I stared at him, fascinated. By the way his fingers dipped under the line of my shorts, by how he was sexual and frank, yet secretive. Cocky, but with a hint of vulnerability. He showed disdain and attraction for me all at one time, and acted as if it was completely normal. But most fascinating, most tempting: all of the ways he was different from Brant. In the loose gesture of his hand, as he tipped back his head and emptied his glass. The manliness in every movement, the smell of him, one of earth and grass and sweat. Masculinity personified, and proved legitimate in how he had fucked me against the wall. Hard, invasive. For his own need more than mine. Greedy, animalistic. Marking me with his cock. He was the type of man I had always run from, but might just be the type I had always needed.
He swung back on his stool to me, looped a hand around my back and slid me to the edge of mine, taking a moment to lift one leg, then the other, until I was all but straddling him, the push of his jeans against mine maddeningly stimulating.
“Kiss me.” He pulled the glass from my hand. Set it on the counter and faced me fully. Cupped my face and stared into my eyes. Waited. I closed my eyes, exhaled. Turned my face to his.
Nothing. I cracked an eye open to see his smile, the slight shake of an oncoming laugh.
“I didn’t say, ‘be kissed’. I said, ‘kiss me.’”
Anger made me yank his shirt, fisting the fabric and pulling him close, my butt working its way off the stool and onto his lap. I attacked his mouth, surprised at their meeting, surprised at how soft and supple his response was, his hands curving down my bare back and pulling me tighter to him. I loved my mouth in his, the flex of his tongue under mine. We did not feel like strangers; our mouths instinctively knew each other.
He turned in his stool, taking me with him, pinning my back against the bar as his hands kept me glued to his lap, his mouth breaking from me long enough to speak.
“You want more?” he whispered. “Cause I want to feel the inside of your mouth before I send you back to him.”
“I want more,” I gasped.
Two minutes later, we were in the bathroom.
I didn’t think places like this, bars smaller than my walk-in closet, had bathrooms. But this one did. A tiny cube, a pedestal sink screwed to the wall, condom dispenser on the wall, a drain beneath my feet. Thirty square feet, max.
The door slammed shut as my back pushed it closed, his hands forcing the action, the taste of beer on his tongue as we kissed. His hands, pulling at my shirt, yanking it over my head. A quick flip of his hands freed my bra, his hands skimming the straps off my shoulders. Our kiss hot and fevered, I pushed any rational thought from my head and enjoyed the moment, enjoyed the touch of a man who could not get enough.
He took a break from my mouth, dropping his head and staring, like he had never seen breasts before, a heavy sigh tumbling from him as he scooped them into his hands, his hold tender, his gorgeous mouth—when he dropped it to their surface—not. “God, these are beautiful.” He nibbled the delicate skin, inhaled deeply as his tongue circled my nipple, sucked one into his mouth, and devoured each in turn as my head dropped back against the door. I heard the metal of his belt, the ting of it against tile as his jeans dropped, my own hands helping to skim his shirt off his torso until he was naked before me, his head coming off my chest, his eyes, when they met mine, showing the breaking point of his control. And God, he was hard. I could see it in my peripheral vision, felt it as it bumped against me.
“Get on your knees,” he rasped.
I had no interest in getting on that floor. I’m pretty sure it hadn’t seen the scrub of a mop in months. But I had every interest in taking him in my mouth. Every interest in making his look of raw lust continue. I snagged his pants, created a pillow for my knees, and knelt down before him.
God bless. Even though I’d done this a hundred times, it felt different. Opening my mouth, wrapping my hand around the complete stiffness that was his cock, licking my lips and hearing him inhale… I had never been this wet. Never wanted this so much. Never desired a hard hand on the back of my head, an impatient shove, to look up in a man’s eyes and see disrespect and desire all rolled into one heated stare. I dove down on his cock, pumped my hand, inhaled through my nose, and took as much of him as I could, gagging at times, my mouth finding a rhythm, sucking and withdrawing, sucking and withdrawing, the groans from his mouth letting me know I was doing it well.
I sucked him until my jaw hurt and his hands yanked me up. Ripped down my shorts, the button flying somewhere, my body naked before him, his hands spinning me until we both faced the dirty mirror, our eyes wide, chests panting. Something outside bumped against the door, reminding me of our location. “Bend over,” he growled, and I did, moving my legs back until I was leaning against the sink, staring at our reflection as he looked down, wrapped his cock, tested my *, and then shoved inside.
I gripped the sink and tried not to scream, but ohmygod I was addicted.
Chapter 23
We returned to the bar, two warm beers waiting, the bar twice as full as when we left, meaning that six bodies now dotted the tiny landscape. He picked up the glass, downed the drink, then pushed the empty glass forward. “Thanks for the beer.”