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“Mmm. You smell good.”
And yep, there I was, flushing again. The inner chatter in my brain went into hyperdrive. Soon I’d be reciting the alphabet or counting backward from a hundred.
I sucked in a breath and the bitter scent of the spilled alcohol swam through my head. It made the room seem tawdry. Dirty. Sexy.
God, he’d just swept his arm over the bar like I’d seen in movies. It was so fucking hot. After that move, my clit had shot into constant vibration mode again. Tray blinked and I got an inappropriate zap somewhere.
Lots of somewheres.
He was currently checking all of them out, his eyelids low over gorgeous eyes sharp with awareness. He sucked on his lip as he studied me laid out before him, all pliant and shuddery like some brainless ring card girl.
But I wasn’t thinking about the cage tonight.
He bent his head and flicked his mouth over my navel, in and out. I didn’t expect to gasp. It wasn’t even a particularly naughty place. But he smiled and did it again and again, building up my anticipation while I tried not to writhe. Losing control around him seemed to be my natural response, and when he moved his face between my legs, the moan I let out acknowledged that truth.
Loudly.
“I knew you’d be wet. That’s my girl.”
My mind spun from those words. That’s my girl. Then I was spinning for a different reason.
He pressed my thighs wide open, flattened his tongue against me, and met my gaze, holding it even when I squirmed. It was so intimate. I was spread out on his bar, for God’s sake, all opened up and quivery and definitely…wet.
A little late to pretend otherwise.
“Tray.” Maybe I could change his mind, get him to fuck me instead. I lifted my hips and even tried to wiggle them in a semi-enticing way. If he’d been paying attention, he might’ve cared. At the moment, he was a little busy.
God. I hated it and loved it at the same time. Hated it because I’d never felt more insecure than when he shifted me so that my legs slid over his shoulders. Loved it because all of my nerve endings were singing—some screaming hallelujah—and warmth trickled through my veins with every swipe of his tongue.
His lips slid over me, slow and sure, drifting down the entire length of my center. I nearly flushed again when they skimmed between my cheeks, but then I decided he’d slipped and relaxed. Until he did it again.
He seemed to be trying to cover all of me with his mouth, moving in slow circles that drove me nuts in the best way. Or the worst, because it was all build-up and no satisfaction. I don’t know how long he explored me, only that eventually it got to be too much and I fell back on my elbows to stare at the circular ceiling lights.
Then he grazed his teeth over my clit and I jolted like he’d hit a hard right to my jaw. He sucked on the bundle of nerves with such obvious relish that the tingling in my nipples transferred lower. Way low, into the pit of my belly. The syrupy heat grew each time he tongued my clit, burned even hotter when he eased lower to slide his tongue inside. So deep that when I clenched, I felt him everywhere.
His groan rocketed through me. I trembled, caught on that edge again. If I’d still been able to feel my hands I might’ve reached down for my clit like I had last time, but they were useless. I could only watch as he moved back up, slipping a finger into me while he resumed licking me, hard.
The lights blurred and my trembling turned into full blown shakes. He didn’t stop, even when I whimpered.
“God, I love it when you beg. You’re so strong and seeing you like this drives me crazy,” he whispered hoarsely.
He lowered his damp forehead to my stomach. I wasn’t the only one clammy with sweat. He was too. I wasn’t alone in feeling so frantic and out of control. He wanted me. Me. Awkward, fumbling, confused Mia Anderson excited Tray Knox, a guy who could’ve had—and probably had had—any woman who drew his interest.
A strange tenderness rose in me. I cradled his head to my stomach, tangling my hand in his hair and bucking into his strokes. Then he ratcheted up the pressure of his fingers, and I jerked against him, trapped between his rigidly tense body and the bar.
Without warning, my climax broke over me, pitching me into a vortex of heat and light. I fought to hang on, lost in his eyes. There I could float without judgment or shame. I could just be.
If I’d had a rating system—or a normal sex life where orgasms happened enough to deserve a quality scale—I would’ve called it the best orgasm ever. By far.
The tears that followed surprised me more than him. I hadn’t felt like crying before the wetness flooded my eyes. At least not consciously. But sobs tore from the depths of my chest, the pain so unspeakable that for a few minutes I could only pray that the storm passed.
To his credit, he didn’t run. I knew he wouldn’t. Tray truly couldn’t see how solid and decent he was through his own self-loathing. I’d realized that tonight.
Knowing that in some way he felt the same as I did—as crazy and illogical as it seemed—had made him both more reachable and shoved him further away. Because he was wrong about himself.
I wasn’t wrong about me.
My inner fuckedupness would always worm its way outward no matter the circumstance. Even after an unbelievably amazing orgasm with a guy who probably should hate me due to the shitty way I’d treated him since day one.
