She caught the look I give her, and shrugged. "I just cut it," she said, wiping her hand on her pajama pants.
"Yourself?" I asked. I didn’t even care. I just want an excuse to keep talking to her, no matter what her hair looked like. Even if it looked a little bit like someone took hedge clippers to it.
She shrugged again. "I needed a change."
"It suits you," I said. How did I f**king know what suited her?
She grinned. Her smile was radiant. It was a complete cliché, but it could light up a room. She could light up a room. She had that kind of presence. Even in a hotel hallway, drunk and wearing pajama pants.
"It does," she said, her hand going up to her hair again, the movement self-conscious. "I think it does suit me." She sounded surprised. She held out the ice bucket. "For your drink?"
I took a few ice cubes and dropped them into my cup. "Appreciate it," I said. Then there were voices in the corridor, and a group of college students, drunk and obnoxious, came closer. A fleeting look of panic crossed the girl's face, and she grabbed my arm, pulled me toward her, her back against the wall, her face close to mine.
She was still holding the ice bucket in one hand. I had my drink in my hand, my other palm on the wall, inches away from her head. I heard the college students from somewhere behind us, hollering as they passed.
"Yeah," one whooped. "Get it, man!"
My lips were nearly touching hers, a millimeter away. I couldn’t think of anything except how she would taste. I wanted her. I had never been so immediately sure of anything. I pressed my lips against hers, lightly for a second, and she responded, her mouth opening, and I heard her moan, just barely. The sound was so soft I was not sure it was her, but she arched her body toward me, and I felt her tongue against mine. I moved my hand away from the wall, grasping the back of her head at the base of her neck, and pulling her into me as I kissed her.
Kiss was the f**king understatement of the year.
I didn’t just kiss her. I f**ked her mouth with my tongue, my thrusts insistent. I wanted to rip her clothes off right here in the hallway and press her up against the wall.
She made this little moan again, this sound that I thought would drive me insane.
And then she pulled away, put one hand on my chest, and pushed me back. "I -" she started. "I need to go."
She put her hand to her mouth. Her lips were red, swollen where I'd kissed her. I wanted to kiss her again, leave bruising kisses on her lips, her neck. On her br**sts.
Before I could even respond, she had stepped away and was starting to walk down the hall. "Hey," I called. "I don't even know your name."
She turned again, and flashed me a grin. "No," she said. "You don't."
Then she walked away.
Shit. I rolled over and ran my hand over my face, then through my hair. For a second when I pulled my hand back I wondered where the rest of my hair was. Then I recalled taking the scissors to it last night.
I touched my fingers to my lips where he kissed me - the guy from the hallway, the one with the red plastic cup in his hand. The one who was so hot.
My heart raced just thinking about his lips pressed up against mine, his tongue on mine. I wanted to feel his hands on my body, touching me.
God, he was sexy. His hair was blonde, buzzed close to his scalp, giving him a military look, and his face was bronzed from the sun. He looked like this delicious combination of a Marine and a surfer. I closed my eyes, picturing him in my head- tall and lean, but his shoulders were broad, and when I pushed on his chest, I could feel his muscles, firm to the touch, under my fingers.
I wanted to slide my fingers up underneath his shirt, unbuckle his pants...
Heat flowed from my core and between my legs, just thinking about him. I had been with Viper for the past few years- had been faithful to him for the past few years, even when the sex dried up last year, even when it dwindled to absolutely nothing three months ago- but I had never had the kind of automatic physical response to anyone like I had to the guy in the hallway. Even with Viper, my f**king fiancé.
I thought it was me, that I was some kind of freak, that my past had made me forever shut off from that kind of thing, from the kind of passion you see in the movies, that you read about in romance novels.
I don't even know his name.
I slid my hand down my stomach and between my legs, all the while reflecting on that kiss, the one that made my legs weak. The throbbing between my legs, just thinking about him, threatened to eclipse everything else...especially the worries about what the hell was going to happen next with my life. I moved my finger over my cl*t slowly, reveling in the heat that rushed through my body. Sliding one hand up underneath my tank top, I ran my palm over my breast, my thumb lingering on my nipple, which hardened instantly to my touch.
My breath caught in my throat as I touched myself, my movements faster and faster until I was at the brink. In my mind's eye, I pictured him, kissing down the side of my neck, to my collarbone, then to my br**sts. I imagined his mouth enveloping me, his tongue flicking over my nipple, sucking me until I was close to orgasm. I pictured him pushing me up against the wall, thrusting his c**k inside me, his movements as insistent as his tongue was in my mouth.