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I set my other hand on her waist and pull her in even closer so our centers touch. She can’t miss my hard length in my jeans and I can’t miss her scalding heat. My pinky fingers curl and lift the back of her skirt an inch or so.
“I’ll take those panties,” I say, “but I’m a giver. Want to come on my fingers in return?”
2
SADIE
“I don’t even knowyour name,” I tell him, not able to tear my eyes away.
He’s gorgeous. And direct. And wants to give me an orgasm.
“Miles.”
His sandy colored hair has a slight curl and because it’s a little long on top, it falls over his forehead. His eyes are also fair, but still piercing. He’s tan as if he’s been in the sun, but he’s not a California surfer or a farmer, and he’s definitely not a Stetson-wearing cowboy like most of the men around here. Not with his dark denim and snug T-shirt. None of that hides his height—even sitting down—or his sturdy build. A few tattoos circle his well-defined biceps, but it’s the motorcycle helmet on the stool beside him that indicates he might be a bit of a bad boy.
In my line of work, I put those kinds behind bars. Profiling? Hell, yes. Especially when the guy offers to finger me for pleasure. At a bar.
Maybe I should flash him the badge I have in my purse. Or tell him to fuck off with his cheesy, over-the-top shit that guys usually spew with the hope of getting laid.
He doesn’t mention his dick coming out though. Only that he wants to put his hand up my skirt.
Am I thinking about his offer?
Yes. Is it stupid?
Maybe.
Before I became a detective, I went on enough calls involving various kinds of assaults against women. None of them good. Yet I’m still thinking about his words.
Maybe I’m horny.
There’s nomaybeabout it. I am.
Nothing wrong with that. I’m in a dry spell and not one guy in the county—and I know pretty much all of them—does it for me. It’s not as if hot men grow like alfalfa or wheat around here.
I’m impressed that he asked about how much I had to drink. The bachelorette party is for my friend Tracy, who’s getting married in two weeks. While we’ve been here for an hour, everyone started drinking at Tracy’s house a few hours ago. There’s a limo to take us around, but I might as well be the designated driver. I’ve been sipping wine since I’m on shift tomorrow. With a probable murder added to my usual case load, I can’t be hungover. Not with that stickler Mark as my partner.
Inwardly, I roll my eyes thinking about him in comparison to Miles. The hot guy who I picked to do the stupid dare.
Miles wants me to remember him touching me.
“You do this all the time?” I ask.
“Stop at a bar for a burger and a beer? If I can get on my bike for a ride, yeah.”
I glance at his helmet again. He’s hotandsmart, putting a brain bucket on instead of having his head scraped across the pavement for my colleagues to clean up.
“I meant…exchangefavors.”
A smile tugs at his lips. Very kissable lips. He’s got whiskers that I bet would feel especially nice on the insides of my thighs.
I squirm a little. The idea makes me wet. The quirk of his mouth turns into a full-on grin. My cheeks heat. The feel of his hands on my waist is non-threatening. Light. But I can feel how big they are, how warm he is. I wouldn’t mind being a little manhandled.
“I can say I’ve never been asked to take a woman’s panties and then return them to her friends.” He lifts his eyebrows. “I’d rather keep them.”
“Got a big collection?” I ask, not sure if I want the answer.
“I don’t kiss and tell. Remember, sweetheart, you approachedme.”
