Page 87 of Happy Hour

“Well, that debatable.” I suggested trying to imply I wasn’t too upset about my branding.

He grinned widely. “What does yours say?”

“I didn’t get one.” I lied with a sly grin.

“Yes you did,”

“No I didn’t.”

“Turn around, Sway.”

“No.”

His eyes narrowed. “Sway,turn around.”

“No.”

He shook his head slowly. “You really shouldn’t have said that.” And he lunged for me. I was flipped around in his arms before I even had time to react.

He’s a quick.

With my ass pressed against his camshaft, he examined my new branding.

Sure enough, he burst into laughter. “It actually looks like they used an iron.” His fingers traced the outline lightly—I winced. “Sorry,” he mumbled moving his hands to my hips, pushing forward against me. “I like it though.”

“I kind of do too.” I admitted shyly looking down at my feet.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Look at me, honey.” He asked when I kept turning my head away. His hand caught my cheek forcing me to look at him. And though I resisted out of embarrassment, when I finally did look at him, he smiled. “You can get it removed if you want.” His stare was laced with vigilance as he gauged my reaction.

Shrugging, I told him. “I’ll keep it.”

He winked. “I’mdefinitelykeeping mine.” He actually looked proud.

“Really?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Now he actually looked offended.

“What are you going to do when you have girlfriend? Don’t you think she might have something to say about this?” I hedged.

He hesitated for a second before he spoke, his eyes dropping from mine. “It won’t be a problem.” His words didn’t match his expression. He looked upset, maybe even uncomfortable that I said that.

Offering me a quick smile, he turned away to rinse the shampoo out of his pudding hair.

Fearing my own expression would falter, I decided to change the subject.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” I washed his back for him, running my fingers up his long lean lats and over the sharp defined muscles of each shoulder.

His breathing caught when my hands reached around and followed the lines of his hip and down the inside of his thigh.

With my chest pressed against his back now, I could feel the quick rise and fall of each one of his strained deep breaths as though they were my own.

Jameson’s hands moved from his hair to rest against the shower wall, his head fell forward against the tile when my hands found his camshaft and stroked it once.

This was the only distraction I could come up with.

“Huh?” he finally asked.

“What do you remember from last night?” I repeated in a low seductive whisper.

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