Page 7 of Maneater
“Come with?”
I can’t think of a good response, not when barely two words and the feel of his skin on mine have my mind short-circuiting and heat spiraling through me.
“Okay,” I whisper, and then I’m following Rowan through the bar.
We move quickly as he pulls me past a small dance floor and tall tables in dark corners toward a part of the high-end bar and nightclub I’ve never ventured into. “Do you work here or something?” I ask with a laugh. It might just be the lingering rush of endorphins from a closed case or the liquor, but either way, I feel giddy.
“Or something,” he says, looking over his shoulder at me. I lift an eyebrow. “The owner of this place is a friend of mine.”
Finally, we move through a door, and he closes it behind us before pushing me against the solid wood with his body. There’s a low light on the desk, but that’s it, leaving both of us cast in shadows.
“Is that supposed to impress me?” I ask, and his face is close to mine. He stares at me hungrily, his gaze moving between my eyes and my lips, a small smile tipping the edges of his own.
“I feel like you’re not an easy woman to impress, Josie.”
“Seems like all of your obsessing over me has paid off a bit.”
“I’m not obsessing over you,” he lies.
“Sure you aren’t, baby.” I don’t have much time to revel in the flash of pleasure and heat that lights his face at my words because then his lips are on mine, and the world slows. Every bit of my focusdrops to where we meet, to where his tongue glides along my bottom lip, a polite request to open, which I oblige too quickly.
When his tongue touches mine, my arms lift, looping around his neck as I groan. It’s a full-body experience, the way he feels pressed against me, the way my mind quiets, the way he tastes, the throaty sound of approval that comes from his chest as he kisses me. His hand moves, gripping my hip and pushing his hips into mine.
He breaks the kiss, his lips move to the spot beneath my jaw, and he presses them there before nipping my ear. My head falls back with a light thud, my eyes drooping with pleasure.
“How’s that whiskey you hate so much taste now that it’s on my tongue?”
I groan, my hips shifting to try and get some kind of relief from the need quickly building in me, and a deep chuckle rumbles through him.
“It’s an acquired taste, I suppose,” I murmur. “I haven’t quite decided yet how I feel about it.”
“Give me a few minutes, I can guarantee you’ll love the taste when I’m done with you.”
I roll my eyes and force back another moan as his hips rock into mine.
“You’re so fucking obnoxious,” I say as his lips move down my neck. “And I don’t do arrogant.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes.” But still, I groan as his lips latch onto my neck, sucking at the sensitive skin over my pulse. My dress hikes up as my leg lifts to wrap around him, moving to press my hips tighter against his, to grind and get some kind of friction, and get closer when I feel it.
He’s already hard.
Fuck.
I want him.
“Fucking wet,” he groans, his hand sliding over my ass and under my dress before his fingers shift between my legs, sliding up and along the seam of my panties.
“Please,” I whisper, my eyes fluttering shut, shock rolling through my system at how turned on I am. It’s never like this. I’ve never been so turned on by a man that I lose all common sense, let him pull me into a room in a bar, and beg him to ease the ache inside of me.
I don’t have time to overthink it, though, because his hand is moving to my front before his fingers tuck behind the seam of my underwear and back down until he’s cupping me. My leg falls to the ground to steady myself, though he’s holding me in place, and I moan again, my hips pressing into his hand.
“Is this what you want? You want my fingers inside of you? Or do you want my cock?” I bite back another please and smile up at him with hooded eyes.
“You have to prove yourself worthy before you fuck me, Mr.—” I pause, realizing I don’t actually know his last name.
“Fisher,” he says, then slides a finger into my wet pussy. “But you can call out Rowan when you come.” Then the finger moves out, and I mewl at the loss. A low chuckle leaves his lips as he shifts his hand out of my panties. Before I can protest, I understand his purpose: his hand is shifting up to my hip, hooking under the band of them. Then he’s bending to tug down my thong, silently instructing me to lift one foot and then the other to step out of them before tossing them somewhere behind him.
