Page 48 of Space Junk: Houston, We Have a Hottie
“Wait.” Breathing hard, Flynn lifts his head.
“Wait?” I can’t wait. I’ve never felt so alive. I don’t care that it’s been forever since I’ve done this, or that our only date was over sub sandwiches. There will be no waiting.
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk.” I sound indignant to my own ears. But seriously, if this is the reason he’s stopped pressing against me, he deserves it.
“You might not realize you’re drunk.” He lets out a long breath. “I don’t want you to regret this.”
I stick my finger into his chest and jab. Hard. “First, I realize everything.” Flynn opens his mouth to counter, but I forge on. “I’ve had four drinks tonight. Three of which I finished. And two glasses of water. The typical alcohol has, on average, about 80 proof per ounce or shot. With my body weight of 125...” I shrug. “Okay, more like 130, the alcohol has had a little over three hours to traverse my system, making my blood alcohol level between .06 and .09.” I remove my finger from his chest and bring it up to straighten my glasses that have skewed during our make-out session.
Flynn growls.
I’m not sure what to make of that, so I continue. “So, although I should not drive, or operate heavy machinery, I am most definitely not drunk.” Hair has escaped whatever clip Trish used, tickling my nose. I blow it out of my face. “Furthermore, the typical signs of drunken behavior are clumsiness and slurred speech. As proven by this interlude, I believe my elocution to be perfectly unimpaired. In addition, I would like to point out that I am wearing heels.” I lift one leg out and point to my new boots. “I never wear heels. And as of yet, I have only stumbled once, on the dance floor, which I blame you for, as I told you I didn’t know how to dance.”
A smile creeps over Flynn’s face. “Is that so?”
Sheesh, that smile does things to me. I shift, making him juggle my weight and push me harder against the wall. Maybe I should feel bad for making it difficult to hold me up, but then I feel his erection against me and I stop feeling guilty.
I clear my throat and fix my eyes on some point over his shoulder, gathering my thoughts. A burgeoning habit of mine, it would seem. “Yes. Because, as you see, alcohol affects several neurotransmitters including the cerebellum—”
“Jackie?”
“Hmm?” I blink, looking back at him.
“You’re not drunk.”
“Well. Yes.” I tilt my head, not understanding the need for his statement. “Didn’t I just explain that?”
“Oh yeah, darling. You explained it. You explained itrealgood.” He emphasizes his words with a circle of his hips, making my mind blank, before he steps back, my legs drifting to the floor.
Once I’m steady, he kneels in front of me and begins tugging off my boots. My long hair falls forward like a curtain when I look down at him, closing us in.
Boots gone, his fingers trail upward, circling behind my knees.
“Now, where were we?” He dips his head to the hem of my dress. He nudges my center, inhaling a deep breath. Heat flames over my body.
“Damn, Jackie. You smell so good.” His hands drift higher. “I love your pheromones.”
“Um, Flynn, I should tell you—”
Cold air swirls around my hips. “Fuck, Jackie.” He looks up at me. “No panties?”
I should be embarrassed, I should pull away. I should tell him my current underwear-less situation isn’t because I typically go commando, but because thongs are the devil. But I say nothing, just nod, my glasses slipping down the bridge of my nose.
“Fuck.” One hand palms my ass, while his other goes for the nucleus of my being, finding me wet and wanting. “Oh, Jackie. You naughty girl.”
I jerk from that one touch, so unused to this kind of pleasure. This desire. There’s so much feeling. Too much feeling. My legs start to shake.
He leans in and lightly kisses the small patch of curls before his hands leave me. I open my mouth to protest, but I’m up in his arms, being carried down the hall before I can speak.
I don’t even get to look around before I’m tossed onto the center of the bed. But honestly, at this point, all my attention is on Flynn. The mattress dips as he kneels on the bed, looming over me on all fours. He stays there, bracketing me in, staring. It’s like he’s trying to memorize my features, although for the life of me I don’t know what he finds so interesting.
Then one hand rises to remove my glasses. Sitting back on his haunches, he carefully folds the arms of the frames and stretches back over to lay them on the nightstand. I blink a few times, refocusing. Flynn makes it easier for my nearsighted eyes by leaning in, his weight on one arm, his other hand sweeping the contours of my cheek before sliding down my neck. He pauses there, squeezing for a moment. It’s deliberate and though at first odd, I feel that dominant pressure reverberate through my body. His hand continues down, stroking the side of my breast before palming it. He pets and caresses until my nipple feels like it’s cutting through the thin fabric of my dress. I squirm, raising my legs higher, trying to appease the ache he’s building.
His thumb brushes over my budded nipple, lulling me further into the erotic daze I’m swimming in. The hard pinch and roll comes as a surprise and I buck, my dress now rucked up over my hips. Fully exposed, his attention leaves my breast, his hand cupping my sex.
I can’t help it, I whimper. I need more. And if the smile on his face is anything to go by, he knows it.
