He slid his hands down my thighs, reversed the direction, and ran them up and over the flared skirt. He reached my ass and paused, circling his palms, squeezing. When I flexed my glutes beneath his hands, he leaned in and pressed his lips against my throat.
Oh God, I loved that. The heat of his breath, the bold possession of his hands, the slight lift of his hips as he nudged his erection against my heated center. The hard proof of his desire set my nerve-endings on fire and my heart into a rapid flutter of anticipation.
His hands continued their journey upward, along my spine, curled around my neck, and sifted through my hair. He made a fist in the strands and used the grip to tilt my head to the side. His face slanted the other way as he pulled my mouth to his, stopping just before our lips touched, holding me in a state of torment, where the only thing that separated us was the clash of our quickening breaths.
My hands fell to his shoulders, clinging to that hardness, fingers digging in. The wait was an aching forever, but so fucking worth it when his tongue darted out and touched my mouth.
Tremors rippled through my limbs, and my lips opened instantly.
Then he kissed me, his mouth a hot prison, one I blissfully fell into. And the fall was deep. Stretching the jaw, deep. Coil through the belly, deep. Spasm between the legs. Deep.
The entire cosmos narrowed until the only things that mattered were him and me and this kiss. His tongue rubbed against mine, his lips moving with aggression and demand. I tightened my grip on his shoulders, my knees wobbling, my face burning against the scrape of his whiskers. Oh God, what a burn. It shimmied over my skin and liquefied my insides.
The kiss strengthened, grew bolder, his tongue fucking my mouth with angry thrusts, the hand in my hair tightening until the follicles screamed in delicious agony. His other hand spread over the rise of my ass, pulling me against his arousal.
I rocked my hips, licking his mouth, our tongues tangling in an intoxicating dance. He tasted like Guinness, a hint of toothpaste, and something warm and exotic and all him.
My fingernails scratched over his shirt, gouging into his shoulder blades. Tingles raced up and down my legs, weakening them. But the arm around my waist held me tight, dizzyingly close, his cock a hard, heavy weight behind his zipper.
My inner walls contracted, aching to be stretched. I wanted to fuck him. Right now. Right here.
Right here.
In a public place.
Fuck! I tore my mouth from his, and we stared at one another, panting for air, lips wet and swollen. The fist in my hair released, lowering to my waist. I dropped my hands to his chest and blinked rapidly. “Fuck.”
A satisfied grin danced at the edge of his mouth.
Goosebumps rose on my arms, my body fevered from arousal and nerves. I leaned back, glanced around the bar, feeling spectacularly exposed, naked, and on display.
The saxophone was no longer playing, but the crowd was gathered around the stage, a buzz charging through the packed bodies.
No one was looking this way, not a single eye watching the make-out session at the bar. I let out a tiny relief of air, hoping my ridiculous paranoia was just that. Ridiculous.
It was just a kiss, and the adultery clause in the contract was specific. There had to be proof of intercourse.
Christ, the way his tongue had fucked my mouth, it sure felt like I’d broken the contract.
Feet shuffled over the stage. Men in bow ties weaved around the piano, drums, and the upright bass. The band was setting up. But it was the face behind the mic that explained the crowd’s fascination.
The lights lowered, and I turned to Logan. “Been here before?”
He twisted at the waist, looking around. “No.”
“Then you’re in for a treat.” I nodded at the stage and glanced over at him, the strong lines of his face etched in confusion, his eyes taking everything in.
Standing in the V of his legs, I leaned a hip against his hard thigh and rested an arm around his shoulder, angling us toward the stage. “Richard Cheese is making one of his impromptu appearances tonight.”
His head jerked back. “That’s his name? Dick cheese?”
Oh boy. I grinned. This was going to be a blast. “He does rock and hip-hop covers. Lounge-style. Really naughty songs crooned in a jazz voice. It’s fucking awesome.”
His left brow dipped low. He didn’t look convinced.
“If you haven’t heard My neck, my back, lick my pussy and my crack bellowed by a white guy with a heart full of soul, you haven’t lived.”
“Definitely need a life then.” He smiled, and I felt it everywhere, surging my pulse with excitement.
The banging of the lowest piano key strummed through the room, followed by a series of high keys. As the tap of the hi-hat joined in, the crowd cheered.