Insatiable Craving: 2 (Insatiable Nights) by Rosalie Stanton Page B
Authors: Rosalie Stanton
Tags: Erótica
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about putting real effort into looking feminine.
Honestly, she had no idea what Razor had seen in her beyond perhaps an easy lay. Ginny hadn’t bothered with more than light powder since the Travis incident, and she didn’t go out of her way to primp her hair or accessorize or do anything she considered girly. In fact, aside from her recent nightly visits to Electric Panther, her social life was limited to her Facebook newsfeed and the occasional phone call from Mom.
Watching herself change in the mirror damn near felt like a dream. She introduced some curl to her normally straight brown hair, applied a modest amount of lipstick, added a hint of blush to her pale cheeks and virtually disappeared inside herself.
Would Razor even recognize her like this?
An excited rush raced up her spine. She shook her head, flashed her reflection what she hoped was a passably confident smile, then left to face the world, a new woman.
This attitude successfully followed her over the familiar walk toward the club. Walking was one of those things her therapist had recommended following Travis. It made her feel vulnerable and exposed. Anyone she crossed had the potential to make themselves an enemy. Fear of open places had consumed her for the first few months, which was why confronting her anxiety was such an important step. It was the one thing Ginny could say she had resolutely mastered, and the few self-defense courses she’d taken didn’t hurt either.
She smiled at the bouncer, who waved her in without bothering to ask for ID. The air inside was thick with smoke as always, and the familiar chords of one of Razor’s staple songs pounded through the speakers. The usual crowd had gathered around the stage, moving in predictable, familiar ways as lights flashed, drinks poured and all players assumed their natural positions.
Ginny’s throat tightened and her skin tingled. Just hours ago the place had been a ghost town and she and Razor had made furious love against a wall now an ocean of people away. The space looked the same yet everything was different.
She was different.
She was different and she was here with a purpose. No more running from things—this was her time to step up and take ownership of her life. So Ginny braced herself, summoned her courage, then turned her attention to the stage.
And her heart stopped.
Oh God.
Razor was looking straight at her—his gaze transfixed. Everything around her stilled, her ears filling with white noise and her breath catching in her throat. He didn’t bother looking away, rather stared without shame. His nostrils flared, his large, intoxicating eyes drank her in, his sensuous lips curved around his lyrics. He seemed to consume her. As though he had sensed her the moment she entered the building. The notion was ridiculous, but she wouldn’t know it to look at him. He held her gaze, his fingers lazily strumming notes she didn’t hear.
Heat pooled in her belly and spread, inching slowly through her veins. She released a shaky breath and pressed her thighs together, which did little but encourage the burn. Every nerve in her body trembled, her palms clammy, her legs shaking and her fingers itching to touch something. She felt hot and wet, and so freaking aware of herself she was certain everyone around her knew the thoughts racing through her head.
All the while, Razor stared.
How in the hell did he have this effect on her?
Ginny didn’t have much time to wonder. Razor pushed the song to its climax. Sweat dribbled down his face and clung to his hair and, as always, he seemed to breathe in the crowd’s energy. He ended with characteristic flourish, jumping on the last note and throwing the guitar pick into the audience. Wild screams filled the void before Ginny had time to miss the music, and didn’t die down until Razor approached the microphone again.
“Thanks, guys,” he said, running a hand through his thick black hair. The crowd responded with more enthusiasm. He grinned
Honestly, she had no idea what Razor had seen in her beyond perhaps an easy lay. Ginny hadn’t bothered with more than light powder since the Travis incident, and she didn’t go out of her way to primp her hair or accessorize or do anything she considered girly. In fact, aside from her recent nightly visits to Electric Panther, her social life was limited to her Facebook newsfeed and the occasional phone call from Mom.
Watching herself change in the mirror damn near felt like a dream. She introduced some curl to her normally straight brown hair, applied a modest amount of lipstick, added a hint of blush to her pale cheeks and virtually disappeared inside herself.
Would Razor even recognize her like this?
An excited rush raced up her spine. She shook her head, flashed her reflection what she hoped was a passably confident smile, then left to face the world, a new woman.
This attitude successfully followed her over the familiar walk toward the club. Walking was one of those things her therapist had recommended following Travis. It made her feel vulnerable and exposed. Anyone she crossed had the potential to make themselves an enemy. Fear of open places had consumed her for the first few months, which was why confronting her anxiety was such an important step. It was the one thing Ginny could say she had resolutely mastered, and the few self-defense courses she’d taken didn’t hurt either.
She smiled at the bouncer, who waved her in without bothering to ask for ID. The air inside was thick with smoke as always, and the familiar chords of one of Razor’s staple songs pounded through the speakers. The usual crowd had gathered around the stage, moving in predictable, familiar ways as lights flashed, drinks poured and all players assumed their natural positions.
Ginny’s throat tightened and her skin tingled. Just hours ago the place had been a ghost town and she and Razor had made furious love against a wall now an ocean of people away. The space looked the same yet everything was different.
She was different.
She was different and she was here with a purpose. No more running from things—this was her time to step up and take ownership of her life. So Ginny braced herself, summoned her courage, then turned her attention to the stage.
And her heart stopped.
Oh God.
Razor was looking straight at her—his gaze transfixed. Everything around her stilled, her ears filling with white noise and her breath catching in her throat. He didn’t bother looking away, rather stared without shame. His nostrils flared, his large, intoxicating eyes drank her in, his sensuous lips curved around his lyrics. He seemed to consume her. As though he had sensed her the moment she entered the building. The notion was ridiculous, but she wouldn’t know it to look at him. He held her gaze, his fingers lazily strumming notes she didn’t hear.
Heat pooled in her belly and spread, inching slowly through her veins. She released a shaky breath and pressed her thighs together, which did little but encourage the burn. Every nerve in her body trembled, her palms clammy, her legs shaking and her fingers itching to touch something. She felt hot and wet, and so freaking aware of herself she was certain everyone around her knew the thoughts racing through her head.
All the while, Razor stared.
How in the hell did he have this effect on her?
Ginny didn’t have much time to wonder. Razor pushed the song to its climax. Sweat dribbled down his face and clung to his hair and, as always, he seemed to breathe in the crowd’s energy. He ended with characteristic flourish, jumping on the last note and throwing the guitar pick into the audience. Wild screams filled the void before Ginny had time to miss the music, and didn’t die down until Razor approached the microphone again.
“Thanks, guys,” he said, running a hand through his thick black hair. The crowd responded with more enthusiasm. He grinned
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