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Fuck. Why had he kissed her? Everything that made him pull away from her in the first place was still true. She was a rich, city girl. She’d be leaving at the end of the summer. She was far too much like Janine for comfort. Not to mention that she was right—he’d been treating her like a class A jerk for weeks now.
He was about to apologize and walk away when she suddenly reached up, dug her hands in his hair, and yanked him back down. Then she started kissing him like he was a feast and she’d been starving for months.
All other thoughts took a flying leap.
There was only Isobel.
Real and warm and alive in his arms. So alive. She tasted like strawberry and lime and tequila. And when she yanked his shirt out of his jeans and her hands caressed up his bare stomach underneath, he’d swear she was so hot she was searing his skin.
“Fuck, Isobel,” he growled, spinning them and pinning her against the brick wall of the bar. All the blood in his body was quickly headed south at her touch and continued frantic kisses.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Goddamn. He hadn’t meant it as an invitation but she was sure taking it that way. Her hands scrambled at his waist, undoing his buckle. Aw, fuck. His cock strained against his jeans toward her seeking hands. But shit. She was drunk. She didn’t—
He pulled back from her. It took all his willpower. “I can’t.”
He shook his head. Her eyes flashed hurt. Christ. He hurried to explain, cupping her face. Her skin was so soft and he couldn’t help dipping back down to kiss her moist, berry pink lips. “You’ve been drinking. I’m not gonna be one of those guys who takes advantage of a woman.”
He went in for another kiss when she laughed. He pulled back, startled.
“Hunter, I had one margarita. I’m not drunk.”
He paused. “But you were so…” He gestured back at the bar. “Smiley.”
Her gaze went in the direction he indicated, a wistful expression on her face. “I guess that’s just me,” she shrugged, “when I’m happy.”
She looked back at Hunter and he felt kicked in the guts. He’d never gotten to see her happy. Because he only made her miserable. Fuck.
But he didn’t want to think about any of that. He didn’t want to think. Period. Full stop.
He pressed her back against the wall. Her legs spread, one thigh hitching up around his waist. It was indecent. If anyone came out here and saw them—
But all Hunter could think about was her hot, wet core, the tiny cotton fabric of her underwear and the denim of his jeans the only barrier to him being buried deep inside her again.
How many nights had he lay in bed tormented by the memory of that sweet little cunt of hers. And here she was, hot and wanting, wrapped around him.
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Her hands were back at his buckle again and his cock surged in his pants. Fuck, he was so hard his cock could punch a hole through a brick wall.
The second her tiny hands touched his cock, he was almost done for. He reached down and palmed her juicy ass, giving it a rough squeeze, before jerking her panties down.
His middle finger dipped inside her. “Fuck,” he hissed. Her sweet little pussy was fucking drenched. His thumb immediately sought out her clit. It was already swollen and he strummed his thumb back and forth before pressing hard on it.
Her hand gripping his cock squeezed and little high-pitched gasps escaped her throat.
“Is this for me?” he asked, his jaw going tight. “Or was it because of them?” He shoved another finger inside, not bothering to be gentle about it.
Her head had been bowed but she jerked her face up at his question, eyes flashing.
“Fuck you,” she whispered. At the same time, her hand on his cock guided him toward the slick lips of her pussy.
Jesus Christ. With one thrust he could be inside her.
“Fuck me is what I think you meant to say.” He lined his hips up and reached down, pulling his cock out of her hand and rubbing it up and down her vulva and her clit.
Her mouth dropped open and her head sank back against the brick wall. “Fine. You win. Fuck me. Just get the fuck inside me already.”
