Uninhibited

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A Screaming Orgasm



“T-T-Trey?” I repeat the name Chaz just said. Well, more like I stutter it. Oh. My. Gah. The stutter! My eyes, slowly traveling up from the somewhat sticky table to his face. “Are you shitting me?” I gawk at him. Yes, fucking gawk. My mouth hangs wide open, staring at this guy. Holy hell! How many years has it been? I’m trying to rack my brain, thinking of when I may have seen him last. Because I know, I know. He did not look like this.

“Wait.” His fingers continue nervously drumming over the wooden surface until he catches my eyes flicker to them. I can’t stand repetitive sounds; fingers tapping, feet shaking, pens clicking. They’re like a zeroed in connection straight to my nerves and make me wanna snap.

He leans in closer, glancing over at Chaz, still waiting for the drinks before he turns back to me. “You didn’t know... you seriously didn’t know it was me?” His voice whispers the words as dark brows pull together over his light eyes, a tiny bit of hurt in them that makes me feel bad. I can smell the faint trace of liquor on his breath, or... maybe it’s seeping from my pores?

I close one eye at a time, doing a quick camera one, camera two. Dang! There’s an extra one of him now, not that it’s a bad thing—he’s fun to look at. The ingested alcohol disperses through my bloodstream. Mix that up with this sweet little revelation... yeah, drunk as fuck. “Of course I didn’t know it was you. Have you seen—”

“Everything alright?” Chaz walks up, sliding a beer in front of Trey and handing me a frosty glass filled with water, which I gulp down like I haven’t had a drop in days.

“Fine,” Trey mutters, pressing his lips to a slight smile, averting his eyes from mine.

“Yup. All good.” I widen my discombobulated stare, looking in front of me at the buzzing crowd. Tapping my black polished fingernails over the condensation. Doesn’t count as annoying when I do it!

“See?” Chaz hooks an arm around our shoulders, standing in between us as we sit, awkward as all hell. “I knew you’d remember each other.”

Trey chokes on the swig of beer he’s currently guzzling, or maybe there’s still some of my spit left in his mouth? Foul.

“Um, no, I didn’t remember him!” The words fly out before my brain can tell my mouth to stay shut. “Are we looking at the same person?”

“Briar,” Chaz says my name, giving the back of my neck a little squeeze. Shooting me a warning look, his jaw tenses, he’s not usually one to correct.

“Sorry,” I reply, staring at Trey... fucking Trey... hauled up in his room playing dungeons and dragons or some shit, couldn’t look at anyone or talk, mother fucking Trey. I’m pretty sure I’d barely spoken to him the one, maybe two times I’d seen him in the past. It would’ve had to be at least two years, because I hadn’t been to New York since then. “It’s just...” I gesture a hand to him. “You just—”

“She’s been a little heavy-handed.” He winks at Trey with a click of his tongue before side eyeing me.

I choke on the final drop of my water. Def gonna need something stronger. Also, heavy-handed!?!? You have no idea, bro.

“Trey,” I repeat the name. “Your old roommate?” Chaz nods slowly. I cannot believe this is the same damn person! “The one you said was heartbroken?” I snap my eyes to the light green ones. His nose crinkles as he looks down at the label of his beer bottle, sliding his thumb over it, tracing the beaded up water slipping down the neck, slowly. He didn’t seem all that heartbroken several minutes ago.

Agh! Get in the game!

“Briar, what’s your issue?” Chaz stands between us, and for a few seconds, he slowly turns his head from side to side. He’s not stupid, not by any means. His SATs were almost flawless, he’s got more brains than he usually admits, and it’s like I can see the lightbulb click on over his head. “Wait?” Trey sits up straighter, his guilt-ridden gaze meeting mine. “Where’d you both come from?”

“Huh?”

“When I walked back in, the table was empty, and then the two... the two of you were—”

“Tequila!” I blurt out, like it’s my safe word. No, it’s definitely not.

“What?” Chaz’s brows pinch together as his suspicious eyes dart back and forth.

God, if he thinks that we... anything... he will most likely go on a tirade.

I peek over at the sexy, sultry hair lining the chiseled jaw of magic fingers—okay, I guess I’ll start calling him by his given name. Anyway, I don’t want, or need, an overprotective older brother wannabe, no matter how much I love him, coming at either of us sideways.

“I was going to get another Tequila.” Fuck my life. “Anyway, Trey recognized me and cut me off at the bar, so I didn’t get a chance to order.”

Hmmm. Very nice job, if I say so myself. The slur was minimal, the smile, sweet enough.

Chaz shrugs.

“So,” I say, slowly. Giving Trey, hopefully, the briefest of looks and an unspoken agreement that the bathroom bang-a-almost-rang should just not be mentioned. “Would you mind getting me one?” I give Chaz a pouty frown.

“Sure,” he replies. “He hasn’t changed that much.” His nose scrunches as he walks back to the bar. Good boy. Trey lifts a shoulder, choosing to stay mute for the time being, which is probably not the worst idea.

“What the fuck?” I hiss at him. “You knew who I was, and you didn’t—”

“Um, I tried.” His mouth hangs open, his focus shifting from me back to Chaz. “I kept trying to... I kept saying... I thought—”

“You still have that stutter?” I ask, clapping a hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry. That was rude.” And suddenly my mind is back in that germ infested, bleach scented, bad lighting restroom. And I’m thinking about the stuff he said. He wanted this?

What?

“Only around you.” His eyes lock to mine as he leans back in his chair, blowing out a long breath, and shoving a hand through his hair.

Oh, fuck it. Just take my panties!

“Wait. Really?” I crinkle my nose. “You have... you have a crush on me?”

Why the hell am I stuttering now?

“Had,” he specifies. “Had. We all did. All the guys when you came and visited—”

He makes a funny face as a brief snort works its way from somewhere between my nose and closed lips. “Bullshit,” I reply. “None of you talked to me. No one even tried to ever—”

“Because of him.” Trey nods his head to the side, gesturing to Chaz, who’s finishing up at the bar. “He threatened bodily harm if any of us even spoke to you.”

With a quick eye roll, I shake my head. “He’s a little extra with that shit.”

“Nah.” His voice comes out soft as he does a status check before leaning in. “He’s just protective. I’ve got four sisters, I know how it goes.”

“Well, I’m not his sister.” I trace my fingers along the wood grain swirled into the table, giving a quick double brow raise. “And your body has—”

“His body... what?”

The cock-block is back.

“Nothing.” I smirk, staring at the little plate in front of me. The salt, the lime, the shot. All kinds of new thoughts trickle into my head as I imagine licking his neck, the golden liquid slipping into each and every indentation of what I’m assuming, by the over-the-clothes feel, is a ridiculously delectable torso as I move my way slowly down, finishing—

“Briar!” Chaz scolds, staring at me like I’ve gone absolutely crazy. He’s probably not wrong. A steady stream of salt, pouring onto my left hand as I stare, blatantly fucking stare at his friend, my mouth hanging open. “His body, what?” he repeats the question that I pretty much just answer with my massive eye fuck. What the fuck? Down the hatch!

I take the shot as slow as possible to allow my laggy brain time to come up with an acceptable answer. “Oh.” I let out a stupid laugh. “Trey was just telling me how he broke up with his girlfriend and I said way to go on that revenge body!” I punch a slow fist into Trey’s upper arm, as Chaz finally sits down across from me. Also... revenge body... for reals!?

“I thought she broke up with you?” he questions. Trey looks down at his bottle before shooting Chaz a look. A barely there smile pressing onto his lips.

God, those lips.

“She did, we were just—”

“And what are you talking about?” Mister inquisitor gives me a squinty eyed glare. “He’s looked like this for years. What’s going on?”

Chaz’s eyes shift back and forth between the two of us, a quick up and down of his suspicious stare, before landing on Trey, who lifts his hands in front of him.

“Why did you have her jacket? And why was he following you?”

Because we just had a lovely little reunion, or first union in the bathroom that left me with this chronic ache between my legs. And this shot of tequila that just burned its way down my esophagus seemed to continue its gravitational pull, making me hot and wet and fucking—

“Chaz!” A deep voice calls out from a handsome God-like male, approaching our table. What in the hail? And why didn’t they have guys like this where I was the last six years. “Briar.” The hot box acknowledges before focusing his blue eyes on Trey. “Hey man, what’s up?”

“Oh, my God!” The realization hits me. “Spencer McComas?” I raise a brow, sitting with my jaw dropped open. Damn, leave for a few years and all the fuckers grow up to be hot pieces of ass! Holy shit, I’m drunk.

“Good to see you, Briar.” His tongue slides over his bottom lip before biting down. A wide grin coats his clean-shaven face as his blue eyes shift from mine to Chaz. Dark blonde hair, gelled—of course—to perfection. I run a finger over one of my eyebrows. Men should not be allowed to have better manicured brows than women. Or at least the women that keep on the up and up with the waxing or threading or whatever the fuck.

Still... I can appreciate an avid manscaper.

“This is my boy, Trey.” Chaz makes the introduction, and I can feel my bathroom buddy’s knee tense, still brushed up against mine, under the table. “This is Spencer. Me and Bri grew up with him.” They exchange pleasantries, kinda.

Chuckie boy abandons his third degree and thank shits and tits for that. Because given the newfound candor I’ve decided to bless the world with, and throw in a glass—orrrr multiple glasses—of truth serum, and I’m fairly sure I’d be about two seconds from admitting that I’m craving that almost orgasm fifty million more times than I was back in that god-forsaken ladies room.

Spence, as we called him, lodges himself directly between Trey and I, dragging a random vacant chair from a nearby table.

I miss his knee. I miss his lips. And I really miss his long and super-extending, skilled fingers. But I don’t miss the next two shots that I take! Fuck, tomorrow is gonna feel like a jackhammer on a metal beam slicing straight through my skull.

Eh.

I don’t listen to a word. I mean, I hear them, sure do, but I’m spending my time catching glimpses of the jade—not to be confused with jaded—eyed hottie I had an ultra-brief tryst with. And intoxicated Briar is looking to pull out the jumper cables and give that bad boy another go.

“So, nothing for you, Chaz?” Spencer asks.

“Nah, I gotta hit it.” A father-figure-wanna-be look casts my way. “You ready?” Charles—who is not in fucking charge of me—asks.

“Nah,” I reply with a challenging grin. “You have to work in the morning. I’m gainfully unemployed.” I give my mature-ish bestie a shitty smirk. Though, the smartest idea at this moment is for me to walk my happy ass the single block to his apartment and crash on that leather sofa. Fuck. Note to self, disinfect it first. But, like I said, balls to the wall... maybe the floor, haven’t risked standing up yet.

Chaz takes a deep breath before exhaling, looking between Trey and Spencer... focusing on the former. “Can I talk to you for a second?” Trey nods a single time, not bothering to look my way. His stance, serious—back straight, arms crossed—as Chaz gives what I’m guessing is an earful, shooting several glances my way, which I return with eye rolls.

Sadly, I can’t hear over the music, the roaring tequila aftermath in my head, or the fact that Spencer—who is almost sitting in my lap—is talking my ear off.

“Trey’s got a key,” Chaz says with a nod. “Just don’t fucking puke when you get back.”

“Pfft.” I blow a long, dark strand from my face. “I can handle my liquor,” I counter.

Man... I’m so full of shit.

“Make sure she gets home in one piece,” Chaz tells him, still looking directly at me. Spencer, thank fuck, has shut up. “And I meant what I said.” Trey lets out a single, short cough.

“Night, old man.” I sneer at him, prompting a quick look to the ceiling. Shaking his head, Chaz says his goodbyes.

“So,” Spencer begins, still awkwardly perched between us, my eyes finding Trey’s. “What will you have, Briar?”

“I’ll take a bathroom orgasm,” I answer with a mischievous smile, my attention not leaving the one I actually want to give it to me.

A short and grunty sound comes from Trey, his eyes widen, flickering away from mine.

“I don’t think they have that here? I’m not sure I know what that is?” Spencer fumbles over the words—guy always was a bit dense. Dense Spence... I’m stupid.

“Oh, really?” I ask, keeping my focus on Trey. His jaw hardens as he fights the smile threatening the corner of his lips. “I swore I had one here, well I almost did.”

“I think you mean a screaming orgasm? I’m pretty sure that’s the drink name?”

“Right, right.” I tilt my head to glance up at Spencer, giving him a nod before shooting a look back at Trey, who is visibly uncomfortable. I nudge my foot against his lower leg. He clears his throat, closing his eyes, head shaking. “I’ll take one of them”—I deliver a slow wink—“too.”

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