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“Micah…” My name rolls off her tongue and lights a fire beneath my sternum. “I wasn’t trying to hurt—”
My lips crash to hers. Hot and aggressive and hungry. For one, two, three beats of my pulse, she doesn’t kiss me back. I start to back away as defeat and mortification form a dark cloud overhead.
Until she fists my shirt and hauls me closer. Fuses our lips together again and licks the seam of mine. I part my lips and she dives in. We lick and taste and wage war with our tongues. Peyton tastes of sweet cream and something distinctly her.
A groan builds in my chest, rises up my throat and spills from my lips. I snake my arms around her waist and draw her impossibly closer. Her hands trail up my chest, my neck, my face until her fingers fist my hair.
An inferno blazes around us as I walk her backward. Her back hits the wall, the bulge behind my zipper pressing hard against the junction of her thighs. I run a hand down the side of her leg, then hoist it up to hook my hip.
My hips circle once, twice, and she moans against my lips. Sucks them between hers. Dives back in and siphons my tongue like a succubus. Devours me whole. My dick on the cusp of tearing my slacks.
Bam, bam, bam.
“Peyton? Everything okay?” Ani jiggles the door handle.
Our lips break apart on a gasp and I inch back. But only enough for her to speak.
Chest heaving, she looks up and licks her lips. “Fine,” she pants out. “Be out in a minute.”
Ani jiggles the handle again. “I heard yelling. Don’t piss me off, Micah.”
I huff out a laugh. “Everything’s fine.” I lock on to my new favorite color. Violet. “Wouldn’t be in my best interest to piss you off.”
Another shake of the handle. Relentless. “If you’re not out in five minutes, we’ll be having a different conversation soon. An unpleasant one.” Not a second later, her heels clack against the concrete and grow quieter with each step.
Without hesitation, I kiss Peyton again. This time, the kiss is less rushed. More tender. Engrossing. And all too soon, with much reluctance, I break the kiss and take a step back.
“We should get back out there,” I say, and drop a chaste kiss on her lips.
“Yeah. Okay.” She steps into me, hands framing my face, and returns the kiss. “Let’s go.” Another kiss.
Fuck. If I don’t put five to ten feet between us, we will never leave this room. Not that I want to, but we need to. We have a job to do and a boss outside this room that will bite my head off if neither of us make an appearance soon.
Peyton steps over to the small mirror beside the door, flattens some of the kinks in her hair and adds a swipe of gloss to her lips from a tube in her pocket. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror as the brightest smile stretches her lips wide. She spins around, then steps into my space. Without a word, she runs her palms up my chest, my neck, then combs her fingers through my hair. And fuck me, I don’t want her to stop.
Her hands drop to my collar and straighten the folds. Eyes locked on my lips as she swallows. When her hands fall, her eyes lift to mine again. “Time to work, starlight.” She drops one last kiss on my lips before turning on her heel, unlocking the door, and strutting out of the office.
My tongue sweeps over my lips, her coconut gloss sweet on my tastebuds. Tonight may be the most challenging yet, but the test is worth the prize.
* * *
This has to be the slowest Wednesday in humankind. Slow-est.
Monday to Thursday has never brought in crowds like the weekend, but I don’t remember them being this slow in months. With kids out of school, the start of summer usually has mothers stopping by for half-priced cocktails. For whatever reason, tonight is dead.
The new staff left more than an hour ago. They sliced enough citrus to fill the condiment bins for the next three nights. Fifteen minutes ago, I told Kaylynn she could head out for the night as well. Seeing as Roar is only open another hour, Ani wouldn’t be too pleased if unnecessary staff stood around with nothing to do.
“Cosmo, please,” a brunette says as she parks herself on a barstool.
“Coming up.” I get to work on her drink and make light conversation with her. Generic topics such as the weather and asking if she has kids.
I pour the drink, place it on a napkin in front of her, and slide my hands back to my side of the bar. She plucks a bill from her purse and goes to hand it to me. When I reach for it, she takes hold of my hand and keeps it prisoner.
“If you’re not busy after—”
