mean, maybe once upon a time it was, but…not now.”

  “So…” I scan the foot of space between my legs and hers. “Why am I here?”

  “I wish I knew.” She pinches the hem of her shirt and twists it around the tip of her finger. “My friends have been hounding me about getting out and meeting people and—”

  “Hooking up?” I raise an eyebrow. “Do girls do that?”

  “Yeah… Kind of.” Again she buries her hand into her hair, fingers disappearing completely in the wild mess of waves. “Look, it’s a long story, and I don’t really want to talk about it right now. Can you please just stay? Have one drink with me?”

  I can’t help but glare at her. “And pretend we hooked up if I run in to your friends on the way out?”

  “Please.” The word is soft, fragile. And combined with the pained, pleading look she gives me, impossible to say no to. Besides, it’s not like I have anywhere else to be right now.

  “Do you have Jack and Coke?”

  A smile brightens her face. “You’re in luck. That’s Leesa’s favorite.” She kicks off her purple high heels and pads over to the mini fridge tucked into the corner of the room.

  ~*~

  Cam stumbles back to the couch with another refill, her vodka/OJ dribbling over the rim of her plastic cup and directly onto the leg of my jeans. I laugh.

  “You are, by far, the clumsiest drunk girl I have ever met. I’d ask if any of it’s made it into your mouth, but obviously it has.” I take my full cup from her and sip down the level, wincing from the bite of whiskey. I think she forgot to stir.

  She sets her drink on the small table beside the couch and grabs a towel from the hook on the back of the door. “I’m so sorry.” Giggling she lowers in front of me, left hand on my knee to steady her as she starts to dab at the wet spot. “I guess I’m kind of a lightweight. I don’t really drink that much anymore.”

  Anymore. The falter in her voice is impossible to miss, but if I’ve learned anything from Jess it’s that girls get emotional when they drink. And I’m not the guy to be asking those questions to this girl. This really hot girl.

  Damn. I need to stop thinking that.

  She blots and scrubs for a minute, so focused on soaking up the alcohol she doesn’t notice me watching her. Running my eyes over her smooth skin, the curve of her shoulder and lower to the swell of skin peeking out from the V in her shirt.

  “There,” she says and stands with such an abrupt flourish she falls right into my lap. I catch her just before our heads collide, and then we are face-to-face, my hands perched at her waist and hers propped on the cushion behind me. Her long hair falls in a curtain over her bare shoulder, and if my fingers weren’t buzzing from the itty-bitty contact of skin where her shirt and skirt have separated, I’d brush it back.

  But I don’t want to let go. Not yet, anyway.

  I expect her to push off me right away. I also expect her to laugh and tell me she’s sorry again with an embarrassed flush to her cheeks. Instead, she tips her forehead to mine, lips drawing up a smile. “I think maybe I should stop drinking.”

  No. Well, maybe. “Probably a good idea.”

  Slowly, she runs her tongue over her full lips. “I also think…maybe I want to kiss you again.”

  I shake my head, the flowery scent of her hair flooding me as I do. “That’s the alcohol talking. If you wanted to kiss me, you would’ve done it when you were sober.”

  Her voice lowers and she bends her arms, bringing her face even closer to mine. “I did do it when I was sober. At the station.” At this she grins, carefully raising her chin to close the space between our mouths without so much as a second to protest. Not that I would—technically, she’s right.

  Warm, citrus-flavored lips press gently into mine and immediately they part, her tongue sweeping in for a taste. I command her mouth, stroking my tongue along hers, telling her without words that, yes, I want this too—

  Fuck. I have to stop. This could get messy real fast, and by her reaction earlier that isn’t anything she needs.

  Then she groans into my mouth, and every thought of stopping vaporizes.

  Her hands skim my neck, shoulders, chest as she leans into me, pushing her tongue deep into my mouth. Oh sweet hell, yes. I let her have control until mine snaps, and my hands grow unable to stay put on her hips.

  I slide them around the curve of her back until I reach the flawlessness of her ass. I tug her just enough to get my hands on her. God, she fits perfectly. I bring her flush against me, needing to feel her softness pressed into me, even if only for this once.

  She breaks our kiss, leaning back. Yes, I need to stop this, to get it under wraps. She isn’t thinking straight, which means I’m required to do that for both of us.

  Her fingers skim the muscles of my abs, and then she has my shirt pushed up to my chest. With the tip of her fingernail, she traces the lines of my muscles until her hands dip just inside my jeans, along my skin, and she tugs me toward her. She looks me over like I’m prey she wants to devour, and a surge of lust, hot and hard, overpowers any logical thought.

  Legs straddling my sides, she climbs on top of me, and without thinking, my hands shoot up her back, searching, searching for skin to connect with. They find it at the back of her neck, warm and soft, and cling to it while she unabashedly devours my mouth. Again and again.

  “You… You’re amazing.” Her breathless declaration makes me feel like a champion, like I could run a marathon and then some. The small couch shrinks in on us as her hands drift up my arms and through my hair, and after only a few minutes she mumbles, “You have too many clothes on.” She struggles with my shirt at the same time scraping hers up her belly. An hour ago, I was ready to walk out because she didn’t know if she wanted me here, but now, as her shirt flies off and the black, lace bra stares at me, that plan disappears even faster than her shirt.

  Clutching her hips, I scoot her closer, shut my eyes against the heat her legs sear around my sides. It would be so damn easy…

  I stop there and concentrate on the feel of her mouth, the slide of her tongue, her taste that I know I’ll crave the minute this kiss ends. Her fingers, growing bolder, slither across my bare skin and ground me as I savor every inch of skin from her neck to her wrist. My hands run up the tops of her thighs, trying to fill the aching need in the pit of my stomach to know every curve and crevice of her body. But not there… If I touched her where I’m dying to, well, there’ll be no stopping.

  I find the lace of her bra in my hands and inhale a deep breath so I don’t shred it. A second is all I need to gauge her reaction, and she willingly gives it, dropping her shoulders with a mischievous grin. Holy shit. She wants this. Time seems infinite as I unhook it and slide the straps off her body, revealing flawless, ivory skin underneath. I try to remember everything, from the picture-perfect swells of her breasts to the texture of her lips as her smile grows wider. I capture her hands with my own and hold them above her head for just a second, where I can live in this one moment. Because it will never happen again.

  I’m her bad decision, and for this drunken night, I’m all too willing to be it.

  I kiss her because right now I’m incapable not to, drawn to her like hot glass to a punty. But I can’t stop. I should. But fuck, my mouth is on a drop-dead gorgeous girl and I’m not giving that up. I kiss her hard, slow, and every way I can imagine, burning the memory so I can replay it for the next week. Or month. Shit, maybe forever.

  There’s an infinitesimal moment of silence, the two of us reading each other’s thoughts—I don’t know her, she doesn’t know me, we’re both pretty buzzed, and are we still going to do this? And then I grin. “You sure you don’t want me to leave?”

  She shakes her head, nibbling
my lip at the same time. “Not a chance.”

  “Okay then,” I say, my mouth going dry with the thought of getting those pretty, pink nipples into my mouth. I kiss my way down her neck, smiling inside at her every gasp, her breathy moans, as I suck her into my mouth. In my hands, against my tongue, she feels incredible, and if she whimpers like that one more time, I’m going to explode in my fucking pants like a fourteen-year-old.

  She lowers her face for a kiss, and I give it to her, clinging to her lips as long as I can before resting my forehead to hers, panting for air. “Christ, Cam.”

  “More.”

  A line of kisses drip down her neck then I take her nipple into my mouth again, swirling my tongue until her knees tighten around my hips and she rocks beneath me, likely feeling just how much I want her.

  As gently as I can manage without flinging her like a ragdoll, I nudge her flat on her back, the cushions whimpering with the shift in our weight. Cam’s fingers glide through my hair and guide me down on top of her. Skin to skin. Lips on lips. Jagged breath mingling between our mouths when my knee nudges her legs apart, mouth crushing hers. I press my body hard against her and she presses back, unable to get enough of her skin in my grip. She fingers the button on my jeans and just as metal glides through material, I grasp her hand in mine, staring into her eyes.

  “This isn’t what you want.” I don’t know where the words come from and, man, I am way more of a saint than I knew I was, because this half-naked girl beneath me just gave me the go-ahead to consume her senseless and I stopped it. Because… “You’re obviously just trying to distract yourself from something. Or someone. Or… I don’t really know.” I’m not good at this.

  She strokes her fingers down my chest, unravelling the control I’m so desperately grappling with. “That was before I knew how good it’d feel. How good you’d feel. Don’t stop.”

  My eyes close, blocking her out the only way I know how, trying to ignore that she just asked me to keep my hands on her. Fuck. This beautiful, half-naked girl wants me, and in my head all I can think is yes, yes, yes! I really am an asshole. My hands memorize her curves as I slip them down the side of her body, and then I let go, holding onto the couch so I don’t hold her.