I writhe against his hold on my wrists, grind down to take his finger deeper.
He leans his head down by mine, so we're temple to temple. "You okay, angel?"
It's a little late to be double-checking for my permission, but I appreciate the ask. "Yeah," I breathe.
"Good." He shifts and wedges a second finger inside me.
I buck my hips, rising up on my toes.
"You're dancing for me now, aren't you, baby?"
"Oh God," I moan.
He's worked both fingers deep inside me and now he stops moving. Just stops!
"Wh-what at are you doing?"
His grin is all shades of sexy. "Just making sure you really want it."
I roll my hips. "I said I did."
He pumps slowly. Too slowly. "Say it nicely. Tell me who you're dancing for."
"You. I'm dancing for you," I cry, growing desperate for release.
"You want more of my fingers, angel?"
"Jared," I pant.
His eyelids droop.
One part of me gets pissed. Is he making a fool of me here?
He must sense my resistance because he says, "Nah, fuck it. I should be begging you. I can't wait to watch you go over the edge, beautiful." He pumps his fingers in and out until my shimmying legs are ready to give out. "Come for me, Angelina. Show me what you've got."
I have no idea what he means by that, but, again, my body follows his command. I give into his skilled torture. The moment my muscles start to squeeze his fingers, he shoves deep and waits, letting me tighten and ease in waves of pleasure and release.
"Aw, fuck, baby." He leans his forehead against mine as he eases his fingers out. "That was even better than I imagined."
I'm not sure what he means, since I'm the one who got off, but it still inspires a giddiness that revives me from the relaxation coursing through my muscles.
The doorknob rattles and Jared jerks away, releasing me and tugging down the hem of my shorts just before the door swings open.
One of the bartenders bustles in, then stops when he sees us, throwing us a curious look.
Jared steps in front of me, as if to shield me from scrutiny, and I appreciate the gesture, late though it may be.
"I'd better go find my friends," I murmur. It's not that I want to leave Jared. Wait-yes I do.
Embarrassment takes over, along with the realization that he's probably brought dozens of girls back here. That's why the bartender doesn't seem surprised.
I push past Jared toward the door.
"Wait, angel. Just wait." He catches me around the waist.
I go still but I don't look at him.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, keeping his voice low so only I will hear. "I definitely didn't mean to make you feel used or cheap."
I'm not sure if that's how I was feeling, but now that he's named it, a sick feeling spreads through my belly.
"Hey, I really I have to go," I insist.
Jared releases me. I sense his reluctance, even though I refuse to meet his eye. I just want to get out of there.
I'm the only one of my friends who didn't drink tonight and I'm the one making the bad decisions.
"Just wait. Can you give me a second?"
I slip out of his reach. "That's okay," I mumble, without looking back. "We can talk later." I bolt from the storeroom before he can say anything else. I sense him behind me, but I don't look back, just beeline it for the bar to find my friends and get the hell out of here.
What was I thinking? Apparently all it takes is a couple slaps to my ass and I'll let a guy to anything to me.
Damn. I need to tell my friends never to let me be alone with Jared. Ever. Especially not when I'm ovulating.
Danger zone.
I find Talya and Remy just as the overhead fluorescents come on, signaling the club is closing. The crowd gives a collective groan and people scurry out like cockroaches caught in the sun.
"Come on," I urge my friends. "Let's get out of here. I've had enough."
Jared
I screwed up. Big time.
I knew I was supposed to keep my hands off Angelina. She's my female kryptonite. My self-control goes to shit around her.
Now I've gone and degraded her in the worst way.
It was almost worth it. Almost.
Fuck, I will be jacking off to the memory of her orgasm face every night for a week. It was even better than I pictured it would be.
I scan the crowd remaining, people who need encouragement to leave. Men and women trying to find or solidify their hookups before they go.
"Time's up," I call out. "Everybody out."
I get fuck me looks from a couple girls who hang back.
I'm not tempted. Not really. But part of me thinks maybe I should fuck one of them just to get that red-headed beauty out of my system. Out of my fantasies. Damn she's been the main feature of them ever since she showed up here at the beginning of the semester with her bold new idea for having go-go dancers.
Somehow, I'd even volunteered to make the boxes the dancers perch on.
A blonde, who'd been prettier in the low lighting than she is under the bright glare, toddles toward me on six inch heels.
I frown and give my head a short shake and she wheels about and teeters out the door instead. I shake my head again, more at myself than anyone else, and help get the rest of the crowd out. As I run the dust mop to pick up the litter of plastic cups, straws, and cocktail napkins, I try to think of something else-anything but the sweet curves of Angelina's ass when she was dancing up on that box. Or the slight curl of her lip when I penetrated her. The way her mouth opened and eyes rolled back when she came.