"That's it, baby," he continues, his tone almost soothing, despite the filth spilling from his lips. "Take my cock. Take all of it."
Baby.
My belly flutters, my heart soaring like a fool even though I know it's a runaway utterance. A thoughtless spi...
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You know the phrase, "out-of-body experience"?
I've had quite a few people tell me they've had out-of-body experiences over the years, and each time I'd wondered what situation they had found—or put—themselves in that resulted in such a profound impact on them. Or I thought they were just being overly dramatic or exaggerating, like lots of people do, even when they don't mean to.
I can't remember when exactly I'd first heard the expression itself, but the first time I'd learned about its origin was six years ago in my Greek and Roman mythology class during my initial go around at college.
It was the story of Pentheus and Bacchus, the god of excess booze and crazy wild sex—or as my professor so dearly called him, 'the Frat god'.
In a nutshell, even though his mother and sisters welcomed and worshipped Bacchus with open arms, Pentheus adamantly refused to acknowledge him—or his questionable 'rituals'. Angered by his insolence and insubordination, Bacchus cast a spell on his mother, putting her into a temporary frenzy that made Pentheus appear as a wild animal to her. In that frenzied state of mind, she ripped him to pieces, tearing her own son apart limb from limb with her bare hands. While murdering her son, she was said to be 'ecstatic', which in Latin originally meant, "to be out of one's body."
Now, I definitely don't know about ripping anyone's body apart or anything ridiculous like that, but I think I can confidently say that, standing here right now on paralyzed feet, simultaneously shivering and feeling my skin burn to a crisp as the iciest pair of eyes bores mercilessly into mine, I can still understand the full scope of that phrase.
In this moment, I really feel like I'm out of my own body, watching myself from a distance as my mind tries to comprehend this situation.
My body remains immobile for several seconds and my brain turns to complete mush as large, strong, and sure hands continue to grip and support me—hands that can only belong to one man;
Dexter Frost.
This seriously can't be happening right now...
"Dex!"As if on cue, someone calls out from behind him. "There you are, you pretty son of a bitch!"
Oh, great.
An audience to witness this immeasurable awkwardness. Just what I fucking need right now.
My first impulse is to get out of his hold. He sets me upright, but doesn't let go. I try to take my arm away from within his firm grasp again, but he doesn't budge. In fact, he seems to hold on tighter.
I feel his fingers dig into my arm the more I try to get away, and after a few more hopeless tries, I finally relent. I really don't want to cause a scene or bring any more unnecessary attention to myself.
The man who'd called out to him comes over to us, holding what looks like a glass of whiskey in his hands and a Cuban cigar. He offers one to Frost, but he refuses with a polite gesture of his hand, waving his offer off.
"Thanks, but no thanks," he says. "You know those things will kill you, right?" he adds with a smile.
"Oh, here we go with the buzz killing-doctor mode again!" the man exclaims. "For crying out loud, it's one cigar! Don't be such a downer, Dex. You need to lighten up and live a bit."
Dr. Frost nods in agreement. "That's exactly what I intend to do, Jeff. With a working pair of lungs that can efficiently help me to smell the fresh air, among other things," he finishes with a coy smile.
Jeff huffs as he puts the cigar out and reluctantly dumps it into a nearby canister. "You always have to be such a fucking smart-ass, don't you?"
After disposing his Cuban with a grumble, the Jeff guy finally looks my way, and a wide smile quickly replaces the annoyed scowl he just had on.
"Well, hello there, sweet little thing," he says, candidly looking me up and down. It's as if he just realized I was standing there, as if I just suddenly appeared and became visible to him.
He lets his eyes roam generously over me for several seconds, and I can't even begin to describe how disturbing the gesture is.
I sigh internally.
Fucking terrific.
Not only do I look cheap, but I actually feel cheap now.
Dr. Frost audibly clears his throat, and I look up at his face once more, not failing to notice that he's frowning slightly. It's almost as if he's trying to conceal it, although I'm not sure what reason he'd have to be annoyed with his friend checking me out.
"Aren't you going to introduce me to your, uh, friend here, Dex?" Jeff says, scooting closer to us—well, more like scooting closer to me.
Without warning, he takes both my hands in his and insistently kisses my knuckles. I'm slightly taken aback, however, I don't respond to the gesture, but only because I really don't know how to. Frankly, I'm just in shock at the whole situation, and I'm definitely at a loss for words, so I remain quiet.
But just then, I realize I can't let Frost tell him who I really am, so I try to beat him to it.
"I'm Rav—"
"No, I'm not," he says, cutting me off before I barely get a chance to say anything. He looks at Jeff intently, with a coy grin that looks like it still has undertones of a scowl. "My companion and I were actually on our way outside for some fresh air before you interrupted us."
I feel his hand sliding over to the small of my back possessively, and my heart jumps at the contact.
I hold my breath on reflex at the feel of his strong fingers resting just a few inches above my ass. It feels like such an intimate gesture, and I don't know why he would do something like that, but I refuse to over-think it.
"Enjoy the party," he says finally, simultaneously nodding at Jeff and leading me away from him.
"Ah, you're never any fun, Dex," Jeff complains, still keeping his eyes on me.
I just smile nervously, because frankly, I don't know what else to do.
This is such an awkward situation.
I can't believe I'm even dealing with all this right now, and the night has just begun.
***
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