“Dance with me.”
“What?” Her head cocks back. “No.”
She laughs off my request. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Yanking her from the stool, I bring
her into me with an insisting arm on her tapered waist. She gasps from the spontaneous
jolt, bracing herself with my biceps, her nails biting into my skin with a gratifying
burn. I smile at the honeyed lilt of her laughter, anticipating the confection
of sweet noises she’ll make when I take her.
Pressed tight, we sway, eyes welded.
My hands slide to the breadth of her hips, wider since she arrived in my bar—in
my life. Holding Rae to me as we move, it becomes painfully evident they aren’t
the only proportions that filled out in the past weeks. Her upturned breasts smash
into my chest. They’re begging for my mouth.
Extremely turned-on, my fingers
clutch the taut fabric of her skirt, my hands balling into fists, bringing the
hem high on her thighs. Before overthinking
my next move, I hoist her onto the unforgiving counter, forcing her legs open with
my waist. She presses her pliable lines into my immoveable edges.
Her scent, her suppleness, her black
waterfall of hair. Something about Rae makes me feel like a fucking man.
I lean my lips close to hers
but don’t let them touch. “If you don’t want this,” I groan into her parted
mouth, “you know what to do.”
She boosts her hips from the
bar’s surface to help me along.
“I want it.”
I shove the hem up around her
waist, revealing her panty-less condition. Hungrily staring me in the eyes, she
raises her arms high over her head, inviting me to continue removing her dress.
Makes my cock so hard I could hammer a nail through the densest wood. Accepting
her invitation, I pull my hands skyward, taking her dress with me, peeling it
from her bare curves.
I involuntarily groan.
“Think you forgot somethin’
when you rushed out,” I remark, the line of my mouth cracking into a crooked
smile.
Her entire body blushes. Even
her permanently erect nipples take on a rosier shade. Fuck me if that doesn’t
make her hotter.
“The dress was too tight for
panties,” she confesses in a whispered voice, as if telling me a secret.
“Sounds awful.” I caress the
under curve of her breast with my knuckle, to the mouthwatering pink gumdrop
reaching temptingly toward the ceiling. “Glad I could relieve you of it.”
She sucks a sharp breath in
between her teeth when I clamp the bud between the pads of my thumb and pointer
finger.
“Tell me what you want, Reagan,”
I order gently.
“I want to come.” She moans
when I loosen my vise-like pinch on her. “And I want you to be the one who
makes me.”
Her hot breath, spiked with a
hint of sweet liquor, rushes out in cock-twitching pants.
An arm’s length away, I reach
for the cocktail garnishes and pluck a Maraschino cherry from the container, bringing
it to her mouth. I glide it across her lips, over the tip of her tongue, sneaking
out to taste the juices threatening to drip down her chin.
“Open your mouth,” I instruct, mesmerized
by how fucking sexy she is.
Opening it without pause, I wedge
the bright fruit between her cherry-stained lips. Before she comes to her
senses and pushes me away again, my mouth covers hers, breaching the wet gap
between with my tongue, roughly declaring it mine. The cherry splits from the
force of our kiss, the sugary syrup seeping down our chins. Her tongue sloppily
tastes the sticky mess, her eyes shut. She’s completely immersed in us.
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