“Fucking in the back of a car in a public space is illegal,” I point out.
“I could lose my job,” he huffs and picks the bags back up into his hands.
“We are four hours away from all that bullshit.” I follow him up the remainder of the steps. “Lighten up.”
He turns to me with grievance stricken across his face. His lips are thin and his eyes narrow in on me. Oh, and he has a boner pitching a tent in his shorts.
“Jesus Christ,” I shriek. “Are you serious? It was two hours ago.”
“Your point is?”
“I don’t know.” I race past him and snatch my duffel out of his hands. It’s not a good look to be seen in public standing beside an erection. I spin back to him. “Aren’t you and your wingman,” I say, pointing to his cock, “down there supposed to slow down with age?”
“How old do you think I am?”
“Thirty-five? I don’t know.”
“Thirty.”
“Seriously?” How is this not public knowledge. All the girls on campus refer to him as a daddy, and he’s barely old enough to have graduated from the first class of Teen Mom. “You’re only eight years older than me?”
“Hard to tell, right?” He winks and shifts past me. “You’d think with the way you behave, we’d be decades apart.”
“Says the man who pops a boner when his own cock brushes against his own leg while ascending a flight of stairs.”
“You have a point.” He slides the keycard and pops the door open, holding it for me as I pass through. He drops our bags onto the floor, closes the door behind us and claps his hands together. “So, do you want to go get an early dinner, or do you want to fuck?”
“Really?”
“Nah. I’m just playing.”
Jensen took a quick shower, but his hair smells the same as it did before. If I had to make an educated guess, I’d say he stood under the showerhead beating his meat, flushing his seed into the sewer pipes that probably run-off into the ocean somewhere.
While he was showering—masturbating—I tried to reach Brick. When he didn’t answer, I tried contacting Cece. She also didn’t answer. There’s a decent chance he killed her and I’m four hours away with nobody left to identify the bodies.
Oh well.
Jensen and I sit at a bar in a seafood restaurant aptly named The Burning Pirate. We both ordered the same thing, at his insistence. You have to try their fish tacos, he said with no innuendo whatsoever, which was a tad disappointing.
There aren’t many things I know about Jensen. I know he’s a rather young professor—for sure not old enough to be tenured. I know he loves to fuck and get his cock sucked. He says that silence is the most beautiful thing in the world, but I haven’t seen proof from him that proves he truly believes that. And I know that when it comes to eating, he’s all business.
Other than the sound of tacos crunching in his mouth, he’s been silent since the gorgeous, blonde waitress in a short skirt brought us our dinner.
He wipes his mouth clean with a napkin and points to my plate. “Why aren’t you eating? Do you want something else?”
“No.” I push the plate away from me after only eating one of the five tacos. “I’m not really hungry.”
“Right.” He smiles and crumbles the napkin in his hands. “I forgot that you ate on the way down here.”
I nudge him with my elbow. “You’re disgusting.”
“I’m not the one who swallowed it.”
“Like you gave me a choice.”
He reaches for the pint-glass of beer that sits in between us—we’re sharing, how cute. “Is there anything in particular you want to do while we’re in town?”
I scrape my fingernail along my teeth, pondering the question. I decide against informing him about my plan to ambush the Rules of Innocence producers. “To be honest, I would love to just sit on the beach all day and all night.”
“A beach bum, eh?” He takes a long sip of beer. “I can get behind that.”
“Was there hidden subtext in there somewhere?”
He bites into his wet lip. “Do you want there to be?”
“Right now?” I shake my head and slide off the stool. “I just want to dance.”
He arches a brow. “Like, slow dance?”
18
The bass rattles the walls of the compact nightclub. My body is drenched in sweat as a swath of souls are lost in a modern tango of bodies rubbing together. The beat is foreign, and the lyrics are nonexistent. It’s not the type of music I’m used to dancing to, but my body grinds against Jensen as if it were.
He’s hot behind me. His palm is clasped around my stomach tightly, using his strength as leverage to ensure he doesn’t lose me to the crowd. His erection swells against my back and his teeth nibble on the lobe of my ear. His breath is that of salty whiskey contaminated with sweet rum.
I run my fingers along his hand and lean back against him as his mouth hovers along the line of my neck. Both of us fumble forward as someone charges through the crowd, almost knocking us over.
The song comes to an abrupt halt and a new track kicks in. This song is different, with haunting strings bubbling beneath a thumping undercurrent of chaos.
The lights flicker out, and all that’s left are neon lasers that dance along the figures in the crowd. Jensen’s hand traces down my stomach and digs into the front of my jean shorts. My eyes dart open and I want him to stop—someone could see us. But, as his hand trails down further, and underneath my panties, I can’t bring myself to care.
Nobody knows us here.
When I moan, nobody can hear it, except me. It’s like chewing popcorn in a busy theater. I always think I’m making a scene as my teeth chomp into buttery goodness, but nobody ever notices.
He runs his palm along my clit and clutches my stomach tighter with his other hand. He whispers something in my ear, but I can’t discern what. The only reason I know he says anything at all is because his warm breath burns against my ear.
When he makes me laugh.
When his finger runs along my clit.
When he whispers in my ear.
For moments at a time, I forget that he’s nothing more than a target to me. It’s a strange feeling, one that courses through my gut with the stench of guilt. I’ve been here before. I can’t stay here for long.
I can’t forget what he is to me.
He whispers something else, and once again I can’t hear a word he says. It doesn’t matter though. One touch can scream more than a thousand words. It can say more than a college essay. A finger presses into my opening.
He’s fucking me to the same tempo as the music that blares around us and not one person is aware. I’m not sure they would even notice if he pulled down my shorts and panties and fucked me on slick floor. I also wouldn’t mind.
I throw my arm behind me and hook it around his neck, craving for him to come closer, an impossible feat without our bodies merging into one.
Another finger joins in on the pussy-party below, and he stretches me wide as he cuts through me with a scissoring motion. “I want to fuck,” he screams in my ear, and I definitely heard him this time.
I’m on all fours, staring at the mirror that hangs on the wall in between two dressers. Behind me, Jensen pounds against my flesh. His fingers curl into the skin of my hips. I’d recommend everyone watch themselves get fucked at least once in their short lives. Whether it’s in front of a mirror, or on the screen of a computer, it takes the experience to another level.