“You’ve got me.” His lips brush against mine. “You’ve always had me.”
“Kiss me.” I nip at his bottom lip. “Please.”
My plea is like the shot at the starting line. His fingers grip my hair at the base of my neck, and he tugs, jerking my mouth up to his. He devours me, kissing me with such need, such force, that it steals my breath. His tongue surges into my mouth and winds around mine. It’s all-consuming, and all I can do is grip onto his shoulders, my feet barely touching the tile below.
He lifts me and plops me on the counter, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling his hips against mine.
A moan escapes me, but I can’t find it in myself to be embarrassed for how needy I sound.
Chance has a bruising grip on my waist, grinding me against himself like he’s just as desperate as I am.
And then the doorbell rings.
My eyebrows dip. “Who the hell...?”
Chance steps back, his eyes dropping to the floor as his chest heaves. “It’s Stephen.”
I tilt my head. “What?” I hop off the counter and stalk toward the door to peer through the peephole. “How did you know?”
Chance rubs the back of his neck as he comes to stand beside me, not saying a word.
A humorless laugh escapes me as I swing open the door. “I can’t wait to talk to Dominique tomorrow.”
Stephen smiles wide and holds up a bottle of tequila. “Happy Friday, pretty girl.”
I roll my eyes, fighting a grin. “Let me guess: Dominique took the kids because she thinks I need to be thoroughly fucked, so you both came over to double-team me. Is that right?”
Chance shakes his head, starting to refute, but Stephen shrugs and says, “Basically.”
A laugh tumbles out of me and I press my palm against my forehead. His honesty is refreshing. “I forgot how much I love your bluntness.”
Like a happy dog, Stephen bounces into the house and plants a kiss on my cheek before shoving Chance’s shoulder. “What’s for dinner, Grumpy Gills?”
Chance glares at the back of his head. “What the fuck is a grumpy gill?”
I pat his shoulder. “It’s from a kid’s movie.”
He rolls his eyes. “Of course it is.”
In the kitchen, Stephen rummages through the cabinets. “Where are your shot glasses?”
“I don’t have any.” I hop up onto the counter, and point to the cabinet to my left. “I have wine glasses and Solo cups in there.”
He pops open the tequila, and takes a swig directly from the bottle before passing it to me. “Limes and salt?”
“Limes in the fridge. Salt in that cabinet.” I take a sip from the bottle, and close my eyes as it slides down my throat. “Damn, I haven’t had this in such a long time.”
Chance slices a lime and hands each of us a wedge. “How often do you get a kid-free night?”
I heave a sigh. “Not often. Sometimes they’ll sleep at a friend’s house, but most of the time I host the sleepovers. I try to get out once a month with Dominique, but it’s pretty tame.”
Stephen arches a brow. “Not like our college days.”
I smile at the reminder. “Not one bit.”
He steps between my legs, and tips my chin. “Stick out your tongue.”
I do as he commands, and he sprinkles the salt onto my waiting tongue. Then he dips his head and strokes my tongue with his.
