It’s like all the boiling blood that ran heatedly through my veins because of her has conveniently made its way to my cock, and in its absence, all I am left with is want.
Her eyes are strikingly blue, and the gentle curve of them makes me think of guilelessness, of innocence.
But there is nothing guileless or innocent about the filthy words we used just days ago, and the dichotomy of her sweet and sultry face mixed with the naughtiness beneath is more than I can bear.
I have to have this girl.
The words are out before I can think.
“I’ve got something better than that cupcake. Have a drink with me.”
Elena giggles. “We’ve got drinks here.”
“Not what I’ve got. It’s white liquor… and it’s good. Have a drink with me.”
“But the party…”
“Will be fine without us for half an hour… Have a drink with me.”
She huffs. “You sound like a broken record.”
“And I will continue to do so… until you…”
“Have a drink with me,” we say in unison.
She shakes her head slightly, staring down at the floor for a few seconds. Whatever excuse she comes up with, I am more than prepared to spoil.
I wait…
Suddenly, she raises her head. “One drink… and this place better be damn close.”
Poker Face
“When you defend, try not to worry or become upset. Keep your cool and trust your position - it's all you've got.” - Pal Benko
ELENA
The place to which Lukas brings me for a drink is close. Damn close—just like I asked.
In fact… it’s in the same hotel… exactly one floor below… in his hotel room.
Lukas leads me down the elevator, guiding me through a short walk down the hallway of the Hyatt’s thirteenth floor.
Lucky number thirteen. Or unlucky…
That remains to be seen.
I stand by, nervous and giddy, as Lukas removes a dark key card from his pants pocket and inserts it into the hotel door’s slit.
The door lock blinks from red to green, and we enter the room with a simple flick of a handle, the clicks of my heels marking the passage of each agonizingly slow second.
Each second, every single millisecond, alone with Lukas is an individual test of my will, and I have to fight the urge not to press my nose into his now-unbuttoned collar.
It’s the drinks… my hormones… his aura. They’re all combining into this heady mix—this elixir of naked lust and sudden wanting.
He drips sex with every footfall, leaving a trail of wantonness in his wake.
It’s impossible to ignore.
He doesn’t know it, but I am lapping up every single drip, licking and swallowing to my heart’s delight right up until the very last drop.
I follow him like a lost puppy, past his gigantic King bed, past a ginormous flat-screen TV. His room is long and large and lined with soft beige furniture.
Looking at him now, I know that I was a fool to ever come here, to accompany him to his hotel room, knowing that the temptation was so great.
I never claimed to be a fan of Lukas Griffin. In fact, I’m not sure that I even like him.
But I do know this…
I don’t just want to fuck him. I need to fuck him.
I need him to pound out all of the latent frustration that’s been building since I got off of the flight from that God-forsaken city—to stroke away all of the sudden sorrow that I feel at losing the life in Tampa that I never had.
I need to lay all of my lust on the table tonight… and forget him by morning.
But can I do that? Can I be that woman? The type of woman to lay her inhibitions on the line? To bed a man that she damn near despises?
What’s that even called? A Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Asshole?
The abrupt stop in his trek jerks me back to reality.
He stops by the fridge, opening the door and reaching inside to remove a singular bottle of vodka, the bottle frosted over with a chill that makes the iciness look like smoke.
He sits two glasses out, pouring a shot’s worth of vodka into both before adding individual cranberries from a nearby bowl.
He swallows one, offering me a taste of one from his fingers. I’m tempted, but decline.
We drink the vodka in silence, and I prepare to grimace at the inevitable burn that will hit the back of my throat. But there is none.
The vodka is smooth, so smooth in fact that it’s almost like tasting water—a sort of cranberry-flavored seltzer spritz.
I swallow the shot with one gulp.
Lukas reaches over, extracting the glass from my hands. There’s an inexplicable scowl on his face.
“That’s not how you’re supposed to taste that.”
I scoff. “Well, excuse me. I thought we were taking a shot.”
He looks down at my glass. “Not of this. This deserves to be savored, sampled. Not rushed.”
He puts my glass down, raising his own. He brings it to his lips.
“With this, you’re supposed to relish the liquor-induced tingle on your lips, let it slide down your tongue.
“You extract each flavor, each silky smooth nuance. You’re not even supposed to realize that you’ve swallowed until you feel the small fire that starts to burn in your belly.”
He tilts the glass, draining it slowly. I watch his slightly scruffed Adam’s Apple bob with the motion and find myself somehow unable to even breathe until he’s finished.
He licks the last drop from his lower lip, and my knees literally go weak. I thought shit like that only happened in the movies. Feeling like this seems almost unreal.
The fire in his belly seems to have lit him from the inside out, and he regards me closely with a molten look that causes a searing sensation on my skin.
He steps closer, and I expect him to stop—but then he doesn’t.
My chest rises and falls rapidly, mimicking the pace of his stride.
He moves nearer and nearer and nearer. He doesn’t stop until he is toe-to-toe with me.
He twists the glass within his hands. “That’s what you do with the finer things in life. You savor them.”
He laughs softly, placing a hand below my jaw. “And I can’t lie to you, Elena—you are one of the finest things that I’ve ever seen in this life.”
He brings his lips to mine.
“And you deserve to be savored.”
He pushes his lips down onto mine, and I moan from the (finally!) released tension that leaves my body at his kiss.
His taste is strong and sweet, an intoxicating mixture of the liquor and the fruit that’s on his tongue.
I can feel the small pricks from the stubble on his face, and each sweep across my skin is like an electric charge that turns me further and further on.
His lips are as soft as I’d imagined and they angle insistently over mine—pushing and pulling, giving me everything that I need and then taking it away with each breath.
I suck hungrily at his lower lip, as he bites erotically down on mine, and in the midst of the licking, sucking and biting, we are performing a tango with our mouths—dancing the two together only to break away briefly and come back even stronger.
It is the best fucking kiss of my life.
And then something happens. A shattering crash that pulls me from the depths of desire.
The glass that Lukas had held has slipped from his hand and smashed directly on the floor beside us.
It is exactly what I need. We break from the kiss, staring down at the obliterated glass and then each other.
“I have to go,” I blurt abruptly. “It’s been over half an hour, and I have to get back.”
The party. I had almost forgotten it in my Lukas-laced dream world.