Patchwhore(4)

By: Kim Jones



I’m acutely aware of heads turning as I cross the floor. Despite my wobbly knees, I’m able to place one stiletto in front of the other without wavering. My palms are sweaty. I can feel sweat trickling down the back of my neck. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.

Stay focused.

You can do this.

Make him suffer…

I force my eyes to stay on the stranger, whose amused smile becomes evident the closer I get to him. And his smile isn’t the only thing becoming clear.

The man is gorgeous. Standing over six feet tall with light colored hair that’s a perfect mess on his head. Long, sculpted arms hang at his sides. Thick, muscular legs covered in faded jeans. Dusty boots on his feet. Leather vest. Black T-shirt. Head still tilted. Chin slightly raised. Full lips curved on one side. Piercing blue eyes that pull me to him.

When I’ve closed the distance, I start to fidget with the belt at my waist. He gives me an expectant look, but waits patiently for me to say or do something. I cast my eyes sideways at Jud and Clarissa who have their backs to me, before I focus on the man’s throat and take a breath.

“Hi,” I squeak, then press my lips in a hard line, lick them and try again. “Hi.” This time, I meet his eyes. They’re intrigued, and friendly.

His smile widens and he nods his head slightly. “Hello.”

Shifting my weight, I fidget like crazy—feeling even more odd and out of place now that I’m the center of attention. I try not to think of all the people who may be staring at us. Or what they’ll say about me if this man takes me up on my offer.

Then his voice jerks me from my thoughts. “Can I help you with something, gorgeous?” I flush and drop my gaze. A giggle erupts from behind me. I stiffen at the familiar sound of Clarissa’s annoying laugh. It’s enough to motivate me to get back to the reason I’m here.

Tentatively, I reach out and run my shaky hands up his strong arms and around his neck. I stumble slightly and end up with my body flush against his. My cheeks darken when a wave of heat crashes over my entire body. I shouldn’t be embarrassed by my reaction, I mean, it’s not like he knows. Then again, something in those darkening blue eyes tells me he might.

“I want you to have sex with me,” I blurt, wanting to kick myself for not sounding sexier.

He raises an eyebrow. “Have sex with you?”

“Yes, please.”

His smile is so wide his lips pull back to show his teeth—white and straight and pretty. Who cares that he’s beaming at my expense? “Why don’t you tell me what you really want.” Suddenly I’m aware of his hands on my hips. His grip tightens slightly, then releases. Like he’s fighting the urge to hold me closer … or push me away.

“I-I told you.” I’m thankful that our voices are low enough not to be heard by those around us. Especially those to the right of us, who still have yet to notice me. Assholes…

“Tell me you want me to fuck you,” he says, keeping his eyes on mine. His grip on me. Oh to feel those lips on my lips … my other lips…

Oh my god. I can’t believe I just thought that.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t what?” He’s teasing me. I don’t care. He looks delicious when he smiles like that. Mr. Delicious… That’s what I’ll call him. “You can’t tell me … You can’t do this … You can’t believe you’re here … Tell me, gorgeous. You can’t … what?”

I can’t think. Speak. Move. Nothing… “I don’t know.”

“Yes you do,” he says. Then he winks. I might die. When I don’t, I finally tell him the real reason I’m here.

“I want to make my ex-boyfriend jealous.” He looks impressed. And pleased. Very, very pleased.

“Well, the pleasure is all mine, babe. But...”

“But?” What the hell is wrong with me? That “but” sounded downright pitiful. This is going to turn into sympathy sex… I just know it.

“But you still haven’t said it.” Challenge is written all over his face. He wants to hear me say that. I’ve never said the words in all of my life. Damn if I don’t want to, though.

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