Bedwrecker(8)

By: Kim Karr



Just then Francesca taps me on the shoulder. Trying not to be annoyed, I turn just enough to face her. We are so close I can almost count the number of beads of clear glue sticking her false lashes to her lids. Just being real.

Noticing my stare, she bats those lashes at me.

Never having been in a situation like this, I do the only thing I can and smile at her.

In a total and unexpected move, she lurches forward with her entire body and kisses me.

Stunned, I stop dancing. I stop moving. I stop breathing. And my lips remain perfectly still. I’ve never kissed another girl before and honestly I was only playing around. I had no intention of making this a real threesome.

“No?” Francesca says, pulling away.

I shake my head, and then my eyes shift to Keen’s, who looks like he’s not breathing either. And I’m pretty certain it’s shock. I’m not getting any vibe that he is turned on in the least.

Francesca looks at me. She looks at Keen. She’s not a stupid girl and I think she figures out what’s going on fairly quickly. And then, like I need another matchmaker in my life, she tugs Keen by the wrist until he’s face-to-face with me. “Have a great night,” she says and dances herself right off the dance floor.

My fingers go to my lips. “She kissed me,” I say out loud in shock.

The bass thumps its pulse in the pit of my stomach and the crowd surges around me like they have no idea what just happened.

“It should have been my lips.” Keen’s voice is warm, hot, sex on a stick.

And then his lips are on mine. Moving, probing, licking, sucking. And then his hands are in my hair and his fingers are at the base of my skull, tipping my head back to get better access to my mouth.

Without realizing it we are in motion again and my hands are on his chest, tugging at the fabric to bring him closer. As if he wants that too, his hands slide down my body to the small of my back and he pushes me against him.

Dancing still.

Smooth.

Easy.

And then, oh God, his cock is pressed against me. Hard, just like his kiss, and yet his lips are so soft. Hard and soft. Hard and soft. I can feel an ache building between my thighs, and something that sounds a lot like a gasp eases out of my throat.

Sliding his mouth to my ear, he whispers, “Come home with me.”

I lean back, watching as the purple lights from above glitter in his eyes and somehow magically erase the memory that the girl with red lips kissed me. Yes, that seems to be completely overtaken by the memory of Keen’s hot, wicked mouth.

He smiles at me. A man accustomed to being watched and no doubt used to getting his way. In me, though, he’s met his match, and I wait a heartbeat or two to answer him.

When I can’t take another minute without his mouth on mine, I nip at his lip and tell him, “I have a room here.”

Fast as sin, he grabs my hand and leads me through the crowd.

And the whole time, all I can think about is how I really like the feel of his hand in mine. Too bad he lives on one end of the country and I live on the other.

Everyone knows long-distance relationships never last.

Right?





Maggie

There are socially acceptable behaviors for almost everything we do, and not so socially acceptable behaviors too.

For example, we all know that you don’t eat in a bank. You don’t talk in a library. And you don’t kiss in an elevator—unless you can’t take one more minute without the other person’s hot lips on yours, the feel of his hands all over you, or if the press of his body is something you can’t live without for another second.

Then you kiss in the elevator.

And I’m so going to kiss him.

The air crackles as Keen approaches me. He crosses from the right to the left, where passengers who have finally all exited the elevator had pushed me upon their entry. Separating us. Causing a pull neither of us can deny.

The walls inside are covered in mirrors, just like in the club, and I watch him from all angles as he pounces like a predator on the prowl. And then he is standing in front of me looking like he wants to devour me, and his hands are on me, and I swear I can’t find the air to breathe.

He’s possessive.

Greedy.

Dominating.

His fingertips trail over the middle of my thighs as he moves in between my legs and bends to brush his lips near my ear. “Kiss me,” he breathes, hot and heavy.

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