“Grant,” she pants, “I'm gonna—”
“Do it.” I curl my fingers deeper, finding that spot that makes her back arch. “Come for me, Mia. Come all over my tongue.”
She does. Spectacularly. Her body bows, muscles locking as she pulses around my fingers, a flood of wetness coating my palm. I work her through it, gentling my touch as the aftershocks ripple through her.
When I finally pull back, she's flushed and panting, eyes hooded, looking wrecked in the best possible way.
The perfect picture of freshly tongue-fucked-bliss.
I rise to my feet, a small smile playing on my lips, I’m wiping my mouth with the back of my hand before leaning in to kiss her, letting her taste herself on my tongue and pressing my rock-hard dick, still in my jeans to her sensitive center.
“You feel that?” I growl, grinding into her core.
“That’s what you do to me.” I say with a growl.
“You're so fucking beautiful when you come,” I murmur against her lips. “And I can't wait to see it again when I'm inside you.”
I grip her thighs hard, dragging her even closer, loving the way she arches into me, how her body’s begging without a single word. The friction is devastating—and not nearly enough.
I'm reaching for my belt when it happens.
Her phone buzzes.
Loud. Obnoxious. Reality.
She stiffens. Like she got hit with a bucket of ice water.
I don’t want to look. I don’t want her to look.
But she does.
One glance. One breath.
And everything changes. The atmosphere shifts and it’s like she suddenly realizes where she is and what we were about to do.
I see the instant the shutters come down in her eyes.
“I have to go,” she blurts, her voice a mess of panic and guilt.
She pushes against me, sliding off the counter before I can stop her. I take a step back. Her hands are shaking as she smoothsher dress down and runs her fingers through that glorious thick brown hair.
“Mia, wait—” I say, reaching for her.
She won’t look at me. Her voice is low. Final. “This was a mistake.”
“Bullshit.” I practically growl.
Her gaze flickers to mine. And for a second—I swear—she wants to stay.
Instead, she turns and pushes through the door and runs for it.
I’m still standing there, every inch of me burning, every part of me screaming for more of her, for just another second. Her heat is still imprinted on my skin, her taste on my lips, and she’s already halfway out the damn bar.
Her scent lingers like a brand—adrenaline, and that intoxicating heat that’s uniquely her. My fists clench at my sides, jaw tight, breath ragged.
She didn’t mean it.
I know she didn’t.
