She stares up at me, whipped cream trailing up the middle of her chest, ending where her pronounced collarbones dip down and meet the soft spot at the base of her throat. “Or is that going to be too milky for you?”
I drop my head in her direction, blocking some of the onlookers out with the brim of my own hat. “You want me to lick whipped cream off you, Princess?”
Her tongue darts out, wetting her bottom lip as her eyes peruse my body in the hungriest way.
“Yeah. I think I do.”
I don’t need her to ask twice. I crouch low, pressing my tongue to her bare skin as her hands mold to my shoulders. My mouth slides over her sternum, and I don’t bother being polite about it either. I lick, I drag my teeth, and when I get to that soft dip, I suck at her skin before I press a gentle kiss against her.
Her fingers grasp my shirt, and her eyes are laser focused on me when I spare a glance up at her face.
I give her my best cocky, panty-melting smirk and dive back down between her breasts. One of her hands slides over the back of my neck, her fingers raking through my hair before taking hold. My lips wrap around the shot glass of something syrupy and sweet. Something I would never normally drink, but if Summer wants me to lick it off every square inch of her delectable body, I will happily spend hours obliging.
I stand tall and wrap an arm around her waist, tugging her against me as I tip my head back and down the shot.
I can feel her heart pounding against my ribs. She fits right under my arm, like that spot was meant for her.
“Okay, my turn.” Emmett tries to step in, but I turn Summer away under the shelter of my arm. The thought of letting her go now is almost unbearable. To him, to anyone.
Turn? This isn’t bowling, asshole. “I already told you. Not a fuckin’ chance.”
I hear him try to say something to Summer, but I’ve got her by the wrist and have a clear shot to the door.
We’re getting the fuck out of here.