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Johnnie, Jack, and Jim—for those of you who aren't on the up and up to the wise men I've been referring to—those three, along with a dash of Jose, have created the perfect storm for me to go buck wild and let myself really go.

Who starts making out, well, just kissing—for now—a random stranger in the middle of a crowded bar? Okay, a lot of people do. I could look amongst the crowd and see several others getting their freak on, so might as well.

Pulling back a bit, the music buzzing in my ears along with everything else in my body, at this exact moment. I lock my eyes into this mystery man's. My palms pressing against his heaving and rock-hard chest, his mouth continuously opening and closing as I pull the lime from between my teeth.

"Do me a favor." Pinching his lips together with my fingers, this Greek God, or maybe he's got some Italian in him, who the fuck knows, let me have my fantasy. Anyway, his dark brows knit together over his pale eyes.

Not an emerald like green. No, these are like a jade color, fair and amazingly hot as shit. His breaths heat over my fingertips, puffing out from his nostrils. I smirk at him, as the extremely horny, and definitely hungry part of me comes up with an idea.

I guess it's true what they say—tequila makes my clothes wanna fall right off.

"Please don't say a word." I lean towards him, whispering into his ear, the loose and longer strands of his hair falling over the side of his face, brushing against my cheek. "I want nothing that comes out of your sexy mouth to ruin this perfect vision I have of you."

He nods slowly, lips tugging up between the tips of my fingers. The slightest hint of amusement glinting in his eyes.

It's true, though. It's the actual worst when a hot guy opens his mouth and says the dumbest shit. Or, if they have a voice that doesn't match their incredible features, that totally sucks. From the all but three words I'd actually let this hunk get out, I'm fairly certain he's good, as far as that goes.

"So what do you say?" Pressing my forehead to his, I speak the words directly over his mouth. "Wanna show me what you're working with?"

Oh my God! Did I just say that abominable shit out loud?


Sure did.

Taking one last inhale of the subtle trace of his cologne or whatever makes me feel even more intoxicated. I grab my phone, glancing at a quick text from Chaz. That he ran to his place real fast, and Trey should be there anytime. Asking that I look out for him.

Nope. That's grounds for a cock-block. Sorry, Trey, but I'm on a mission.

I walk away from tall, dark, and sexy. A cute, dumbfounded look on his face grows to an enormous smile as I cast a glance at him over my shoulders, head nodding to the ladies room.

Wow, bitch. You've done gone crazy!

Eh, oh well. I pull the bathroom door open, fighting a gasp at the rarity of this sight. An empty restroom in a bar? That shit never happens.

Glimpsing at myself in the mirror, dark hair falling down my back—holding up. Makeup only slightly smeared underneath my eyelids—not bad, not bad. Legs only a tiny bit wobbly as the effects from the alcohol and the added burst of raging hormones turn it up a notch.

"What are you doing?" I ask myself, scrunching my nose as I take in the definitely not sanitary conditions that I literally just invited a stranger to follow me into.

Speaking of.

The bathroom remains vacant, minus myself, I start to have a momentary freak out of pure mortification. I all but turned on my sexiest efforts ever, and the hottie is gonna stand me up. Damn. Well, maybe I shouldn't be saying this random ass stuff. Maybe he was put off over me clamping his mouth shut, or maybe—

I jump as the door slams open, hitting the back wall with a loud pang. Turning my head to meet those eyes, filled with lust and desire, not saying a single word—as instructed—his hand wraps around the back of my neck. Dark lashes flutter over my cheek as the surge from his tight grip sears through me.

"We shouldn't..." he says, my eyes roll. Good God, man, you have an eager cookie dangling in front of your face, and you're gonna say that!? "Screw it," his deep, husky, voice speaks the words over my face. A smidge of a southern drawl, making me wet. Oh, come on, I already am. That PG body shot got that shit flowing. Also, a special note of thanks that his voice does not, in fact, suck.

His lips crash over mine. His palms grip roughly over my hips—oh, I likey—as he walks me backwards, kicking the stall door closed behind us.

Frantic hands roam over each other's bodies. His lips kissing me with a heated passion, almost. Greedy and fast, his tongue slides over them, parting for him in an instant. My back slams up against the ceramic tile of the wall, cringing as I think of all the germs in this place. Moaning as he licks the side of my neck, hot and heavy breaths make my hips automatically connect with his. He slides his lips back to mine, reconnecting our tongues. My body melts into his as he expertly swirls and twirls.

"You're so hot, so perfect." He pulls back from the kiss. I stare at him through my mascara'd lashes. A steady tingle prickling my lips, from the heavy mouth to mouth, not to mention the heavy pours from the bartender. Okay, this type of talk is acceptable, I'll allow it.

"Mm-hmm," I mumble, tracing my fingers over every—more than fine—indentation of what is definitely a six, plus, pack, over the soft material of his navy shirt. "Yeah, yeah. You too."

A light chuckle escapes his throat as he narrows an eye, shaking his head with. "Are you... are you too drunk or are you—"

"Listen, beautiful stranger," I cut him off, clapping a hand over his mouth. "I'm slightly buzzed, sure, but I'm a grown ass—ish—adult. I'm all about a quick..." Grabbing his wrist, I lift his hand towards my face. And in a newfound bold and brazen move. Not to mention I am hardcore trying to block out any notions of the sick amounts of bacteria and bullshit crawling all over this place. Sucking one of his fingers into my mouth, trying my absolute hardest to make serious fuck—okay, finger fuck, get real... like I said—stranger. Anyway, giving him my best finger fuck me vibes, the insanity of this moment mirroring in his eyes. "You picking up what I'm putting down?" I ask, and he blankly nods.

"As long as you don't think..." The words muffle out against the palm of my hand, still firmly clasped over his mouth.

"Can you please"—I let go of his wrist, blowing out a hard breath followed by an annoyed huff—"just shut up and give me the finger bang of my life, then we can go on our merry little ways?"

A quick series of chokes cough out from his mouth. I move my hand from sexy's face, crossing my arms over my chest.

"It's just... I'm worried that..." he stutters, and I roll my eyes. Seriously, dude, can't even take the bait. Who is this restrained at our age? I'm assuming he's close to my age, by the looks of him. Who knows, though? Maybe he's not down to get down? Maybe I shouldn't be legit jumping all over some random ass dude in a bar. Wasn't I just saying there's a difference between classy and trashy? The fuck am I doing here?

The harsh overhead lights clash with my eyes and the realization that I'm actually one of the thirsty hoes that I'm always teasing Chaz about delivers a quick smack in the face.

"I'm sorry." I press my hands against his chest, heart hammering under my palm. Trying not to let the embarrassment take over. He's obviously a somewhat nice guy, and I'm buzzed. This is a lost cause. "I guess I read all that wrong? I think you're hot. And well, you said I was hot. But to be honest with you, I'm not down with all the overthinking." Okay, that's some bullshit. Overthinkers anonymous, hands up. "Anyway, sorry I drug you in here. I'll see myself—"

I walk away from him, reaching toward the sickly pea green colored metal door. Feeling like a bit of an idiot.

"Fuck." Deep voice growls out, grabbing onto the back waist of my jeans, yanking me to him. My back collides with the chiseled tone of his chest, my ass collides with the chiseled outline of something else, the heat of his breath fanning over the side of my face. "I've wanted this so bad."

His lips sweep over the base of my neck, creeping towards my collarbone, his facial hair tickling my skin, lighting a spark inside me like I've never felt before. Quick hands slide over the top of my leather jacket and slip it down my arms, letting it fall to the ground. Oh well, gonna have to get that dry cleaned.

"Uh-huh." I gasp as the hottie finally steps up to bat. His hand cupping between my legs, palm rubbing heavily as my back arches off his body. Now this is what I'm talkin' about. "Yes," I coax him as he continues the over the clothes, albeit promising, hand blast.

"God," his voice groans, vibrating from his chest, sending several zaps down along with it. Reaching back, I grip my fingers through his locks, an ample amount to grab. Laying my head back on his shoulders, he stares at me for a second. Not like I'm thinking this will be a home run, but those irises alone should make for a nice deposit into the spank bank.

Trying to keep my head in the right frame of mind, or the wrong one, I break the weirdly intense eye contact this dude is giving—what even?

My right elbow over his shoulder, fingers tugging the roots of his hair, guiding him to the sweet spots on my neck along with the, "ahh." I can't hold the last moan in as his hand slips up, grazing over my bare skin, the rough pads of his fingertips trailing over the top of my jeans.

With my free hand I shove his down, straight down, under the dark confines of my denim and lacy underwear I'd worn. Not necessarily in preparation for this—whatever this is—but... yeah.

"You're so—"

I tighten my grasp on his wavy brown hair. "You don't have to tell me I'm wet," I reply in a breathless and ultra raspy voice. "I already know." For real though. Why is that such a thing? As if I can't feel it?

He lets out another series of chuckles, shaking his head before continuing to ravage his lips along my neck. If I get a hickey, I'll be mad, mad. "Who are you?" He laughs. "You're nothing like I—"

"Holy mother fucking Jesus tonight!" The words rip from my chest as a rough—like most def works with his hands—finger glides between my legs, not wasting anymore time as he thrusts inside me. My jaw drops as a long string of gasps stagger from my throat.

"You like that?" he asks. I roll my eyes. One of those guys. It's obvious I do. My hips matching the pace of his thrusts, desperate for the heavenly friction. He pulls his hand away. "Do you like that?" he repeats, hot and panty breaths heating over the side of my face.

"Oh... y-yeah." Turning my head so my lips meet his. "Carry on."

I feel his laughter shaking from his body to mine, and then another shaking begins. He thrusts two fingers, pumping, stroking, curling. His palm, finding that sweet spot to create the perfect balance of stimulation. My body arching, riding, writhing as that feeling builds.

Wait... is this...!? Am I gonna...!?

His stubbled face trails my neck. "Damn, Briar..."

A floodgate opens, or it starts to, like a single beam of light shoots straight from the watermarked ceiling. My muscles tense, my core begins its rapid clench around these fingers, these magical fucking fingers. This is it. I've climbed Mount Everest. Made my way to the top, the peak... I'm almost there.

Smacking my hand on the wall behind me, two-digit wizard crushes his lips to mine, swallowing the strangled moans whimpering from my throat as I'm on the brink, the cusp, whatever. Hells to the fucking yes!

This is it ladies and gentleman. The pinnacle!

"What the fuck!" A slightly disgusted voice slurs out, immediately pulling me from my almost O-face. An extremely intoxicated female, who can't even make eye contact kicked the door open. His hand immediately freezes, and I wanna cry.

That is till the gagging sounds begin. She covers her mouth with her hand before making a beeline for the toilet.


I wanna scream! Fuuuuuuck! Also... fuck!

In that moment of clarity and maybe an added dash of sobriety. Well, not sobriety, but you know what I mean. The realization that I'm letting some random guy finger bang me in a dingy bathroom, one whose walls are legit telling me who to call for a good time, my skin crawls.





I leave the hottie there. Not even giving him a second look as the inebriated girl falls to the tiled floor, and he immediately jumps in to help her. I have to get out of here!

Fine, new me. Also, what the hell, Briar? This type of shit is not smart. And I'm....


He said my name?

He knows my name?

My face fucks up as I blow out a long sigh of relief, cheeks flushed, breathing hardly normalized. The high top is miraculously still open and I slide onto the chair, pulling my phone from the back pocket of my jeans.

Shit, my jacket.

I spot Chaz through the crowd, his back towards me, talking to a guy, short brown hair, a little overweight. Okay, at least he found Trey.

"You left this... you left this in the, umm...bathroom, Briar." I freeze at the sound of his husky voice. Turning slowly towards him, his light eyes studying my face, pulse bounding beneath the chest of his shirt.

"How do you—"

"Moreau." Chaz walks over, clapping a hand on the guy's shoulder who gives him a shaky smile.


"Hey man, good to see you." The Moreau guy keeps his eyes forward, opting for a left-handed, awkward as fuck, fist bump when Chaz extends his palm, raising a brow.

"Good, glad you guys found each other. I had to go polish something off, if ya know what I mean." He laughs, I keep my eyes from his. Of course, he has to know this guy, ugh. "Anyway, you want a drink?" he asks, pulling a chair up to the side of the table, gesturing a hand for the Moreau dude to have a seat.

I'm not comprehending.

"I'll have water." I look up at him, met with a suspiciously narrowed gaze as he gives a single nod.

"And how 'bout you?" he asks. Mystery man clears his throat. His knee, brushing up against mine under the table, delivering a solid reminder of the almost... almost blast off that just happened. Maybe they aren't close, maybe it's a work colleague, or something like that? Surely, that wouldn't be someone Chaz would have an issue with?

"I'll just take a beer." His eyes meet mine, both our faces flushed as he looks away from me, staring at his fingers, tapping on the wooden tabletop. "Thanks, Chaz." He's got this guilty look on his face. I mean, we were just getting a little nasty in the restroom...

"You got it," Chaz replies, turning for the bar, giving this guy some sort of look before flickering his eyes to mine, "Trey."

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