Confused #1 (Confused Romance Series - book#1) (4 page)

“C’mon, use your hands,” I breathed,
liking how he shuddered at my words. I flicked at his earlobe with
the tip of my tongue, and that elicited a soft moan. “You can
touch.”

It was as if he’d just
been waiting for my permission. Nick spread his fingers over my
ribs under my jacket, slid them around my waist to the small of my
back, then going lower so that he could ghost them over the curve
of my ass. His touch was warm, exhilarating, especially when he
cupped my breasts through my top, slowly, almost reverently, rather
as though he’d been saving them for last. Then he
squeezed
, thumbs
pressing against my nipples, and I had to bury my face against his
neck to muffle a groan. Though maybe I shouldn’t have bothered: the
sound Nick made at the back of his throat was loud enough for the
two of us.

I glanced at the door. I didn’t think
they could be heard inside the noisy pub, but if someone came out –
one of the waitresses on a cigarette break, someone taking out the
trash – there was no way we wouldn’t be seen. Nick probably felt
how my attention had slipped from him, because he turned his head
to see what I was looking at. I felt the movement of his throat and
chin, felt the rumble of his voice in his chest when he asked, “Is
this wise?”

I licked a broad swathe from his
collar to his jaw. “No,” I panted, forming the words against his
skin. “But doesn’t that make it more fun?”

He was about to answer, but I rolled
my spine, trapping his cock between them once more. His right hand
dropped to my waist to pull me even closer.

“You could taste, you know,” I
murmured as Nick’s hips stuttered forward in sharp, abbreviated
thrusts. I put my hand over the one he still had on my breast. “You
could pull down my top – yeah, right here – put your mouth on my
tits—“

“Oh
God
,” Nick groaned, his head going
back so fast that it hit the wall with a dull thud.

“Or under my shirt, at
least.”I was beyond amused that I was having to talk a man into
groping me – especially one who I’d already slept with – and I was
enjoying it far more than when they tried to talk me into it.
“Go
on
.”

Slowly, Nick slipped a
large hand beneath my tank top, and I felt myself grow even wetter
at the touch of skin on skin. He spread his fingers
(
slightly callused, maybe from working
out, maybe from some sort of hobby
) over
the smooth firmness of my stomach, inching them upwards until their
tips just brushed the curve of my breast. Our eyes met, and I gave
him a small nod –
yes, you can
– and, oh, his hands were lovely. He sought my
mouth again as he rolled a nipple between finger and thumb like a
fucking expert, making me gasp and arch into his touch so that I
hardly noticed when he flipped us over, pinning me to the wall in
turn.

He put both hands on my
waist to lift me up – just by a bit, there wasn’t much of a height
difference with my heels on – so that we were positioned crotch to
crotch, with me held up by the wall and Luke’s hand just below my
buttocks. We were barely kissing now: it was more like we were
breathing, licking into each other’s mouths as we rutted against
each other. Nick’s breathing was harsh, and I wondered,
deliriously, if he could feel how turned onI was like this. I
hooked one leg around his waist, positive that if I moved in just
the right way, the hardness of him would rub against the seam of my
shorts in just the right way, hit me in just the right spot, and
–
ah
– there it
was.

It would have been so easy
to go on like that. I heard myself making helpless little noises as
Nick thrust, fucking me fully clothed. I let my eyes fall shut, let
my arms twine around his neck, ready to give in to the full carnal
pleasure of what we were doing, but – at this, the worst possible
moment – I started to talk to him
.

“I want to be with you, Nick,” I
murmured into his hair. “I want more than this – more than
sex.”

The result was the worst possible
thing, more devastating than if someone had doused us with cold
water. Nick froze, lowered me gently onto the ground, and
disentangled himself from me. As if that wasn’t distressing enough,
he deliberately took two steps backward.

“You don’t want that, Amy,” he said
slowly, carefully enunciating each word.

“You can’t tell me that!” I could
barely stop myself from wailing. As it was, I was hard put to keep
my distance. He’d put space between us for a reason, and I had to
respect that. “I know you feel it too – we have a
connection.”

“Yeah, I know.” Nick actually looked
pained, like the wronged hero of a gothic romance. “It’s been good,
baby, but it’s going to disappear in the next few
minutes.”

“Why the hell should it? There’s
nothing you can say that can make me change my mind about
you.”

“Yeah, right.How about
this?”The bitterness in Nick’s voice cut me deeply, and it only
grew worse with the next words he spat out. “I’m a stripper, Amy.
That’s what I do at the bar. The
gay
bar.”

I wish I’d reacted better.
I wish I’d put my arms around Nick and told him that what he did
for a living didn’t matter to me. Hell, I wish that I’d been able
to
think
that,
because, honestly, it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things
(this stripper businesshad to be a temporary thing, right?).
Instead, I staggered backwards until I could lean on the grubby
wall for support, and my treacherous brain did what it always did
in less-than-ideal situations.

As my head reeled and my heart beat an
arrhythmic tattoo against my ribcage, my one clear thought was that
this was one thing my parents were never going to learn
about.

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