Bet he’d feel good pressed against me. And, oh yes, I’d like to feel someone pressed against me—if he was the right guy. You just never know where you’re going to meet the right guy.
As the music thumps, and the drinks flow, I move to the beat, swaying and grinding with my friends on the dance floor. My eyes drift around the club, and—
There.
Right there.
Seems my naughty prayers have been answered.
He’s above, his elbows resting casually on the balcony, his eyes surveying the place.
Land on me, hottie. Land on fucking me.
I practically will him to check me out since I look damn good tonight. I chose this tight black shirt that shows off my arms—the kind that reveals all the nooks and crannies of my chest muscles.
And sometimes dirty wishes come true. Those brown eyes laser in on me, and for one hot minute, it feels as if maybe he’s thinking the same—it would be his civic responsibility to rip this shirt off me.
Yes, please.
I wink at him—in case he needs the encouragement—then lick my lips.
Like clockwork, he peels away from the railing, heads to the stairs.
Oh yes. The Gunnar charm is working overtime.
I keep moving, my body grooving to the beat of the music.
A minute later, even over the pulse of the driving dance beat, he comes up behind me, and his voice lands soft and sultry in my ear. “In the mood to dance?”
Oh, it’s my lucky night. I’m just a sucker for a British accent.
“If you’ve got the moves,” I say to the man who is right where I want him.
“Well, I guess we’ll find out,” he says, all smoky sexy.
“I guess we will.” I spin around, meet his face, and holy fuck. He is too hot, too gorgeous, too smoldering. But I am willing to take on all of his too much. Those lush lips, those carved cheekbones, and those deep brown eyes that have dirty deeds etched deep within them.
“Hello Lucifer,” I say, since he is the spitting image of Tom Ellis on that TV show where he plays the devil.
The man laughs. “Yes, I do have a little bit of the devil in me,” he says as our thighs touch and we move together.
He steps close—closer. A whisper of space flirts between our bodies as he moves his hips in a motion that I just dig. A motion that says he knows what to do with his body in bed.
“I hope it’s not just a little devil,” I tease.
He spins me around, sets his hands on my biceps, yanks me against his crotch. Hello, hard-on. “Perhaps it’s a rather large devil,” he whispers, all commanding and powerful.
Just the way I like it.
Oh yes, I like that very much.
“I like a lot of the devil,” I rasp out, grinding against the ridge of his erection, savoring the hard feel of him already aroused.
“Then that’s what you should have.”
“I want it. I definitely want it.”
He runs his nose along my neck, inhaling me. I shudder under his touch. His clear need for possession. “I think I saw you earlier this summer,” he whispers in my ear as he pushes against my ass again, giving me a preview of what he might do to me.
“Yeah I think you did too,” I say a little breathy, because the feel of him is already lighting up all my senses.
“Kept hoping I might run into you again, if I’m being honest,” he adds.
“And why would you be anything but honest?” I ask, sliding my hands along the fabric of his slacks, covering his muscular thighs.
“People aren’t always honest.”
“But you should be honest about desire,” I say.
“You absolutely should,” he says, and desire is pulsing through me as well as an intense longing to taste those lips, so I spin around, look into his eyes, then say, “If I’m being honest, I’d really like to feel your lips against mine right the fuck now.”
He arches a brow. “Would you?”
“I absolutely would.”
“Then far be it for me to deny you.” He threads his hand through my hair, keeps his gaze locked on mine, and slowly, deliciously, inches closer and closer until his lips cover mine and his taste floods my senses. My eyes float closed. I am caught up in the longing.
This is my favorite place to be. Lost in the physical. In touch. In sensations. He’s bringing all of them to me as his hands rope through my hair, as his lips crush mine, as his desire is crystal clear.
His lips.
Holy fuck.
His lips are incredible.
Pillowy and lush. Commanding and intense. He sweeps them over mine, sucking on my bottom one, tugging it between his teeth, making me groan.
Thank God the music is so damn loud. The sounds I’m making are dangerously loud and dirty. But hell, who could blame me? His mouth is so possessive. His kiss is consuming, commanding.