Page 25 of Wicked Temptations
During the midnight show, he got me against the chain-link fence and his hand slipped under my vest, fingers splaying across my ribs. That was definitely not part of the choreography. Just him touching me because he could, because he wanted to, because he was just as fucked up about this as I was.
I retaliated in kind, getting him in a headlock and letting my mouth brush against his ear. “Still thinking about it,” I whispered. “About you bent over, taking my cock.”
He made a sound that definitely wasn’t performance, and I felt it all the way down to my bones.
By the closing fight, I was ready to either fight him for real or fuck him like an animal right here in front of everyone.
I stripped the makeup off faster than usual, wiping black and white streaks down my neck, not caring that I looked like hell. Other performers were still chatting, taking their time, but I needed to get out before I did something stupid.
I left my costume on, grabbed my keys and bag and headed out into the night.
The staff parking lot was dark, lit only by weak overhead lamps that did shit-all to penetrate the October fog rolling in off the highway. My car sat where I’d left it, and I’d made it three steps before I heard boots on asphalt behind me.
“Ash.”
I stopped. Turned.
Jude walked toward me, still in full costume, vest unbuckled and hanging open over his tank top. Black greasepaint smudged across his cheekbone where he’d rubbed it. He looked furious. Looked hungry.
Looked exactly how I felt.
“What.”
It wasn’t really a question. More of a challenge.
He closed the distance between us until I could smell the sweat and fog machine smoke clinging to his skin. His eyes dropped to my mouth, then back up, and something in my chest cracked wide open.
“Get in the car.”
My pulse kicked up, rebellion flaring. “No.”
That was the wrong answer. He yanked me forward by the vest until our faces were inches apart. His breath ghosted across my lips, and I went hard so fast it made my head spin.
“You’ve been eye-fucking me all night,” he said, voice low and rough. “Touching me. Whispering shit in my ear. You think I’m just going to let you drive away?”
Yes. No. Maybe. Fuck.
I couldn’t think with him this close. Couldn’t breathe. My hands came up automatically, fingers curling into his vest, and I didn’t know if I was pushing him away or pulling him closer.
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
“Liar.”
He shoved me backward. My spine hit the car door hard enough to rattle my teeth, and then he was right there again, crowding me against the metal, one hand braced above my head.
“Get in the fucking car, Ash. Back seat.”
It wasn’t a request.
My hand found the handle behind me, and the door swung open. I stumbled backward into the cramped space, and Jude followed me in like a starving predator finally getting a meal.
The space was immediately too small. My sedan wasn’t built for two grown men and all the tactical gear we were still wearing. But the second the door closed, Jude was on me.
His mouth crashed into mine before I could say anything. Before I could think. Before I could talk myself out of this because we were doing it again, in a fucking parking lot where anyone could see, where it meant nothing except bodies and heat and the desperate need to get off.
I kissed him back anyway. Hard and hungry. My hands fisted in his vest as his tongue pushed past my lips, and I opened for him because I always would. Because I’d been wanting this since before I even knew his fucking name, and now that I’d had him once, I couldn’t stop.
I didn’t want to stop.
