The thought of the two of them working together — egging each other on — is enough to make me forget for a moment about the raven-haired beauty standing behind me.
Then the door to the bar closes and we’re alone.
And, in one smooth motion, she slips her leg over me and straddles me. Her hands clasp my cheeks and her lips find mine. All I can think about is how good she tastes.
Full, seductive lips kiss their way from my lips to my ear and, as she nibbles at me, she whispers, “I hope you don’t mind mixing business with pleasure, Crash.”
Chapter Nine
Violet
I shouldn’t kiss him.
He’s not the kind of man I should open up to, make myself vulnerable to, allow my heart to make a commitment of any kind to.
But I can’t help it.
All day, I’ve been watching him. Watching how open and caring and kind he is with Josie. Witnessing what kind of man he is beneath that hard, icy, prickly outer shell. Realizing that that kind of man — who isn’t afraid to tell silly stories to a scared young girl, or to show her the honesty and respect she deserves by talking to her like she’s an adult when the situation require sit — is one that I shouldn’t be afraid to get close to.
Because, as much as he tries to hide it, the man he really is knows how to love.
And, even if I’m not so foolish as to expect love — I’ve been there, done that, have the divorce paperwork to remind me never to do that again — just one night, just this one time, can’t hurt. Can it?
Not when it’s been so long. Not when it feels so damn good to put my lips to his. To press myself close to him and feel him grow so damn hard beneath me. Even through his jeans, I can feel his length and girth. The primal rumble in his chest, the ragged moans of pleasure he makes as he explores my body with his hands and tongue, tells me he is as hungry as I am.
“This is a bad idea,” he says.
I silence him with my lips.
“We’re in a bar. Bars and booze exists to excuse bad ideas. Stop thinking,” I answer.
Muscular arms encircle me, hold me tight to his body. He stands, he leans, presses me flat on my back on the table behind me.
My shirt comes off.
Lips and tongue lavish attention on my chest. Make me shiver with longing as the intoxicating sensation of a new, hungry, powerful man explores my body for the first time.
I rise, just an inch, just enough to reach behind my back and unhook my bra. My nipples harden beneath his tongue. The sensation is overwhelming; I shiver, shake, moan, reach behind his head and hold his face tight to my chest. Fuck, I could hold him here forever. It’s been too long.
Too long, and this feels too good.
His lips leave my tits. They kiss my tummy, going lower and lower at a pace so slow I hammer my fists against the table in frustrated agony. Now that I’m so close to something that I’ve been putting off for years, it can’t come soon enough.
“Patience,” he whispers.
“Fuck patience,” I moan. “And fuck me.”
He chuckles.
When he opens the buttons and zipper of my jeans, when he grabs tight to them and tugs them off me in one slow pull, I raise my hips and lift myself toward him. The only thing between my pussy and his lips are one soaking pair of panties.
“Please,” I moan. “Please Crash, I want it so bad.”
I am soaking, wet and slick with four years of anticipation. Even as he teases me through my panties, running his thumb in a gentle circle above my clit, it’s enough to make me cry out with pleasure.
“You are so wet,” he whispers, taking his thumb from my panties and licking it. “And you taste so good.”
Unable to wait anymore, I grab my panties and pull them off.
“Stop fucking around,” I snap.
He laughs. And then, with a strength that surprises me, seizes me by my hips and forces me flat to the table. He’s strong, I can’t move.
And then he gives me what I yearn for; his lips against my sensitive, dripping pussy. He doesn’t toy with me; he doesn’t tease me; he knows how badly I want this. And I moan and smack the table as he pleasures me with his lips, with his fingers, with his tongue.
There’s a crash and the sound of shattering glass as I smack the table again, my limbs going crazy as he suckles the bud of my clit and massages it with a firm stroke from his tongue.
Sounds like I need to buy a new bourbon glass, I think.
Then all thoughts fade, driven away by his tongue.
All I see are flashing colors behind my closed eyelids. All I hear are his moans and mine blending together in the quiet of my bar, all I can do is clench my legs to his cheeks and lift my hips, rocking them in time with his tongue, grinding my yearning pussy against his face.
So close.
I am so close.
And then I’m there.
“Yes,” I moan. “Yes, oh God, yes.”
Four years worth of pent-up frustration I never knew I had releases in one shaking, quivering, spasmodic fit on a table in my bar. My chest is covered in dewdrops of sweat, my lips tingle, and my fingers clench and unclench as if I’m trying to grasp at air.
And god damn, does it feel amazing.
When my eyes can see again, I sit up. He’s between my legs, still, but he’s stood
