The corners of her mouth tipped up in satisfaction. “Still hard,” she mused. Her other hand popped open the button at his fly. The zipper sang down and God help him he couldn’t stop her. She delved inside and circled him with her warm, slim fingers. “You don’t feel done.”
“What are you doing, Briar?” he growled.
She worked her hand between them, pumping his cock in a few hard strokes.
She didn’t say anything, just continued to glare at him, and he knew. He knew she wanted to prove him wrong. She wanted him to eat his words.
She tugged his jeans down his hips and dropped to her knees.
Fuck. His hands clenched at his sides. She looked up at him from beneath heavy eyelids. Her look was all cold fury. She wanted to punish him. Her tongue darted out to lick the head of him and he was lost.
His head fell back against the wall of liquor bottles with a rattle. He moaned as she closed her lips around him, tormenting him with her tongue.
He balled his hands into fists to keep from grabbing her head and forcing her mouth to fuck him harder. Faster.
His hips had a mind of their own, however, thrusting into her mouth, but she still managed to tease him, taking only half his cock past her lips.
He looked down and met her taunting eyes. She was a siren looking up at him.
“What do you want, Knox?” she whispered, her breath fanning his wet dick.
You. He wanted to shove deep into her mouth. Or better yet, he wanted to haul her up and seat her on his aching dick.
“We’re two consenting adults. What’s so wrong with this?” she taunted, her tongue sneaking out to swirl around him again. Her gaze slid sideways, eyeing one of his clenched fists. She reached out and took that fist and brought it to the back of her head . . . inviting. He held his fingers locked against all those soft strands. But he couldn’t resist forever.
His fingers unfurled, relaxing into her hair as her mouth worked over him furiously. He was so close, the small of his back tightening . . . he didn’t even register the sudden burst of music from the bar signaling the door had opened. Or the footsteps.
He only heard the voice. “Nice, Knox.”
His head snapped up and he looked over at Dean, one of the busboys.
Briar squeaked and let go of him, tipping sideways and falling on her hip. Her hair was wild around her, her deep amber eyes bulging. The classic red lips were gone, lipstick smeared onto her chin. In the near dark, color stained her cheeks like someone had just slapped her.
He looked back at Dean. The way he leered at Briar made Knox feel like breaking his nose.
“Get the fuck out of here!” he snarled.
The guy held up a hand. “I’m going! I’m going!” He picked up a case of beer and hurried back out into the bar.
Knox stuffed himself back into his jeans, turning his back on Briar. He was still aching for her. Longing for relief so much that he physically hurt.
She made him forget about the world, and he couldn’t do that. If she wasn’t smart enough to see that, then he would have to be smart enough for both of them.
He spun around, putting several paces between them, staying clear of her touch, but he didn’t have to say anything. Her expression stopped him.
She looked stricken, her eyes liquid--dark like some wounded animal as she rose to her feet. “You’re right. This is crazy. What am I doing? Someone saw us . . .” Her voice faded and she shook her head, searching his face.
Now was the time. If he wanted her to stay, if he wanted to make things right, he needed to say something now.
He held silent.
“I’m out of here,” she whispered, and rushed from the room. A brief punch of Creedence Clearwater hit his ears as she passed through the swinging door.
Well, he’d handled that like shit. But at least she was gone. It needed to be done. He reached down and adjusted himself, still aching. He sucked in a deep breath and waited for his erection to subside. A hissed breath passed through his teeth. He counted to twenty before following.
Ignoring the hollowness in his chest, he stepped back into the bar. It was even more crowded than half an hour ago.
He scanned the crowd, looking for her, still wanting to assure himself that she was all right after what just went down.
He couldn’t spot her, but he found her friend parked at a table. Shelley wasn’t alone anymore. She was laughing with two other men, a row of shots in front of them. Suddenly, Briar was there, stopping before her. He watched, his stomach knotting as the laughter faded from Shelley’s face. He knew Briar was telling her that she wanted to leave. Because of him. Whether she said that last part or not, her friend could figure it out.
Shelley patted her shoulder and nodded sympathetically. Without another word, Briar turned and wove through bodies until she was out of the bar. As though she couldn’t stand to be even in the same vicinity with him.