More Than Fashion (3 page)

One of his hands moved up my legs to dip between my thighs. He ran a finger along me slowly as he gave me one long lick, then slipped that finger inside. I gasped and dug one hand into his silky hair, pressing his head harder against me, while clinging to the curtain with the other hand.

Another finger dipped inside, curling, darting, touching me deep. He slid them in and out while his tongue flicked me back and forth, fucking me with both his fingers and his mouth. I lost all control of my voice and my limbs, twitching and trembling and moaning until I exploded, stars everywhere, spinning, gasping, crying. He kept going through it all, and I thought I’d surely die if it continued. But god, what a way to go.

Finally the spasms subsided and his tongue slowed, like he was lapping me up. I fell back against the window, my entire body a warm gooey mess of pleasure and satisfaction. I’d had guys go down on me before, plenty of guys, but never on their knees like that and never so…intense.

I wanted to return the favor. Wanted the rest of his body against mine. Wanted him inside me. He was so fucking hot and obviously talented. It could only get better from here. But first, I needed a second to recover. I closed my eyes, breathing heavily, feeling drowsy and satisfied all at once. I never wanted to move again. I wasn’t sure I could.

“Ready to tell me your name yet?” he asked, sliding up my legs, standing in front of me.

“Not a chance.” I was pressed against the window with my dress pushed up around my hips, totally vulnerable and exposed, just waiting for him to fuck me. Silently begging him to take me hard and fast and rough. One second away from asking him out loud.

“I’ll get it out of you eventually,” he said with another sly grin.

“Do that again and I
might
tell you.”

One eyebrow arched up. “Is that so?”

“Guess you’ll have to find out.”

I dragged him toward the bed, but suddenly my head throbbed and the room rolled around me, making me dizzy. The world seemed to tilt, spin, dance in my stomach. Next thing I knew, my knees had buckled and I was in his arms.

“All right there?” he asked.

I nodded, pressing a hand to my temple. “Head rush.”

He steadied me, and I shook it off. I reached for his black leather belt, but my fingers were clumsy as I undid the buckle and I giggled. It took me way longer than it should, but finally I got it off him and dropped it on the floor.

But he didn’t get on the bed, didn’t start taking off his clothes, and didn’t kiss me again. He studied me, his brow furrowed. Even his eyebrows were sexy. That was crazy, but they were. I’d never noticed a guy’s eyebrows before, but his were dark and framed his gray eyes perfectly. I wanted to run a finger over each of them. I wondered if he plucked them and giggled at the image.

“You’re swaying,” he said.

I giggled harder. His accent was funny. “What?”

“Lie down.”

“Mmm, yes, sir.”

I liked a man who took charge in bed. I loved taking charge myself, too, but if that’s what he was into, I could go for that tonight. I laid back, trying to look hot, giving him my best sex-kitten stare. He grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-bar and handed it to me. “Drink this.”

Not a bad idea. I took the water and tried to drink it in a sexy way, licking my lips, but managed to spill it over my chest, water dripping down the front of my dress. Well, if he wanted me wet…

“You want some?” I asked in a seductive voice.

“Thank you, no.”

I shrugged and left the water on the side table. He still didn’t move, just stared at me from beside the bed. I crooked a finger at him with a smile. “Get over here.”

“Trust me, love, I want to.”

“Love?” I wasn’t a fan of silly nicknames, but the way he said it sounded like “luv” and that was pretty hot. God, that accent. I wanted to listen to him whisper all sorts of dirty things in my ear. Preferably while doing them to me. Why wasn’t that happening already?

“Give me your name and I’ll call you something else,” he said.

“No, I like that.” I raised an arm over my head, draping it across the pillow, trying to look sexy. “Come to bed.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I sat up, dropping my arm. “Why not?”

“You’re pissed.”

“No, I’m not,” I said, confused. “I mean, I’m a little annoyed that you’re not already naked…”

“Not that kind of pissed.” He gestured like he was trying to find the word. “Drunk.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not that either.”

“No, love, you really are.”

“I don’t care. I want this. I want you. Right. Now.” I slid down the bed to him, running my hand across the front of his pants. Judging by the hard—and very large—bulge there, he definitely wanted me, too.

He took my hand off him. “That’s not a good idea.”

I didn’t understand what the problem was. He was in my room, he’d gone down on me, and he was obviously interested in more. Why stop now? “Why are you here if you don’t want this?”

“I didn’t realize how drunk you are until now.” He nodded at the water. “Drink that and get some sleep.”

He turned away, like he was about to leave. Oh, hell no. Guys did not walk out on me.
I
walked out on them.

“Stop being a gentleman. I don’t want sleep. I want to get laid. And if you won’t help me out…” I stood up, flipped my long hair, and gave a little shrug. It took all my energy not to topple over again. “Well, maybe some other guy at the bar will.”

He turned back to me, crossing his arms. “Don’t be a twat. You can barely stand on your own.”

“A
what
?”

“And you’re definitely not going back down there to find some other guy.”

“What, now you think you have some claim over me?” I huffed. “Just ‘cause you called yourself my boyfriend doesn’t make it true.”

He closed his eyes, taking a long breath. “No, of course not.”

“Then get out of my way.”

“You’re far too drunk. I’m not letting you leave the room like this. Even if I have to stay here all night.”

Rage swept through me, fixed on this arrogant, obnoxious, annoyingly handsome guy. “You…” I pressed my hand against his chest, a feeble attempt to get him to move, but couldn’t help but enjoy the feel of his body underneath my palm. Instead of pushing him away, I pulled him closer. “You can’t keep me here. Or tell me what to do. This is
my
room.”

“No, I suppose I can’t.”

With a soft groan, his mouth covered mine in a hungry, fierce kiss, showing me how much he wanted this, too. I finished unbuttoning his shirt, the job I’d abandoned earlier in the elevator, while his hands circled my waist. He nudged me backward, toward the bed. Yes! Now we were getting somewhere.

But when the back of my knees bumped against the bed, he stopped and removed his hands. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t. It’s not right.”

I groaned. “Forget right and take off your clothes already.”

“Love, believe me when I say that all I want to do is pin you against this bed and bury myself in you until you scream my name. But I’m not going to take advantage of you while you’re drunk.”

“It’s not taking advantage if I’m asking you to do it. And really, I’m not
that
drunk. Watch.” I walked in a straight line up and down the room, not even wavering once. “See?”

He ignored my plea and began buttoning his shirt again. I hadn’t even gotten a good look at his chest, and now it was gone. Dammit.

I sat on the bed, hard. My head spun, my stomach twisted, but worst of all, those creeping doubts and worries crept back in. “Stay with me,” I begged, digging my fingers into his shirt, pleading up at him. I sounded vulnerable and pathetic, but I didn’t care at this point. “Just for tonight. Don’t leave me alone. Please, Gavin.”

He considered me for a long moment and then sighed. “I’ll stay, but we’re not doing anything more until you’ve sobered up.” He grabbed the water bottle off the table and handed it to me again. “Drink this. I’ll be back in a moment.”

I fell back on the bed with a groan as he disappeared into the bathroom. God, he was infuriating. I wasn’t even that drunk. Fine, I’d drink this water, and when he came back, I’d make sure we continued where we’d left off.

But now that I was lying down, I was suddenly so, so tired. My head hurt, my body was so relaxed I could barely move, and this bed was so comfortable I melted right into it. Maybe I could just close my eyes and rest while I waited for him to come back…

CHAPTER THREE

S
omething buzzed by my head, and I swatted at it. A fly? A bee?

I met only air. I peeked an eye open, and bright light sent painful stabs through my skull. Ow, ow, ow.

More buzzing near my head. Sunlight spilled in through nearby windows, along with the sound of cars honking outside. The bed felt wrong, and the pillow was too soft. Where was I?

I sat up fast. All the blood rushed to my brain, and with it came a new wave of pain. I pressed a palm to my throbbing forehead, remembering everything. New York, a hotel room, and way too much alcohol.

Oh, and a gorgeous guy who’d gone down on me.

I was alone now and still wearing my dress from last night—sans underwear, of course. At some point, Gavin must have helped me under the covers, and he’d left another water bottle on the bedside table. I popped off the cap and chugged it, but it did little to relieve the sandpaper feel of my mouth or the pounding in my head.

The buzzing continued behind me. I groped around the bed and found the source of the incessant noise: my phone. Carla, calling me. Shit. She hated talking on the phone even more than I did. If she was calling and not texting, this had to be bad. Really bad.

I hit answer and braced myself. “Yeah?”

“Where are you? Are you in your room? Are you ready to go?”

Shit, shit, shit. I glanced around the room and found the clock. 8:15 AM. A car was picking us up at 8:30 to take us to the show.

I had a raging hangover, I probably looked like ass, and I was going to be late for
Behind The Seams
. FML for sure.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby in ten minutes,” I said and hung up.

I dashed into the bathroom and washed my face. No time for a shower, though I desperately needed one, so I used a washcloth to do a quick once-over. After a hasty brush of my hair and my fastest makeup routine
ever
, I ran out to get dressed. Thank god I’d taken Carla’s advice and planned each outfit to wear on the show in advance.

As I got dressed, I spotted my red lace panties hanging off the lampshade and flashed back to last night. How I’d picked up a tattooed guy with a sexy accent and a very talented tongue. How I’d practically begged him to screw me and he’d refused. And then he’d left. Without a word.

Okay, to be fair, I’d passed out, but he could have left a note or something.

Whatever. His loss. It wasn't like I’d planned to see him again anyway. There was a reason for the no-names policy, after all. Especially since I’d be on
Behind The Seams
and unable to contact anyone for the next few weeks. There was no point wondering about what might have been. Or why he hadn’t stuck around. Nope, none of that mattered. I’d gotten what I’d wanted out of him—an amazing orgasm—and now I was moving on.

I put on a cute green-and-black A-line dress I’d made and inspected myself in the mirror. My long black hair looked frizzy and my brown eyes had some bags under them, but considering a hammer was pounding my skull in, I called it good.

Before I left, I threw everything into my luggage, downed a couple pain pills, and scanned the room. Oops. Almost forgot those panties. I shoved them in the front pocket of my luggage and wheeled myself out.

Carla was already in the lobby, looking flawless (of course) in a pair of blue jeans and a black V-neck shirt. She had her arms crossed and tapped one perfectly manicured finger against her arm.

“Cutting it close,” she said, when I approached.

“Shh,” I said. “Not so loud. I have a major hangover.”

“No sympathy. You brought this on yourself.”

“Trust me, I know. I’ll tell you all about it in the car.”

We rushed outside, and the warm, humid air instantly wrapped around me in a suffocating embrace. I had to fight off the urge to vomit until we slipped into the large black car the show had sent for us.

I gave Carla the lowdown of my evening once we were in the backseat and driving through the crowded streets of New York. I tried to keep my voice down, but I was sure our driver heard all the sordid details anyway. Whatever, he’d probably heard a lot worse in his line of work.

“The guy just…left?” Carla asked when I was done.

I shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s not like anything would come of it anyway. All I wanted was a quick hookup with a hot guy, and that’s what I got. Even better, I got it without the awkward morning-after chat. If only all my one-night stands could go so well…”

The driver cleared his throat, and I smirked. Yep, definitely listening.

“So it doesn’t bother you that you won’t see him again?”

“Not at all.” I mean, maybe it bothered me a tiny bit that he hadn’t even
tried
to keep in touch with me. Not that I would do it, but damn, he
was
ridiculously hot. And good with his mouth. I was curious if he was good with his other body parts, too. But he lived in London, and I was going on the show, and it didn’t matter what I wanted because it was over. Just a memory and nothing more.

Besides, I’d made a total fool of myself last night. I cringed at the memory of how I’d begged him to stay with me. God, how embarrassing. It was better that we never see each other again. No one needed to know just how pathetic I’d become to get some action from a hot guy. Better to leave the entire night behind and forget it ever happened.

“Are you nervous?” Carla asked. I wanted to kiss her for changing the subject.

“A little.” I yawned and started to rub my eyes, but stopped because it would mess up my makeup. “Mostly I wish I had some coffee. And some greasy food.” I leaned back against the seat and groaned. “I’d murder someone for a cheeseburger right now.”