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Grabbing her purse from the stool beside her, Sally dropped her feet from the stool rung to the floor, and stood, thankful that she’d had years of practice walking while intoxicated. Standing, she slid to the side, wanting to get around and then away from the obstacle that turned her into a weaker, angrier version of herself.
No one should have that kind of power over her.
A large, strong hand gripped her arm, jerking her back into his chest.
“Sallina, could you just wait?”
She met his gaze before dropping hers to where he was holding her. “Let me go,” she demanded.
“No, not until you listen to me.”
She scoffed. “And what exactly are you going to say to me that hasn’t already been said? I get it, you regret ever meeting me, you wish I’d never walked into your house party, you hope to never see me again—there ‘nuff said. You can let me go now.”
“I don’t think so,” he growled, tugging her behind him as he strode toward the back of the bar. A long hallway came into view, with two doors on one side and three on the other. Sly headed straight toward the Men’s bathroom, banging on the door as he swung it open.
Before Sally could pull her arm free, Sly had checked each of the three stalls and turned and locked the door.
Alone in the bathroom, Sly rounded on her, lining his body up with hers—chest to chest, face to face. She caught her breath, holding it. The hardness of his long, thick erection was there, pressing against her belly. She bit off a groan.
He said nothing, only stared at her, his expression hard as glass, his jaw twitching with his agitation, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. The intensity pouring from him made her panties sopping wet.
She pinched her thighs together, the aching between them unwelcome but oh so hard to ignore.
Ugh! Why did he have to be so goddamn sexy when he was like this? And why couldn’t she make herself move away? Close. So close…so deliciously warm and close.
No! He couldn’t do this to her again. Suddenly sober, she moved toward the door, but Sly slid in front of her, blocking her way.
Blistering anger seethed beneath her skin…but it didn’t burn nearly as hot as her skin where his hand had been. His body so close to hers churned up emotions and erotic sensations that she’d never thought she’d feel again, not after that night.
Finding her voice, she snapped, “How dare you drag me around like a doll—and to the men’s bathroom! What do you plan to do to me in here?”
“I plan to make you listen to me where you can’t run away like a coward.”
She gasped, her eyes growing wide. “The hell you say? Coward? I’m not the one who dipped out when you were sleeping and didn’t leave a note. I’m not the one who didn’t bother mentioning a wife back in Miami! I’m not the one who turned you into a cheating slut—”
“Would you shut the hell up and listen to me?” Sly shouted, making Sallina flinch.
Her lungs burning, her body trembling with the force of her rollercoaster emotions, Sally didn’t know which was way up anymore. “Don’t you yell at me, you piece of shit. Not after what you did to me.” Dammit! Her voice broke, and she nearly sagged against the wet countertop, ignoring the colonies of man germs that were swimming around on it.
“I didn’t mean to yell, Sally, I just…. I can’t stop thinking about you. And I can’t stop wanting to see you, to touch you…to just fucking be near you.”
His words hit her square in the chest, her heart tripping over every letter. Did he really mean that? She bit her lip, her gaze dropping to his mouth only inches from hers.
Sylvester peered down at her, his eyes dark and hooded, his chest heaving. God…that chest, so broad and hard, the skin so soft and warm…. She’d fallen asleep against the chest. Had rubbed her hands and over it, feeling the tautness of his skin perfectly fitted over the chiseled hardness of his muscles beneath. The man was a god among men, and he fucking knew it.
This is bullshit! No matter what he says, it’s bullshit.
“Before you open that hot little mouth and tell me to fuck off, I need you to listen to me. That night…I….” He groaned, the sound one of angry frustration—it was a sound she knew well since she’d made it herself many times in her life. Raising his other hand to plow his thick fingers through his already sexily messy dark hair, he threw his head back and grunted. Hot damn…she remembered that same look. His body over hers, inside hers, the pleasure, the sight of him in utmost rapture, the cords of his neck pulling tight, his mouth open on a roar, his head thrown back as he came—
Stop! Just stop!
When he looked at her again, a single inky lock fell over his forehead, and the urge to brush it away with her fingers made her choke.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t pluck her wrist from his hold. She tugged, frustration mounting with the heat of her body’s vicious need for him, left her desperate. She needed him—No! she needed to escape. She couldn’t give in, not when so much was at stake. Not when it hurt so much just to be with him, remembering that night and what she’d learned afterward.
Thinning her lips, she stuck out her chin. “Well? You going to tell me more than that?”
“Fuck this,” he snarled just before he pushed her ass back against the counter, grabbed her face, and slammed his mouth down onto hers.
Holy shit!
She couldn’t think. Couldn’t get her mind to fire up—it was just dead. All that remained was arousal, deep, burning, aching desire. His mouth was mastery, taking hers as though it owned every piece of her, wanted to devour her soul, hungered to taste and immortalize her flavor.
And, God, she let him.
