Insatiable Craving: 2 (Insatiable Nights) (7 page)

If someone had told her she would be riding Razor’s cock as though she were a bitch in heat today—or ever—she would have laughed herself silly.

God, she couldn’t hope to explain it to herself. All she knew was, standing there, looking at him, the need to touch him had overwhelmed any sensible part of her brain, and once his lips had crashed upon hers the game was decided.

And she’d fucking loved it.

A shiver raced up her spine before spreading across her chest. She’d loved it. Shit, she’d loved every second. Every thrilling jolt, every crash of euphoria, even the horrifying possibility someone might stumble upon them and find her smashing her pussy over and over on Razor’s prick. Might see just how depraved she was and how little she’d cared in that moment.

Three years since that night with Travis and all it took to get her to spread her legs was a man’s lips on hers.

No. Not just any man’s. Razor’s. And it wasn’t just him—it was everything he represented. The danger he exuded. How anyone could walk away from a sexual assault and crave danger was beyond her, but it didn’t make her own desires any less real. It didn’t make her actions today vanish, nor did it detract from just how much she’d loved it.

How drunk she’d been on the thrill.

Another long sigh climbed up Ginny’s throat and she lurched forward on the sofa, her head falling into her waiting hands. She really hadn’t accounted for what would happen when she let her guard down enough to get intimate with a man. It hadn’t been on her bucket list. Even her recent nocturnal habit of lurking in the shadows at Electric Panther and drooling over Razor as his mouth made love to the microphone hadn’t fundamentally reshaped her resolve. Get close, open up, get hurt. Lather, rinse, repeat. At least that was what she had told herself—what therapy and a cocktail of antidepressants had never been able to convince her of otherwise.

Perhaps that was why she’d been so drawn to Razor in the first place. He represented a sort of freedom from the cuffs she’d placed around herself. So long keeping guarded, crossing her arms, biting the inside of her cheek and doing her best not to maintain eye contact for very long with anyone—friend or not—and she found someone she had no reason not to look at. Someone who had looked back. And for the first time since Travis, she’d allowed herself to open to the possibility of desire. Of craving intimacy. What had happened today at the club was unprecedented, unplanned, but there was no one to blame for her actions. She had thrown herself at Razor and he had taken what she offered.

A nervous, tittering laugh bubbled from her lips and her heart thundered. Every functioning nerve in her body screamed at her just to go to bed, preferably with a bellyful of alcohol. Enough was enough for right now. She’d already had one of the most horrendously fucked-up days of her life, and she had no idea how to begin rationalizing it or her actions. Wake up with no memory of getting home, getting the can from Trixie’s and…

And Razor.

Whatever else, those few blissful moments with him had done something therapy, medication, alcohol and crying never had. She’d made a decision for herself. She’d seen something she wanted and, rather than kowtow to the demons in her head, she’d made a play for it. That in itself was miles beyond anything she could claim in all the efforts she’d made to get her life back on track. Granted, what had come afterward had felt more like her. Ginny’s default position as of late had been a steady cut-and-run when it came to awkward scenarios. Yet now, sitting in the quiet of her apartment with her worldview in shambles and her body still trying to find solid ground after the earth-shattering high she’d touched, she could admit to herself something she hadn’t had the courage to admit in a long time.

Life as she knew it right now was shitty. The only not-shitty thing about life was the nights she spent at Electric Panther. The nights she spent looking at Razor and pretending he was looking back. For everything that had fallen apart today, that one constant remained.

And despite the warzone in her head and the confusion thickening the air, she didn’t want to let that go.

She didn’t want to run anymore.

She didn’t want to live a half life anymore either. She didn’t want to make excuses for going out or feel guilty every time she caught herself looking lustfully at a man. She wanted her life back.

Razor had given that to her without knowing her or how badly she needed a reprieve from herself.

Ginny flattened her palms on her legs. “This stops now,” she said softly.

Starting with the one thing she didn’t want to do, but knew she had to in order to get over the first hurdle and closer to acceptance.

She needed to go back to Electric Panther. She needed to face him. Tonight. Razor’s life might not have changed with what happened earlier, but hers most certainly had, and she wouldn’t get anywhere if she kept herself parked in neutral. The gear on her emotional maturity had been stuck in reverse far too long.

Time to move forward.

No matter how terrifying it seemed.

* * * * *

For the first time in weeks, Ginny had some say in her wardrobe selection. The simple jeans and t-shirt that defined her Trixie’s attire now resided in the trash, possibly to be burned later. Granted, her clothes were about three years past the last fashion craze and she really didn’t have anything that screamed “dance club appropriate”, but after some digging she unearthed a pair of satiny black slacks and a flattering, form-fitting red blouse. She even found some old makeup she’d purchased and forgotten about. It was the first time in ages she cared about putting real effort into looking feminine.

Honestly, she had no idea what Razor had seen in her beyond perhaps an easy lay. Ginny hadn’t bothered with more than light powder since the Travis incident, and she didn’t go out of her way to primp her hair or accessorize or do anything she considered girly. In fact, aside from her recent nightly visits to Electric Panther, her social life was limited to her Facebook newsfeed and the occasional phone call from Mom.

Watching herself change in the mirror damn near felt like a dream. She introduced some curl to her normally straight brown hair, applied a modest amount of lipstick, added a hint of blush to her pale cheeks and virtually disappeared inside herself.

Would Razor even recognize her like this?

An excited rush raced up her spine. She shook her head, flashed her reflection what she hoped was a passably confident smile, then left to face the world, a new woman.

This attitude successfully followed her over the familiar walk toward the club. Walking was one of those things her therapist had recommended following Travis. It made her feel vulnerable and exposed. Anyone she crossed had the potential to make themselves an enemy. Fear of open places had consumed her for the first few months, which was why confronting her anxiety was such an important step. It was the one thing Ginny could say she had resolutely mastered, and the few self-defense courses she’d taken didn’t hurt either.

She smiled at the bouncer, who waved her in without bothering to ask for ID. The air inside was thick with smoke as always, and the familiar chords of one of Razor’s staple songs pounded through the speakers. The usual crowd had gathered around the stage, moving in predictable, familiar ways as lights flashed, drinks poured and all players assumed their natural positions.

Ginny’s throat tightened and her skin tingled. Just hours ago the place had been a ghost town and she and Razor had made furious love against a wall now an ocean of people away. The space looked the same yet everything was different.

She
was different.

She was different and she was here with a purpose. No more running from things—this was her time to step up and take ownership of her life. So Ginny braced herself, summoned her courage, then turned her attention to the stage.

And her heart stopped.

Oh God.

Razor was looking straight at her—his gaze transfixed. Everything around her stilled, her ears filling with white noise and her breath catching in her throat. He didn’t bother looking away, rather stared without shame. His nostrils flared, his large, intoxicating eyes drank her in, his sensuous lips curved around his lyrics. He seemed to consume her. As though he had sensed her the moment she entered the building. The notion was ridiculous, but she wouldn’t know it to look at him. He held her gaze, his fingers lazily strumming notes she didn’t hear.

Heat pooled in her belly and spread, inching slowly through her veins. She released a shaky breath and pressed her thighs together, which did little but encourage the burn. Every nerve in her body trembled, her palms clammy, her legs shaking and her fingers itching to touch something. She felt hot and wet, and so freaking aware of herself she was certain everyone around her knew the thoughts racing through her head.

All the while, Razor stared.

How in the hell did he have this effect on her?

Ginny didn’t have much time to wonder. Razor pushed the song to its climax. Sweat dribbled down his face and clung to his hair and, as always, he seemed to breathe in the crowd’s energy. He ended with characteristic flourish, jumping on the last note and throwing the guitar pick into the audience. Wild screams filled the void before Ginny had time to miss the music, and didn’t die down until Razor approached the microphone again.

“Thanks, guys,” he said, running a hand through his thick black hair. The crowd responded with more enthusiasm. He grinned madly and nodded a polite acknowledgment. “All right. We’ll be back in twenty.”

The air filled with the expected chorus of boos. Razor didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he lifted his gaze again to Ginny’s, then jerked his head back in a motion so swift she wouldn’t have seen it had she not been looking.

The message was clear.
Follow me.

Ginny’s legs felt like jelly but she obeyed. She weaved through the crowd, pressing between dancing couples and whining fangirls until her feet touched the stretch of hall between the stage and where she assumed the offices were. Her heart hammered so hard she thought her chest would crack but she somehow managed to ignore it.

That was until her eyes connected with his, and there was no longer a sea of people between them. And then her bravado vanished—the crossover from thought to reality shaking her so hard she was surprised she didn’t lose her balance. Ginny’s mouth fell open but no words came out.

“Come with me,” Razor said, seizing her hand before she could answer. And then they were moving deeper into parts of the building she had never once considered exploring.

He would want an explanation. A reason for her hurried escape earlier, especially since she was the one who had come to him—who had initiated what had happened against that wall. Ginny’s heart thundered as her mind scrambled to locate a reasonable justification, but just as the last of her haphazard excuse came together, Razor guided her into a cozy if somewhat sloppy office, whirled around and crashed his lips upon hers.

Ginny froze at first, every molecule on alert. Yet the sensation of his mouth molding over hers, teasing, nibbling and sucking made up her mind. She sighed and all but swooned, melting into him like warm butter. Her lips parted and then his tongue was on hers, stroking and exploring. His hands came into play, at first seizing her shoulders as though he worried she would come to her senses and take off down the hall. When her own hands found his waist, he seemed to unwind and his hold on her relaxed.

“You taste so fucking good,” he murmured between kisses. They were moving now—Razor guiding her deeper into his office and her, following without thought. The heat she’d felt earlier had matured into an all-out frenzy of need. Every inch of her ached with want. Her panties were soaked, her clit starved for attention and the meager strands of resistance had officially snapped.

Their lips parted and Ginny’s back met something soft. She blinked, tried to gather her bearings and realized he had pushed her onto a sofa. Before she could think to question him, however, he was on the ground before her, his hands on her knees.

“I know we need to talk,” he growled, running his palms up and down her legs. “But I can’t fucking think straight.”

Ginny just blinked some more. Thinking really wasn’t her forte at the moment either.

“Can’t think,” Razor echoed, his right hand inching toward the apex of her legs. When his fingers brushed over her sex, any lingering doubt fled the room. She gasped and arched off the cushions, desperate to feel him against her.

“Fuck, you’re hot.”

“What?” Ginny asked dazedly.

He didn’t respond, since he was busy ripping her sandals off her feet and tearing her slacks down her legs. Then he was on her again, his lips this time landing on her knee and quickly making their way up.

Oh shit.
Small trembles broke out across her body. Some strain of awareness fought through the haze in her mind and she grew tense. The last time a man’s mouth had been south of the border it had been a sloppy precursor to rape. A way for Travis to appease his conscience—make him think that if he could bring her to orgasm or get her body ready for him, her pleas of no would turn into screams of yes.

Having her pussy eaten was one of those things she had sworn off experiencing. Despite how incredible it allegedly felt, she found the task of getting in the right mood a little tricky because of the onslaught of unwanted memories. Yet by the time Razor’s mouth found her center, the rest of her body had turned to warm goo. She remained tense, but her raging hormones battled over why.