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“This can go sideways if we’re not care
ful.” Okay. This was him being the good guy.
She licked her lips and flashed a seductive smile. “Don’t worry about me, Booker. I’m fine.” She reached for him. “This is just sex. Nothing more.”
This is just sex. Four little words every guy loved to hear, with the added bonus of two more that absolved a man of any emotional baggage.
“What if it’s really good sex?” Hell, he knew he was going to blow her mind. But he didn’t want to be an asshole.
She slid her hands up his neck and cradled the back of his head. Leaning forward, she whispered, “Then we do it again.”
That was pretty much it. He was done with any pretense of being the responsible party in this dangerous dance.
Nash grabbed her by the ass and set her up on the bar, his hands caressing her curves as he moved between her legs. She was still dressed for work. Jeans. Boots. T-shirt. He angled his head, eyes roving her curves. Spread legs. Long hair spilling over her shoulders and nipples straining against the soft, white cotton. Her mouth was open, and he groaned when her tongue darted out to lick at the corner.
The corner he’d nuzzled minutes earlier. The corner he was dying to taste before he let himself wander further. He bent forward and placed his hands on either side of Honey, his palms resting on top of the bar. Smiling to himself at her sharp intake of breath, he leaned in and slid his tongue along her mouth. Once he got that far, he didn’t hold back. He claimed her lips in a hot, passionate kiss that went deep and got damn intimate, damn fast.
He tasted JD mixed with something else--mint? Whatever the hell it was, he liked it. A lot. Fire ripped through him, and he moved closer, deepening the kiss as her head tilted to give him more access. Access he took advantage of. He tasted her thoroughly and took his time before slowly dragging himself from her mouth. She protested, and he smiled, sliding his lips down her throat until he felt the fast-beating pulse at the base of her neck.
There was a perverse pleasure in knowing he was responsible for it. Nash was losing control fast, and for once, he didn’t give a goddamn.
He kept his mouth on her body while his impatient hands tugged at the bottom of her T-shirt until he was able to pull it up over her breasts, exposing a sexy-as-hell pink bra. Honey had a dancer’s body. She was long and lean and toned. But her breasts were more than a handful, and he stared down at them in anticipation.
She wiggled a bit, and he moved an inch or so, his body tight as she slowly reached for the front clasp and undid her bra. The silky material fell open, sliding across milky-white skin until she was exposed. Her dusky nipples puckered, and with a groan, he bent forward.
“You’re perfect,” he murmured, eyes riveted to her chest. His hard-on was killing him, but he knew the longer he waited, the better it’d be.
For both of them.
“No one’s perfect,” she replied, thrusting forward, giving him what he wanted. Nash would have debated the point, but he had other business to attend to. He took a moment to drink her in. Long dark hair a mess around her shoulders. Smoldering eyes, heavy lidded with desire. Half-dressed. Exposed skin. Beautiful, round breasts and nipples that begged for his touch.
“Really, Booker?” Her words were whispered, the tone husky. “Let’s get on with it.”
His eyebrow shot up at that, and slowly, he touched her, a gentle swipe of his fingertips across her nipple, and a rash of goose bumps spread across her skin. He waited a heartbeat and then touched the other nipple his fingers lingering there so he could pinch it, not in a rough way, but to enhance her pleasure. She wriggled and licked her lips, chest heaving. He smiled and bent forward, flicking his tongue where his fingers had just been.
But only a fleeting touch—a whisper, really—nothing more.
Honey inhaled sharply, eyes on him, her expression unreadable. Her skin was flushed, those high cheekbones a delicate pink, and he held her gaze as he leaned in once more, this time taking the entire tip into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the puckered flesh and then suckling hard.
She groaned, and her head fell back, her fingers gripping the edge of the bar. Nash took his time, his mouth and tongue and hands giving equal attention to each breast. He would have kept at it, hell, he’d have taken all night, but her hands suddenly grabbed hold of his head, and she yanked him back. They were both breathing heavy, and her eyes glistened in the low light.
For a moment, he thought he’d done something wrong—the expression in her eyes puzzled him.
“Just so you know, Booker. This right here…this is a sure thing. We don’t need all the foreplay.”
She pushed him back and lifted her hips, using her hands on the bar to steady her body. “Undo my pants.”
A strange kind of electricity sizzled between them, and in the recesses of Nash’s mind, he knew the game had just changed. The problem was, he didn’t know what it meant or why.
“Now,” she commanded. The tone of her voice was off, and he looked at her sharply.
“Now you’re just being bossy,” he said, reaching for her jeans.
She didn’t reply but kept her hips elevated so he had easy access. He undid her button and pulled on the zipper. Jesus. H. Christ. The woman went commando. Nash gave a slow whistle as she was laid bare to him, his eyes riveted to the sweet spot between her legs. She moved and kicked her feet a bit until he yanked her jeans down to her knees.
Which she spread.
And holy hell, she glistened from between her lips, her arousal scenting the air between them.
