“You want the last slice?” Westley asked, pointing at the box between them. Cassidy was already up to her third, and he’d had four, and she could go for the last, but she probably shouldn’t. Her stomach was a mess tonight—first with hunger and now with butterflies.
If her stupid eye hadn’t been so…well, stupid, she probably would’ve been making out with the pirate already. She swiped at her lips, hoping there wasn’t any sauce residue caught in the corners. Did he have any mints in here? They’d opted to eat in his car rather than stay in the pizza place, especially since the teen crowd had appeared, and Cassidy started feeling ancient, even though she was maybe only five or six years older than they were.
So they headed back to the party and ate in the parking garage.
“I’m good,” she said, crumpling her napkin. Westley tossed his in the box and closed the lid, letting out a satisfied sigh. She loved that relaxed smile of his—the only real detail of his face she could sort of make out. It was what kept her calm during the entire contact ordeal. Well, that and his gentle touch against her neck. She wasn’t exactly calm, but she longed for an excuse to have him touch her like that again. She couldn’t recall a time when a man had been so gentle with her. Steven, her high school boyfriend—and only boyfriend—was not gentle, but they were teenagers who wanted to make the most of every bit of time they spent together. So things were fast and hard and all too rushed.
Cassidy nibbled at her bottom lip, then quickly stopped herself from biting a hole. She wanted her lips at optimum performance level. If Westley didn’t kiss her soon, she was in danger of getting a complex.
Well, more of a complex.
“Ready to head back in?” he asked, reaching for the keys as they swung from the ignition. The corners of her mouth pulled down, and her brain ran wild, searching for an excuse to stay away from the party.
His deep chuckle sounded through the car. “Yeah… me neither. Feel like going for a drive?”
“But we can’t make out if you’re driving,” she blurted, and her face ran the temperature of the sun. His eyes widened, his mouth amused, like he couldn’t believe she’d just said what she said.
Join the club, buddy.
“Sorry,” she said, burying her face in her palms. She smelled like sausage and cheese. How sexy. “I wish I could blame my loose tongue on alcohol, but it’s just my personality. I’ll be jumping off the parking garage now.”
The sound of fabric against leather reached her ears, and she sneaked a peek through her fingers at a blurry Westley adjusting in his seat to face her. His kind, relaxing smile was in place and too darn charming; she was ready to smack him.
“What a relief,” he breathed out, dropping his head. The edge of his mask tickled her forearm. “I’ve almost kissed you about a hundred times tonight.”
Her heart fluttered wildly under her bright red costume. “Was it the swollen eye that did ya in?”
“You better believe it.” He took her hand and twined his fingers between hers. She held back a squeal rising in the back of her throat. Was he going to kiss her now? She wanted that mint first.
His eyes met hers briefly before dropping to her lips. Oh, screw the mint. She leaned in, the stick shift digging into her thigh.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“You flinched. Am I that repulsive?”
She wrinkled her nose and tapped the ball on top of the stick shift. “Kind of a cock blocker.”
The corner of his mouth picked up, and even in that mask, she could see a sly expression flicker across his face. He reached behind him, smoothly grabbing the handle, and let himself out. Laughter ripped through her as he opened the back door and plopped into the backseat.
“Sigh…” he said. “All this room and no one to share it with.”
“Are you serious right now?” she said through her grin. Her heart was pounding a beat that had to scare any doctor who could hear it.
Westley sighed again, setting his gloved hand on the seat beside him and rubbing circles around the leather. She twisted in her seat, liking teasing him, liking the anticipation, and knowing as soon as she fumbled her way back there, her lips were not leaving his.
“It’s been a while,” she admitted. “My last date was definitely not just last weekend.”
His head tilted. “This is a no judgment zone.”
“I can’t even see you.” She squinted for emphasis. “You’re a big black blob.”
“Close your eyes, then. Better that way.”
She laughed and unbuckled, her hands a shaking wreck. There was an image in her head about donning a sexy look as she seductively climbed over the center console, avoiding the armrests, and smoothly straddling him. She visualized it, concentrated on it, and prayed to the high heavens God would suddenly bestow coordination upon her.
She took a deep breath and brought her knee up, completely forgetting she was in so much fabric. Her leg pulled the dress down, and she fell forward, her pizza-greased hand slipping on the leather seat. An oh-so-sexy squeal rose from the back of her throat, and she tumbled forward, her face going somewhere soft and warm… and suddenly very excited.
“Oh my gosh, your penis!” she shrieked, wriggling off of him as quickly as she could, but her feet were tangled in her dress, her wig sticking to her lips and getting caught on her tongue. She was so grateful her vision was impaired, because she’d probably die at whatever expression was on his face.
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he rushed out, his gloved hands grasping her elbows and steadying her. His body was shaking with suppressed laughter, and he squeezed her arms gently. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, just mortified. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Here…” His hands left her elbows and fabric pulled from her hips. Her dress broke free from her clumsy feet, and he fanned it out, giving her legs a lot more room. “Better?” he asked with a grin that she wished she could see more clearly.
She nodded, swiping her wig hair out of her face. The thing was ridiculous, and she wanted to tear it from her head, but it was pinned pretty tightly in there, and her real hair was damp with sweat and pulled up into a messy bun that probably didn’t scream sex appeal. With her personality, she needed to tread lightly if she wanted this night to continue down the path it was.
Her eyes dropped to his lap, which was now covered in red from her dress. “What’s the damage?” she asked, afraid to hear the answer. Had she literally cock-blocked the evening?
The hand on her hip twitched, and his fingers dug into her skin, sending pings of energy through her like a lightning bolt. “Your face hit mostly leg,” he said with a laugh. “He’s fine.”
She raised an eyebrow. “He?”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you said he.” A laugh was threatening in her gut. She pointed down. “Does he have a name?”
“No.”
“You sure about that?” She poked him in the shoulder, and he threw his head back against the seat, covering his masked face with his gloved hand. “Come on, introduce me!” She giggled, poking him more. He flinched when she got close to his armpit, and a thrill shot through her. She loved that he was ticklish; it was a turn-on.
Warmth spread through her lower abdomen, and she tested the ticklish waters, poking him down his ribs. Chuckles rose from his throat, and he quickly grabbed her wrists to stop her. His smile could probably set the sun and moon, and she cursed herself for not checking the expiration date on her contacts.
Their laughter slowly faded, their smiles intact. She thought his eyes dropped to her lips, but she wasn’t one hundred percent sure, so she stayed still, hoping he’d send a cue out there that it was time to get it on.
How far would she go tonight? She had no stop light in her head; she’d never done it in the backseat of a car before, and it seemed like some sort of rite of passage she’d skipped out on. She’d never wanted someone so much that she had to do it right then, right now. Then again, she’d only slept with one person.
Needless to say, this wasn’t exactly in her repertoire. Uncharted territory ahead, and she loved it.
His grip loosened on her wrists, and her palms fell lightly against his chest. She imagined a toned upper body under the black fabric and wondered if he worked out or if it was a natural thing for him. He had a tiny food baby from the pizza, and she bit away a smile. She loved what a fantasy he was, but at the same time, such a real person.
His hand trailed up her arm, and she shivered, laughing as the chill rocked through her. When his fingers caught her neck, she snatched his wrist and pulled it between them.
“I liked what you did earlier,” she said, tugging at the glove until it slid from his hand.
“Poke you in the eye?” he teased. She playfully wrinkled her nose at him before pulling the other glove off. She coaxed his fingers to her neck and guided his thumb up and down while he laughed.
“Okay, I got it,” he said, taking over. His skin was fire on hers, sparking an even bigger inferno deep inside of her. She leaned forward, and he pulled her face to his, directing her blindness to him.
Their foreheads met, their breath mingled, and she quickly wet her lips.
“I don’t do this,” she blurted. His eyes were green; she was close enough to see them. But they could easily be any other color in any other light. “I feel like I need a warning label, because I might be really bad at it.”
“You know that only makes me want you more, right?” he said, his head tilting to the side against hers.
“You want a bad kisser?”
“I want you.” He wiggled his nose against hers, and it was the most perfect moment of her life. Tom Hiddleston himself could come knocking at her door and profess his love, and it wouldn’t beat this.
She tossed her arms around his neck, trying not to smile so he didn’t kiss only teeth, but she couldn’t help it. Their lips met, and his hands slid down to her waist. They zipped together, his body a perfect match against hers.
The world went black, and all that was left were lips and tongues and heat and butterflies. Cassidy opened for him, her tongue meeting his in sensual strokes she couldn’t remember feeling so wonderful. She dragged her hands along the sides of his face, pulling him closer, holding him to her. She had never had a kiss so intoxicating, so energizing, so all-consuming that she didn’t want it to end.
Westley’s hands ran up her spine, leaving fiery trails in their wake. He gripped her shoulders, then snaked a hand between them, grasping at her chin, holding her in place. She melted into a puddle right there in his lap.
“I’m going to combust,” she breathed, only half-aware that she’d said it out loud. He smiled against her lips, kissing her once, twice, three times more.
“Not if I beat you to it.”
Her hands slithered down to his chest, his heart beating hard against her palms. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, and she moaned at how talented he was, at the pings in her lower abdomen, and she started rocking, wanting closer. There was way too much fabric between them, damn costumes, and she was ready to rip hers over her head and dry hump him silly.
“I want… this…” Her breathing grew erratic, and her brain shut off as his mouth moved down her throat. What was she saying? She wanted skin, more skin, but she couldn’t function. Her fingers tore at his costume top, but the material was made from something inhuman because none of it would break free. She settled for her hands down the back of his shirt, and she hugged him to her, his mouth finding that magical spot by her collarbone.
“What…?” she asked, pulling at his shirt, catching a bit of yellow and blue on his shoulder blade. “What is this?”
His lips stopped, but his breath was warm against her skin. “You found Flounder, didn’t you?”
“Flounder?” She laughed, rising up on her knees to get a better look. She was craned rather uncomfortably before the little blue and yellow fish tattoo became clearer. Still fuzzy, but she’d recognize it anywhere. “Oh my gosh…” She sat flat in his lap, smiling into his eyes. “You can’t make fun of me ever for my mustache tat.”
“He’s one of the best sidekicks ever made!” he said, throwing his hands to the side. Cassidy’s heart tripled in tempo, and she leaned back, pressing the lightest of kisses to his lips. She wouldn’t say she loved him—that would be absurd, considering she still hadn’t seen his face and it’d been what? Three hours—but she could definitely say she loved things about him. And a Flounder tattoo was now at the top of the list.
She ground into him, and a sexy groan fell from his mouth, warming her skin. “Sweet Jesus…”
“Nope, just me,” she said, rocking on him again. There was still way too much fabric in the way, and in a frantic haze, she pulled at her dress until it was up around her hips. Westley’s hands immediately found her ass and gripped tight, his eyes dropping to where their bodies met.
“You sure he’s all right?” she teased, circling her hips. She could tell he was just fine, but she liked how they had jokes, how during one night in costume, she could be herself and someone still wanted her.
He pushed his hips up. “Nope,” he said with a smile. “He needs attention.”
She shoved at his face. “Dork.” Yes! She’d finally found someone to dork with her.
He laughed, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck and pulling her toward him. Their lips and tongues danced while her body ached with pleasure and pain, and she rubbed against him harder, faster, until she could no longer keep kissing him. Moans slipped from her lips, her hot breath right by his covered ear.
She reached for his mask, ready to tear it from his face, wanting to see him up close, study the features of the man who had given her such a perfect evening, who was giving her such perfect pleasure, but her attention averted when she felt his palms slide up her ribs.
Her eyes shot open as his thumb reached the underside of her boob—or more accurately, her boob bag.
Oh dear god, no. No, no, no… he could not fondle her boob bags. He’d already taken her contacts out for her, and she’d crashed face-first into his penis. Finding out she was flat as a pancake in the middle of a dry humping session would be a nail in the awkward coffin.
“Wait!” she screamed, slamming up against the back of the driver’s seat. Westley blinked and immediately put his hands up.
“Sorry… I—” he stuttered. Cassidy’s entire body washed with red hot embarrassment, and she scurried off his lap.
“Pee… I have to pee,” she babbled. “And then I should, well, probably…”
He blinked again, his hands still up in the air like he was being held at gunpoint. “Um… Okay. That’s fine.”
A frown pulled at her lips. “Thanks for the pizza and the… um… almost orgasm.” Oh, she was the worst. She fumbled for the handle and tripped out of the car, hurrying toward the party entrance. The weight on her chest was partly literal, but mostly metaphorical as she chanced a glance back at the man she’d just royally messed things up with. His hand was at his head, and he pulled down the mask, but he was too blurry—and she was too embarrassed—to see who he was.