I know I shouldn’t do this. Touch her. Kiss her. I said it out loud in the hopes I’d convince myself this is wrong. I fucking know it’s wrong.
But right now, at this moment, I don’t care. I’m too caught up.
Caught up in her.
My hand drops from her mouth and she takes a deep breath, her lips parting, mine crashing down on hers to shut her up before she says something to ruin the moment. I kiss her fiercely, thrusting my tongue in her mouth, my hands wandering along her waist, her hips. She returns the kiss with equal, hungry force, a whimper escaping her when I cup her left tit, my thumb strumming the already hard tip. My mouth waters, and I tear my lips from hers to bend over her chest and suck and lick her nipple.
She thrusts her hands in my hair, holding me there, keeping me there, like she never wants me to leave. I cup her ass and break away from tasting her skin to lift her up. She automatically wraps her legs around me, her skirt riding up her thighs as she presses her heels into my ass. Wincing from the pain, I hold her against the wall, my erection nudging her right between her legs, and I swear I can feel her panties and her hot pussy beneath.
I’m losing control. Right here in the hallway by the bathrooms in a seedy strip club. I want to fuck Jensen against the wall, thrust deep inside her welcoming body, and damn the consequences.
“Rhett,” she whispers, her hands greedy as they reach for me. She grabs hold of my face and brings my head down so our mouths are mere inches away from each other. “Please. Kiss me.”
I do as she asks, drowning in her taste, in the swirl of our tongues, our bodies straining against each other. I’m drunk as hell and messed up in the head over this woman.
This has to stop.
I break the kiss and she clutches my hair tighter. “No,” she whispers against my lips, her tongue darting out for a lick. “Don’t stop. Please.”
It takes everything I’ve got to lower her back to her feet. Tug her skirt back into place. Release my hold on her and step away.
I’m shaking. She’s quivering. Our panting breaths fill the tiny space. Her nipple is still wet from my mouth and my cock presses against the fly of my jeans, horny and ready to slip inside her.
But I can’t. Not like this. Not here.
Maybe never again.
“You still want me,” she says, sounding surprised.
Her statement pisses me off. What does she think, that I’m inhuman? I can’t turn my feelings on and off like a light switch. I cared about her. I told her that.
Yet she’s still surprised I want her.
“Of course I do. I mean, look at you.” I wave a careless hand in her direction, trying to play this off. Trying my damnedest to be as callous and unfeeling as she seems. “Who wouldn’t want you? You’re walking around with hardly any clothes on, with your tits hanging out. They all want you.” I run a hand through my hair, trying to fix the mess she made with her fingers, trying to play this entire thing off.
Though deep down, I know what I just said was my way to try and hurt her.
The look Jensen gives me is full of so much pain, that I immediately feel like an asshole.
But by the time I can find my voice to correct my wrongs, she’s already gone.
“You missed the performance of the night,” Chad tells me when I return to the table.
I say nothing, reaching for the first semi-full glass I see. I down the liquid in one long swallow, grimacing when I feel the burn of alcohol slide down my throat like fire. That tasted like absolute shit. “She was that good, huh?” I ask, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
My thoughts immediately go to Jensen, and how good she felt in my arms.
But then I remember what I said to her, and I banish her from my brain.
“You just finished my drink, asshole,” Chad says incredulously.
I shrug. “I’ll buy you another one.”
“Yeah, you will,” Chad mutters just before he raises his hand. “Hey, sweetheart, get your fine ass over here. I need a drink, stat.”
I want to growl in irritation at the way Chad just commanded Jensen. Calling her sweetheart and talking about her fine ass isn’t sitting well with me, but what the hell can I say? I can’t expose our so-called relationship to him.
Jensen approaches us, her expression unreadable. She’s mad. At me. I don’t look at her as she asks in the fakest, sweetest voice I’ve ever heard, “Sir, what would you like?”