“Oops,” she says, licking her bottom lip as the last ball rolls in. “Guess I win.”
Benji claps. “Hell yeah, precious.”
“Poor doc,” Jett says with a shit-eating grin. “Better pucker up.”
She walks straight to me first. Not to Jett, not to Benji. To me. Her fingers hook into my belt like she’s done it a thousand times.
“You gonna keep your promise, Rhys?” she asks, looking up through her lashes. “Porn kisses, remember? Unless you need a refresher on what that means.”
I’m done. Sanity’s gone.
My hand fists in her coat as I yank her flush.
I grab her by the waist, haul her up, and set her on the pool table. She lets out the filthiest little giggle as her thighs fall open around me, coat slipping back to reveal nothing but skin and temptation.
I step between her legs, press close, chest to chest, her bare thighs squeezing my hips. My hands find her ass and I pull her against me, grind her into the edge of the table.
She’s hot. Already wet. Already needy. I groan into her mouth the second she kisses me, because she isn’t playing fair. Tongue, teeth, filthy fucking moan as she rocks against my cock and grabs two handfuls of my shirt.
I slide one hand into her hair and tug, hard enough to make her gasp. My other hand is under her ass, fingers digging in. We grind together, obscene and desperate.
She kisses like she lives, aggressive, messy, needy. Our mouths crash, collide, devour. She bites my lip, and I bite her right back. I swallow her sounds, her laugh, her groan when I angle her hips and grind just right. I feel the exact second she tries to chase it, a little shiver, a clutch of her thighs.
“Oh, fuck, Rhys,” she pants, dragging her mouth to my jaw, my throat, biting just under my ear.
And she’s grinding on me, in front of everyone, legs locked, hips rolling, coat open and my hand on bare ass, and not one part of me wants to stop.
There are catcalls. Someone gasps.
I don’t give a single fuck.
There’s no air. No world. Just this consuming kiss that tastes like whiskey and danger and whatever the fuck this is between us.
Someone whistles. A chair scrapes. There’s a burst of laughter from a nearby table.
We don’t stop. I don’t even slow down.
She breaks the kiss for half a breath and bites my bottom lip, eyes glazed.
I push her hair back, forehead pressed to hers. My voice is ruined when I speak. “You’re going to destroy me.”
“Promise,” she says, and kisses me again.
Harder this time. Her hands under my shirt, nails dragging across my stomach. I groan. She tastes like whiskey and sin and the reason I’m going to lose my license.
The room is spinning and I barely register the cheering, the hoots, the goddamn applause. It’s too much. She’s too much. I break the kiss, barely. Just enough to breathe, to pant out, “Not here… not like this…”
She leans in, glowing from it and whispers against my ear like. “Tuesday?”
Fuck.
“Do you have a gag so I don’t make your secretary blush?”
My cock throbs so hard it might burst through my zipper. Jett whistles behind her. Benji groans. I whimper. She just smiles, sliding off the table like I didn’t just black out from dirty talk in a bar full of witnesses.
She moves like sin in motion, those legs of hers too short to make it graceful and too smug to care.
“I did win,” she says sweetly, flashing Jett a wicked grin. “You owe me.”
