Faster We Burn

Woodfalls. Strangers were far and few between. Couple that with the fact that he was drop-dead gorgeous and his sudden appearance was like a gift from god. Not that good-looking was a prerequisite. The only requirement I had set was that he know nothing about me or my past. I wanted one night where someone wanted me for me, not because they felt sorry for me.
    “Hey, Joe, can I get a shot?” I asked, sliding onto the barstool next to the tall-dark-panty-dropping-worthy hunk.
    “Sure thing, Ashton. How’d you like your beer?” Joe asked, drying a small shot glass with a cotton towel he had tucked into his apron.
    “It tasted like pee,” I confessed.
    Joe threw his head back as a loud roar of laughter erupted out of him. “Drink a lot of pee, do you?” he asked.
    I opened my mouth to answer him sarcastically when the object of my fascination let out a low rumble of laughter. Seizing my opportunity, I gulped down the bourbon Joe had placed in front of me and swiveled around to face the stranger next to me. The liquor burned its way down my throat, leaving a fiery trail all the way to my belly, but it was eclipsed by the liquid fire that burned through me when my eyes finally met his.
    “Can I get you another?” he asked softly in a radio DJ-like voice that you would hear on a lonely Saturday night, encouraging listeners to call in with their favorite weepy love songs.
    “Sure.” I eyed my empty glass as my body responded to his sexier-than-sin voice. I was a sucker for a deep voice—or an accent, especially British or Australian accents. Neither though, could compare to his rich deep voice that seemed to vibrate through me. I realized in that instant I had left a crucial item off my bucket list. Having an intimate conversation with someone with a voice like his should have topped my list.
    “You all right?” he asked, looking bemused as Joe placed another shot in front of me. I started to answer his question and mentally kicked myself when I realized I’d been staring at him like he was a tall glass of water on a hot summer day. Matter of fact, I was about ninety-nine point nine percent sure I may have licked my lips in anticipation.
    “Absolutely. How ‘bout you?” I asked, trying for a seductive throaty voice that just went wrong. “Thanks for the drink,” I added, sucking down the liquid confidence in an attempt to calm my frazzled nerves.
    His bemused expression turned to outright amusement as he took in my watery eyes that had resulted from my quick gulping of the whiskey shot. “Another?” he asked with raised eyebrows.
    “Why not,” I answered, though the room was already tilting slightly. I could count on one hand the amount of times I’d actually had a drink growing up. They all centered on the time my life had slipped drastically off course. I’d gone hog wild for a couple of weeks until I realized drowning my sorrows in alcohol only made me sick, and didn’t solve anything anyway. After that it wasn’t a viable option. Needless to say, my time in high school and college had been pretty lackluster.
    Tall, Dark and Dreamy chuckled softly beside me as he flagged down Joe for another round. Holding up his own shot glass, he waited until I raised mine to meet his, and then winked at me as we clinked glasses. “Damn,” my breath hitched. I was a sucker for winking too. Something about it made my stomach tighten up in anticipation and my breath quicken. Not to mention having Mr. Seximist behind the wink made other areas tighten up too, while a certain other area began to throb. It took me a moment to distinguish the throbbing as desire. My one and only sexual encounter had been four years ago, after prom, and it didn’t last long enough to ever cross over into the desire category. It was the means to an end. I had wanted to feel normal just for one night, and by the end of the dance, I finally coaxed Shawn Johnson into ending my virgin status once and for all. He’d resisted the idea at first, but my constant touches and whispered comments finally muddled his brain enough that he caved. The actual act lasted less than two minutes and hurt like a bitch, but in the end, I was glad I’d gone through with it.
    It was ironic that one wink by Mr. Voice had me crossing my legs in an attempt to distill the ache that was slowly beginning to radiate between my legs. He’d managed to excite me more in three minutes of flirting than Shawn had done in an entire evening of slow dancing,