Page 8 of Unromance

He grinned, pushing off the counter to stand before her. Her heart rate picked up automatically as she lifted her gaze to meet his. “Well, then—” He held his nearly empty glass up between them. “Cheers to being single.”

She matched his grin, clinking her glass against his before draining it. Every time she stated her credo on the Lies Hollywood Has Fed Us, people brushed it off like she was a philosophizing teenager. For once, she didn’t feel like she was being mocked.

As he set his empty glass on the counter behind her, she rested her hands on his hips, guiding him closer. Fuck, he was attractive. Why had she wasted so much time being broken up over Sadie, then casually dating or insisting on friends with benefits, when she could have been having one-night stands instead? No-fuss sex. No coy beating around the bush. They both knew why they were here, and no one was going to get in too deep and get their feelings hurt.

He brushed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear, only for her bangs to slide right back into place, tickling the tops of her cheeks. As his fingers came to rest at the hinge of her jaw, goose bumps of nerves and excitement erupted on her skin.

“I should probably tell you something.” She couldn’t meet his gaze, her hands traveling slowly from his hips to his chest. Her mouth went dry at the muscles she felt beneath his shirt. No way he was in finance, not with a body like that.

He pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, guiding her to look at him. “Is it that your vagina has teeth? Because if so—” Mason sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s gonna be a deal-breaker for me, sorry.”

Sawyer laughed. “Nah, Coochie Mane doesn’t have teeth.”

A surprised laugh bubbled past his lips that turned into a full-body shake. With effort, he calmed himself, tugging on the corners of his mouth to keep from smiling. She slid her finger between the buttons of his shirt absentmindedly. “This is my first one-night stand.” She wasn’t sure why she told him. She blamed the whiskey for making her tongue loose. That, and the knowledge she’d never see him again, emboldened her. “Not that, like, it’s a big deal, or anything, I just—I dunno, thought you should know.”

He placed his hand over hers, flattening her palm over his heart. “I’m honored.”

“You should be,” she quipped.

“I will do my best to make it worth your time.”

His voice had dropped to a low timbre, and Sawyer sagged against the counter, her brain taking slightly longer than usual to produce a response. “Well, I expected that regardless.”

His laugh coasted across her cheek, his chin dipping down to rest against his chest. As he regarded her through heavy lidded eyes, her stomach fluttered with the realization that they were done talking. Which was a shame, really. Sawyer couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much with someone, and she would never see him again after tonight.

The thought flew from her mind as his fingers grazed her jaw. Her eyes locked onto his, the air between them taut with expectation as both of them waited for the other to make the first move.

And then they were both moving. She tilted her face back in invitation, and he took it, brushing his lips against hers once, her lips parting as her mind went blank, his mouth coming back to hers in a kiss that was much too sweet for what they were here to do.

She buried her hands in his hair, cursing against his mouth when she found it was as soft as it looked, twining her fingers through his dark curls enviously. She made a mental note to scope out his shampoo brand before she left. His hands slid into her back pockets, squeezing softly and eliciting a smile from her.

“You don’t have to be so gentle,” she murmured against his mouth.

A low growl escaped him, his fingers flexing more forcefully.

She crushed her mouth against his, every fiber of her attuned to his wandering hands. She didn’t normally like to talk during sex, found it embarrassing, but she didn’t really care about impressing him. So she told him when he did something she liked—which waspretty much everything he did—and she didn’t bother stifling her moans or gasps.

“Why do we still have clothes on?”

He palmed her breast through her shirt. “I have no idea, but,” he panted, “the inventor of turtlenecks should send you a thank-you note.”

Sawyer laughed. “I mean, I can leave it on.”

Mason gave her an assessing once-over, shaking his head infinitesimally. “No,” he said gutturally.

“I can take it off?” she suggested with a lazy grin.

“In a minute.”

Before she could respond, he unfastened the button of her pants, yanking them down to her knees in one fluid motion. Clearly, he had other priorities, which was fine by her. He gave her ass another none-too-gentle squeeze before hoisting her up on the counter and pulling her pants all the way off. He kissed her roughly before making his way down her body, lowering himself onto his knees.

They were going to do this here. In his kitchen. She supposed itwasan appropriate place to get eaten out.

Shoving their empty drink glasses out of the way, she lay back atop the kitchen island, hands tangled in his hair as his tongue and teeth and fingers gently teased her, taking cues from her moans and gasps and whimpers of “Yes.”

At one point, she may have even whimpered, “Thank you,” to the romance gods for delivering her a man who treated cunnilingus like a job and his rent was due. She didn’t care if she was about to come too quickly. She didn’t care if Mason Álvarez was a fake name or if he thought Sawyer Greene was fake, too, because right now, as he coaxed her over the edge atop his kitchen counter inhis obscenely nice apartment, she didn’t remember what her name was, what his name was, or if it even mattered.

She sucked in a shaky breath as Mason kissed his way up her body, pushing her shirt up under her breasts. “Bedroom. Now,” she rasped.

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