Not with a Drunk, Dirty Rocker

Tryp sipped his Scotch and watched Elfie shoot back the whole screwdriver. He had made her drink weak, but he suspected that her tolerance was low and he knew that her body mass was scant. When he had picked her up to carry her to the bed last night, he’d nearly tossed her at the ceiling, expecting more resistance.

Something was still wrong, somehow. He didn’t know what, maybe because he was on his seventh drink and a bit buzzed.

Elfie wiped her delicate mouth with the back of her hand and set the drink on the end table. He was just buzzed enough to let all the old stuff fall away, but certainly not drunk enough to sleep.

When he had arrived at her room and she’d stepped into the hallway in that gilt dress with her golden hair glorious around her shoulders and falling to her waist, he had kissed her gently but had wanted to drag her back to his room right then, wrap his hands in that hair, and hold her down while he had her.

They had eaten at the nightclub, and he hadn’t been able to stop watching the way that her mouth moved when she tucked strawberries and bits of meat between her full lips. When they were dancing, he almost managed to keep his hands off her, but his fingers traced her body because he couldn’t help himself.

He had decided to take it slow tonight, but his body wanted to jump her.

Tryp set his drink down and ran his fingers under her jaw to her sharp chin, lifting her face. Her cornflower blue eyes seemed a little too big as he came in for the kiss, but she slid her arms around his neck and dragged herself against him.

His arms wrapped around her lithe body, and the sweet orange juice in her mouth tasted like sugar after the harsh Scotch he’d had. Tryp ran his hands over her dress, smooth under his palms, grabbing her like he’d wanted to at the nightclub. Her cool fingers sneaked under his shirt, and he gasped and pulled back at the tickling. Too much. He was used to being drunk for this.

He stood up and swung her legs up into his arms so that he was carrying her. He double-checked with one eye that the door to the bedroom stood open and took her in there. After he’d showered, while he’d been waiting for her to call, he’d made a playlist of sweet stuff, maybe some sappy stuff, stuff that had too much guitar and too little in the way of drums, and left it playing on a deck by the bed, and he’d lowered the lights. If they hadn’t ended up here, or if he’d gotten wasted and she poured him into bed, it might have smacked of desperation, but what the hell. Worth the risk.

Her lips sucked on his and he groaned deep in his chest, and her hands were on his cheeks. He laid her on the bed and stripped off his shirt before climbing in with her. Her eyes swept over his body as the bed bent toward him, and he could almost feel her looking at him.

Yes, all that ink, everywhere.

Yes, all that muscle, because he was the drummer.

Yes, he was going to use it all on her.

He crawled on top of her and rolled big swaths of her golden hair around his hands.

She gasped, just a little, her throat working under his lips, and he straightened because he didn’t want her to cry again, he would do anything to keep her from crying again, but she flipped both her arms around his neck and pulled him back down.

He rolled sideways, lying beside her, and her breathing went back to normal. Well, she was breathing hard, and he smiled to himself. Hell yeah, she was breathing hard against his lips, but her inhale didn’t quiver.

He ran his hand over her stomach, the gold silk of her dress catching on the drumming calluses on his palms, and when he reached the hem, he slid his hand up her bare leg to her hip.

She rolled toward him, kissing him with one hand on his shoulder while the guitar music flowed around them, and his hand slipped around to her bare ass.

Between her lack of panties and the way her breasts had shivered under the thin silk of her dress, she had been naked under that dress all night. He could have shoved his hand under her dress and gotten a palmful of naked woman at any minute, the whole night.

Oh, he loved surprises like that.

He rose up, going after her neck and shoulder again, shoving her dress strap down her arm and chewing on her lightly. She gasped, but there wasn’t a tremor in there this time, not when she molded her body to his like that. He was already hard and straining at his jeans, just from the necking and the light scent of feminine sweat and perfume on her. He buried his face in her neck, wanting to breathe her in as much as taste her skin, and he pressed her body tight against him, feeling all her curves.

Her arm left his shoulder and she was fumbling behind her waist, but Tryp had already found her zipper. Instead of letting her take it off, he yanked himself away from her and she fell on her stomach, “Oh!”

He pushed off the bed, jumping on her and raking his teeth over the nape of her neck. She arched her back, raising up, not fighting him but pushing herself against his mouth, and he slid his knee between her thighs.

While she was up, he grabbed her under her stomach and pulled her back against him, rubbing her ass on his erection through his jeans. He was already so hard, tight in his skin, and the view of her naked ass against his crotch made him fumble with the zipper on the small of her back.

He had meant to go slow, but his body was betraying him. He wanted her now.

He dragged the zipper down, loosening her dress, and the straps fell down her arms. She slipped the silk over her elbows and twisted in his arms, looking back over her pale shoulder. “Like this?”

Maybe next time.

“No.” His voice grated like he’d sung an eight-hour set. “Turn over.”

She flipped in his arms, and her eyes widened. She held her breath.

Was it when he was on top? Was that it?

Tryp grabbed her neck with his mouth and moved down her body, stripping her dress off her legs as he shimmied down her.

As soon as he wasn’t looming over her, she moaned and grabbed him again, hanging onto him with her thin arms.

He could work with that.

In time, maybe he could work on that.

His mouth found her breasts, and she grabbed him around the neck harder, pulling him to her.

He responded to her roughness, running his tongue over her nip until it hardened into a peak and moving to the other one to get that one, too.

She was writhing under him and panting with little gasps. Between the scotch and her intoxicating body, Tryp couldn’t think straight or even remember his plan to go slow, and he yanked the buttons open on his jeans. He couldn’t stay away from her skin and mouthed her stomach while he tried to push his jeans and underwear down, but the cloth snagged on his straining erection.

Elfie was holding his shoulders, her fingernails just digging into his skin, points of pain that revved him up harder. “Please,” she said.

“You bet. Give me a sec.” He tugged at his black underwear but his blood wasn’t rushing to his fingers or his brain.

“You might have to go slow.”

He spoke into her flat stomach, feeling her satin skin with his lips. “Don’t know if I can, sugar.”

“Just, um,” a moan undercut what she was saying as his mouth found her breast again. “I haven’t, before.”

“You will this time.” He almost got his underwear off the head of his dick.

Her voice caught in her throat. “No, I’ve never done this before.”

Tryp stopped. His hands and mouth froze. “You’re a virgin?”

“Yes. Just go slow.”

Tryp leapt backwards, pushing himself off her and the bed with all of his limbs. He stumbled backward, flailing madly, and smacked his spine and skull into the wall. “What the hell?”

Elfie snatched the comforter and clawed it over herself. “Don’t stop!”

He yanked the buttons of his jeans over his hard dick. “Your first time should be with someone you love, who loves you, not a drunk, dirty rocker.”

Elfie fell backward on the bed, curled into a miserable ball, and burst into tears.

Oh, man. This was not right.