You know how it ends, now see how it all began…Prequel to Strip Me Bare"It doesn't matter how many women touch this body, only one woman has ever touched this soul."Ryan Pierce doesn’t come from much, doesn’t ask for much, and doesn’t expect much. And he's come to accept that, until, Alana Remington. Alana is the girl who struck the match that lit his world on fire. She's the girl who opened his eyes to more. Who made him believe that just because you have nothing, doesn't mean you are nothing. And he loves her fiercely for it. But, just because you come together, doesn’t mean you stay together. One fateful decision rips Ryan and Alana apart and neither of them are ever the same again.For five years he's regretted that decision, but the deep seeded anger, shame and resentment has kept him from reaching out. And over those five years, a series of moments have spun Ryan's world in a direction he never saw coming. A world ruled by endless nights, infinite women and the name Jack the Stripper. A world, unbeknownst to him, that may just let two severed hearts collide.
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“Do you trust me?”
“Of course not, I just met you.”
“Then how about giving me the benefit of the doubt?”
She raises an eyebrow at me, and before I give her a chance to respond I slam the shot then pull her face to mine. And as my mouth covers hers, heat rapidly spreads through my body. She’s momentarily stunned. Her body is rigid against me, but then she relaxes, parts her lips and lets the tart liquid slide into her mouth.
I can’t believe I just did that.
I can’t believe she just let me.
After she swallows, she lets her lips linger, sucking up the taste of the sweet shot, causing my nervous system to shift into hyper-drive. We break apart slowly, but I refuse to let go of the nape of her neck. She just stares up at me with these enthralling eyes I know I’ll never be able to resist.
“Do you always break the rules?” she asks.
“No, not usually, but you seem to make me want to do crazy things.”
“Was that crazy?”
“Let’s do it again and find out.”
I lick my lower lip, tasting the sweet remnants of her lip gloss before I drop another shot. I pause for just a beat before lean down and press my mouth back to hers and let the alcohol flow between us. I flick my tongue against her teeth right before I pull away. I shouldn’t like this so much, but I do. I like the way she looks, the way she feels, they way she smells. There’s something about her, something ventilating; like she oxygenates the atmosphere.
I catch the cool beats to a song I recognize pumping though the air. “Do you want to dance?” I ask her.
“You can dance?”
“There’s only one thing I can do better.” I smirk.
Alana cocks her eye brow suggestively.
“Draw.” I fire back. “The only thing I can do better is draw. Dirty girl.” I tease as I grab her hand and lead her out to the dance floor knowing Mac will look after our drinks.
Once we find a comfortable spot, I start to move to the smooth rhythm, leaving a little room between us so it doesn’t feel like I’m forcing myself on her. Drake sings coolly about hot love and affection as we move in sync to the beat, our bodies brushing and grazing as the music plays on, then finally coming together in a comfortable unison. I wrap one hand around her waist as I roll my hips into hers, pressing our bodies as close as they can possibly get. Alana runs her hands up my chest and hooks her arms lightly around my neck keeping tempo with the music. She moves lithely against me, inducing my heart, thoughts, and pulse to race. Fuck, I’m drowning in want for this girl. I slide my hands up under her shirt and caress the smooth, soft skin of her lower back as she nuzzles her face into my neck, her warm breath skating across my collarbone, making me instantly hard.
Damn.
She lifts her head and meets my stare, which I know is filled with lust and unrepentantly wanton. She bites her lower lip, our bodies still jiving to the slow seductive music. In a brazen move, I slip my hand up the back of her bare thigh and cup her ass cheek under the hem of her short shorts. She gasps as I work my fingers against her, massaging the fleshy part of her bottom. I’m absolutely aching being this close to her, touching her, stroking her, grinding against her.
“Are you sure drawing is the only thing you can do better?” she pants in my ear.
Marissa Carmel has loved writing ever since a young age. She has a duel degree in History and Political Science, but took as many creative writing classes in college as she could. She spent most of her twenties bartending, which is where she met her husband and a multitude of interesting people. When she’s not reading or writing, she’s hanging out with her family, experimenting in her kitchen or doing yoga on the living room floor.
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