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“Let me think,” I said, reaching for my drink. “Should I be spending my time with Mr. Receding Hairline with the indent from his wedding ring still on his finger?” I asked, nodding toward him. “Or perhaps the incel in the corner who keeps giving Sway dirty looks because he’s too much of a dickhead to get the attention of women himself? Oh, or, maybe I should be chatting up the guy in the black suit who wants everyone to think he’s a big roller, but that’s a fake Rolex, and he’s barely tipping the bartender.”
“What about him?” Slash asked, jerking his chin toward the other side of the bar where an, admittedly, handsome guy had just walked up. Nice hair. Good bone structure. Most of it looked good. If you weren’t looking close enough.
“Oh, but you have to look at him as a woman, not a guy,” I told Slash.
“And what would I be seeing if I were a woman?” Slash asked.
“His hands,” I told him. They were nice hands. Big, strong-looking. “He’s got jagged-ass fingernails. What woman in her right mind would want those up inside of her?” I asked, making Slash let out a choking laugh as he took a sip. “See?” I added, touching the very tips of his rounded fingernails. “Neat. Guys who pay attention to their fingernails are likely just as thorough about… other things,” I said, feeling that familiar warmth spread through my core.
Maybe it should have caught me off-guard.
Feeling the beginning twinges of desire for a guy I had known casually for a long time.
Then again, it didn’t surprise me with that whole “liking the guys who are absolutely terrible for me” thing that I had going on.
I could probably thank my mother for that gene.
Amongst other things.
Slash’s gaze cut to mine, the hunger clear in his dark eyes as his hand suddenly pinned mine to the bar top. A movement so quick that I didn’t even know it was coming.
And, somehow, it sent another jolt of desire through my system.
“You got a room upstairs?” he asked, and we both knew what he was really asking.
“Fourteen-sixteen,” I said, sliding my hand out from under his, then climbing off of the stool as he reached for his wallet, tossing money carelessly onto the bar, not even paying attention to the fact that he’d tipped the guy a hundred bucks.
I was out of the bar before he got off his stool.
My heart was hammering in my chest, in the pulse points in my neck and groin, as I tried to casually walk to the elevator like I wasn’t just going to make another huge mistake in my life.
Taking a deep breath, I moved inside the elevator car, a part of me wondering if I should turn around, get out, and make my way out of the hotel, hell, right out of the city.
Because there could be epic repercussions for hooking up with a guy from my hometown.
But then, as the doors were about to close, a big, tatted, scarred hand was shooting between them, forcing them to open once again.
Then there he was.
Looming in the opening, his hungry gaze on me.
And all thoughts of not going through with it flew out of my head.
He stood there for a second, almost as if waiting for me to change my mind.
When my chin lifted ever so slightly, it was all the assurance he needed to move all the way in.
He stalked toward me in the small space.
Then his big hands were grabbing my face. And his lips were crashing down on mine.
A soft whimper escaped me at the raw need vibrating through him and into me.
I wasn’t sure I had ever felt soina moment before, so aware of everything all at once.
The firm pressure of his lips, the scratch of his beard, his fingers flexing on my face, the firm breadth of his chest crushing my breasts, and his cock pressing against my stomach, making my sex clench hard at the idea of him sliding inside of me.
God, it had been so long.
