Page 2 of Inconvenient Marriage
I should leave her alone. I should… but that’s not who I am. “Then what are you here for?” I ask quietly.
She finally turns so I can look her dead in her face.
Holy shit.
Up close, she’s beautiful in a way that feels way too dangerous. Like her beauty is the thing that got her hurt. Like she’s been trying to put herself back together all evening and hasn’t quite managed it, but someonediddo some damage and I have a sudden need to find out who and beat the shit out of him.
It gets even worse because her voice cracks when she whispers, “I don’t want to remember his name anymore.”
Ah. Now I get it. Now I understand.
I don’t know who the bastard is, but I hate him instantly. I hate him, and I’m so fucking jealous that it burns the inside of my throat.
“Let me guess. You’re here because you want distraction,” I ask.
Her breath shakes even as she nods. “I do. Just for tonight, that’s the only thing I want.”
Then she came to the right damn place.
Ignoring my beer, I rise up from my stool and move so that I’m next to her. With an inviting twist to my grin, I hold out a hand I don’t expect her to take. Still, it’s there if she wants it.
And so am I.
She stares at my glove, trembling. For a heartbeat, I think she’s going to refuse. Just shake her head, mumble something under her breath as her cheeks go pink, then drown her sorrows in her cocktail.
Only that’s not what happens. As though she’s made her mind up about something, she slides her fingers into mine—and something in my chest pulls tight. It’s a perfect fucking fit.
Before either of us can think twice about what we’re doing, I guide her past the bar, down the hallway, toward the bathroom. It’ll be dark and private, without meaning we have to leave. I don’t know if she has a car. Me? I came here on my bike. We need somewhere warm to get acquainted. The bathroom will do.
Once inside, she takes her hand back, planting both palms against my chest. She pushes me near the first stall, following me in. While I marvel at the change that’s come over her, she reaches behind her, engaging the lock.
And then she grabs my t-shirt with both hands, yanks me down toward her, and kisses me.
Hard. Desperate. Like she’s drowning and I’m the air she craves.
My hands find her waist, her hips, her jaw. I don’t touch her roughly. I don’t take more than she gives. But she’s giving me a hell of a lot. Enough that I have to brace her against the backdoor of the bathroom stall as she continues to fist both hands in my shirt, unable or unwilling to release me.
There’s only one way this is ending. I know it, and I think she does, too.
Just in case, I have to make sure we’re on the same page.
“Tell me to stop,” I groan against her mouth.
She shakes her head, pulling away from me so I can see how serious she is. “Don’t you dare.”
Thank fucking God. “Okay. Then tell me what you need.”
“You,” she breathes. “Tonight? All that I need isyou.”
And that’s the only answer thatIneed.
I press her gently back against the door, let her feel exactly how much I want her, how desperate my body is for hers as I squeeze a tit through her shirt. She whimpers; soft, broken, and so goddamn sweet it almost tears me apart.
I’ve been with women before. Too many to count. And yet… there’s something about this one that has me ready to fuck through my jeans.
I stumble back, taking her with me. My upper calves slam into the toilet. As quickly as I can, I unbutton my jeans, yanking them down past my ass. My boxer briefs are next. I’m not surprised to see my erection spring free. I started getting hard the moment she put her hand in mine.
I stroke the heated flesh of my cock, the leather of my glove doing jackshit to cool me down. Not when she’s biting her lip, brown eyes gleaming in the flickering fluorescents of the Last Prayer’s bathroom. I can’t tell what that look on her face means. Whether she’s impressed by what I’m packing, or if she’s having second thoughts.
