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Jack takes hers in hand and points toward the sign showing the way to the registration desk. “Don't you have to go check in?”
I shake my head, picking up my drink. “No. Digital check-in on my phone. As soon as we're finished with these drinks, we can go right up.”
She fights a smile and takes a dainty little sip from her glass.
More games. More drawing out the tension and torture.
I lean in until my lips almost meet hers. “If you drink like that, we're never going to make it to the good part.”
She turns her head and flutters her lips against my ear, and I trail my fingers lightly down her arm. All the brief touches. The near kisses. The heated looks. All of it is building to something sure to be extraordinary.
Her legs spread wider, allowing me to press my already growing cock between them, exactly where we both want it. I bite back a groan at the contact and take a sip of my bourbon, letting the sweet liquid glide down my throat and warm my gut.
Intense eyes watch me, focusing on my lips and dropping down my neck as I swallow. A flush spreads across her cheeks, and she brings her tumbler up but pauses coyly before she does anything with it.
Are we going to keep toying with each other, or is Jack finally ready to unleash what’s bottled up inside us both?
She puts her glass to her lips, tilts her head back, and downs the entire thing in two quick gulps. “We better hurry, then.”
Fuck yes.
I down the rest of my drink, set the empty crystal tumbler on the bar, and toss a hundred-dollar bill next to it for the bartender. It’s far more than our bill could be, but I refuse to wait another minute to get my hands on Jack.
He just got a hefty tip for very little work, but I’m the one winning tonight. I take Jack’s hand and tug her off the stool to stand in front of me. Her hips brush against my growing cock, and I bury my hand in her hair and tug her head back slightly to look up at me.
Her lust-soaked gaze tells me everything I need to know.
Chapter 3
Jack
As soon as the elevator doors slide open, Nolan ushers me in with a hand at my lower back, just above my ass—low enough to be sexual but not obscene. It’s yet another delicate touch intended to build the tension between us and drive me absolutely mad.
The entire cab ride over here…
His knee brushing mine…
His fingers trailing along my bare thigh and arm…
But nothing more.
Not even a feather of a kiss.
And it's intentional. Some sort of game to him. A way to make me desperate and needy before we ever reached the hotel room. And it's fucking working. Far better than I want to admit.
It’s outright torture.
Just the way he held my hand walking to the lobby was enough to make me clench my thighs.
So dominant.
Protective.
Possessive.
No man has ever done this to me before, has ever elicited this rush. This thrill. This desperation. And I wanted him to feel it, too. But all my little game at the bar did was make me need him more. He’s so passionate, so intense, and I want all that passion and intensity focused on me.
And now, we’re finally alone in this tight, enclosed space.
