I clench my molars so hard I'm worried I'll crack a filling. "Fun." I draw my pistol, and another for good measure. "I look like I'm acquainted with fucking FUN?" I gesture at the doors. "The assholes who came through those doors look like they wanted to play Call of Duty with me?"
She doesn't back down. "You took them out. And the four before them. How many more could there be?"
I almost laugh at this. "A fucking lot." I shake my head. "Listen to me, Terra. Why, I do not fuckin' know, but I actually like you. And I don't generally like anyone. So trust me when I say I’m doing you a huge fuckin' favor by ditching this party of yours."
"What if I said the party was all but guaranteed to end in the penthouse suite we've got reserved…with me on top of you, naked, riding your cock like a goddamn rodeo star. Would that change your mind?" She says this in a low, sultry voice, a sexy smirk on her crimson-painted lips, eyes communicating clearly that she is in no way joking.
"Fuck me," I hiss.
"That is the plan," she murmurs, cupping my junk over my zipper. Her eyes widen as she feels my semi growing into a full-blown hard-on. "Ohhhh myyyyy. What have we here?"
"Darlin', under literally any other circumstances, I'd take you up in a heartbeat. You mentioned a broom closet? I'd fuck you against any and every surface, vertical and horizontal, until you begged for mercy." I step closer until I'm towering over her, and I take a handful of her scarlet braid and tilt her chin up, smashing her huge plump pale tits against my sternum. "I'd come all over these tits. Make that sweet, juicy ass of yours shake until it hurts. Make you come so hard you'd see your goddamn ancestors."
She gasps, biting her lower lip, sucking in a deep breath so hard her breasts swell nearly out of her bodice—in fact, one of them does, a thick, erect nipple poking over the top of the cup. "I sense a 'but' coming," she murmurs, eyes on mine, heedless of her wardrobe malfunction. "I really, really don't want to hear the but."
"But if I stay one more second, I'm putting your life in very real danger. You, I could protect. Maybe. Probably. Your girl Emily and her new husband? That douchebag with the 'stache and his skinny little girlfriend? I can't protect all of you. I won't be responsible for any more death, Terra Connelly. Not theirs, and certainly not yours."
She looks up at me with a fearfully complex expression—turned on, afraid, confused, angry. Emotions flicker across her face rapid-fire. "You can't say shit like that to me and then ghost, Saxon Cabot."
I can't help myself. So help me God or whoever or whatever the fuck is or isn't out there, but I can't fucking help myself.
I dip and claim her mouth, twisting the long braid around my fist and clinging hard, tugging so I know she feels it. I kiss the ever-loving shit out of her.
And by god, she gives as good as she gets. Her tongue slashes into my mouth first, and when I dance my tongue against hers, she nips it, hard enough to draw a grunt from me. She grips the front of my button-down and hauls me lower, her other hand snaking around the back of my neck and cupping, clutching. Gripping hard. Pulling me down, closer, deepening the kiss.
My cock goes ramrod stiff behind my zipper, raging and painfully hard. Unable to control myself—a situation utterly and totally unfamiliar to me—I bend at the knees and lift her. She squeals in shock into my mouth, and then her sweet thick bare thighs are wrapped around my waist and her heels are hooked behind my back, her arms are looped around my neck, and I know she feels my cock throbbing against her core.
Fuck, I feel her. She's sopping wet, and can't be wearing more than a thong under that green dress so tight it's a second skin around her lush bountiful curves.
Jesus, I could come right now.
For that matter, so could she. I can feel it. It's in the way she writhes against me, the way she moans into the kiss, the way she pulls me against her and clamps her thighs around me so hard I fear for my ribs—not that I'd utter a sound in protest even if she actually cracked them. She feels too damn good.
Danger, danger, danger.
All thoughts have been erased from my brain except the primal drive to please. To please HER.
I grind against her and suck her tongue into my mouth. She whimpers, meets the grind of my hips with her own, and fuck me if I'm not seconds away from exploding in my slacks like I'm fourteen again, under the bleachers with Katie Kennedy's school-famous tits in my hands.
Fuck.
I have zero capacity to stop. My feet carry me, and her. Kick the side door open, and stumble through, ignoring the groans and curses of the men struggling to get out of the linen carts. Around a corner. Sort of alone.
Press her back against the wall and pin her in place with my hips. Tug the neck of her dress down and bare those fucking magnificent tits.
Bare, they're even more incredible.
"Jesus fuck, Terra, you have the greatest tits I've ever seen in my goddamn life." I don't give her a chance to reply.
Cupping one in my hand, I fondle the soft silky weight and lift it to my questing mouth, taking the pert pink nipple between my lips and flicking the tip with my tongue.
She gasps, jerking, shaking. Fuck, she's gonna come.
I have to feel it, have to feel her orgasm on my tongue.
I go to my knees, setting her on her feet. She whimpers in protest, thinking I’m stopping.
"I got you. Feel free to scream."
