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Authors: Brenna St. Clare
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what if she woke up tomorrow hung over and kicking herself for losing self-control. And who cares if she would have never attempted it sober? Damn it, she deserved a bit of pleasure with a man she trusted.
Trusted ? Yes, she trusted him, but she had no clue why or how it had happened. He couldn’t hurt her. She stared at him as his toffee eyes seemed to flash black. Her luck, the damn man would kiss her right into toe-curling orgasm…right here in front of a bar full of people. And she’d take it. God, yes, she needed it. It’s just a little kiss.
Still searing her gaze back and forth across his mouth, she slid off her barstool. She nudged his knees open and stepped between his thighs. He dropped his glass on the bar with thud. Didn’t expect that, did you Michael? Her body palpitated in symphony with her heart. Their breathing synched inhale to exhale, they gazed at each other with clandestine recognition. She rested her hands on his shoulders, and his hands seared the curve of her waist. He tugged her toward him and the thick line of his massive erection hard pulsed hard between her legs. His tongue slid out and lined a gleam along his lips, and his eyes flickered with anticipation. That familiar current between them crackled and pulled. And all that remained hung like a dense fog of pressure between them: Who dared make the next move?
P lease kiss me already , blasted out of her every pore, but the words wouldn’t escape. Take what you want. For the first time in your fucking life, just take it!
She bent down, gazes steady… lower and lower she moved, his fingers tightening around her hips; she bent lower still until she was close enough to trace her tongue along his top lip, sampling the warm vodka flavor. His warm breath became her own as he parted his lips, and she pulled back. His lips curved. Sobering. If she thought for one second she had the control--that she was seducing him--she was dead frickin’ wrong. Michael embodied erotic enticement.
Her defenses lifted briefly. She leaned back farther and cleared her throat. “Marines always carry a gun, right?” His brows lifted, and he nodded. “And I don’t know if you’re shy or deliberately mysterious, but that gun between your legs says you like this.” Michael’s eyes widened, his jaw slackened. It was the perfect expression of surprise.
Yeah, she sounded slutty, but she didn’t give two shits. Her conscience was literally fist pumping. Karis had balance now--an even playing field.
He had no choice but to reveal himself.
His tongue tickled the edge of her ear as he whispered, “Sweetheart, I can smell how much you want this, see your pulse fluttering wildly in your neck, feel your hard nipples against my chest and the wet heat of your pussy against my cock.” She gasped at both his vulgar words and aggressive nip to her earlobe. Oh, yes. Cupping her nape, he nuzzled the sensitive spot beneath her ear. It was mere seconds…a frozen lapse between the moment his lips brushed over hers and when he lightly teased the crease with his tongue. She whimpered at the intimacy of it, treasured it within herself for safe-keeping. When would she every have a moment like this again?
He held her bottom lip between his teeth before slipping his tongue inside with a single sweep. She moaned, overcome with the silkiness of his tongue against hers, exploring and teasing every corner of her mouth. The scratch of his beard shadow braised her cheek. He tasted exactly how she knew he would—warm and vodka-clean. So distinctly Michael. Large hands slid down to cup her buttocks beneath her skirt. God, how she missed this… the firm touches, the heat, the urgency, the little nuances that made a man, a man.
With one final suck to her bottom lip, he pulled away, and a sound, so much like a whine, escaped her mouth. She felt the heat bloom on her face as the sound hit her ears. Brain function wasn’t hazy; it had completely halted. And it took every bit of her
Trusted ? Yes, she trusted him, but she had no clue why or how it had happened. He couldn’t hurt her. She stared at him as his toffee eyes seemed to flash black. Her luck, the damn man would kiss her right into toe-curling orgasm…right here in front of a bar full of people. And she’d take it. God, yes, she needed it. It’s just a little kiss.
Still searing her gaze back and forth across his mouth, she slid off her barstool. She nudged his knees open and stepped between his thighs. He dropped his glass on the bar with thud. Didn’t expect that, did you Michael? Her body palpitated in symphony with her heart. Their breathing synched inhale to exhale, they gazed at each other with clandestine recognition. She rested her hands on his shoulders, and his hands seared the curve of her waist. He tugged her toward him and the thick line of his massive erection hard pulsed hard between her legs. His tongue slid out and lined a gleam along his lips, and his eyes flickered with anticipation. That familiar current between them crackled and pulled. And all that remained hung like a dense fog of pressure between them: Who dared make the next move?
P lease kiss me already , blasted out of her every pore, but the words wouldn’t escape. Take what you want. For the first time in your fucking life, just take it!
She bent down, gazes steady… lower and lower she moved, his fingers tightening around her hips; she bent lower still until she was close enough to trace her tongue along his top lip, sampling the warm vodka flavor. His warm breath became her own as he parted his lips, and she pulled back. His lips curved. Sobering. If she thought for one second she had the control--that she was seducing him--she was dead frickin’ wrong. Michael embodied erotic enticement.
Her defenses lifted briefly. She leaned back farther and cleared her throat. “Marines always carry a gun, right?” His brows lifted, and he nodded. “And I don’t know if you’re shy or deliberately mysterious, but that gun between your legs says you like this.” Michael’s eyes widened, his jaw slackened. It was the perfect expression of surprise.
Yeah, she sounded slutty, but she didn’t give two shits. Her conscience was literally fist pumping. Karis had balance now--an even playing field.
He had no choice but to reveal himself.
His tongue tickled the edge of her ear as he whispered, “Sweetheart, I can smell how much you want this, see your pulse fluttering wildly in your neck, feel your hard nipples against my chest and the wet heat of your pussy against my cock.” She gasped at both his vulgar words and aggressive nip to her earlobe. Oh, yes. Cupping her nape, he nuzzled the sensitive spot beneath her ear. It was mere seconds…a frozen lapse between the moment his lips brushed over hers and when he lightly teased the crease with his tongue. She whimpered at the intimacy of it, treasured it within herself for safe-keeping. When would she every have a moment like this again?
He held her bottom lip between his teeth before slipping his tongue inside with a single sweep. She moaned, overcome with the silkiness of his tongue against hers, exploring and teasing every corner of her mouth. The scratch of his beard shadow braised her cheek. He tasted exactly how she knew he would—warm and vodka-clean. So distinctly Michael. Large hands slid down to cup her buttocks beneath her skirt. God, how she missed this… the firm touches, the heat, the urgency, the little nuances that made a man, a man.
With one final suck to her bottom lip, he pulled away, and a sound, so much like a whine, escaped her mouth. She felt the heat bloom on her face as the sound hit her ears. Brain function wasn’t hazy; it had completely halted. And it took every bit of her
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