Page 93 of Tangled In Tinsel & Knots
He’s slick with sweat, heat rolling off him in waves. My fingers drag over the solid plane of muscle, finding the curve of his shoulder, the heavy beat of his heart under my palm. He makes a sound low in his throat, half groan, half growl, and the hand at my hip tightens, dragging me flush against him.
The world drops away in a rush. There’s no bar, no roaring crowd. Just the thud of bass through the wall, his mouth movingagainst mine, his breath mixing with mine as he deepens the kiss.
He tilts his head, angling for more, and I open for him without even thinking about it. Heat roars through me, sharp and bright. My knees soften. He’s the only thing holding me upright, fingers digging into me, thumb pressing just under the waistband of my jeans like he wants more skin.
I slide one hand up, up, until my fingers brush the back of his neck. Damp hair, hot skin, the flex of tendon. He kisses like he dances, committed, all in, nothing held back, and every second of it feels like a bad idea I never want to stop having.
When I finally tear my mouth away, I’m breathing hard, my lips tingling, my whole body buzzing like I’ve been plugged into a socket.
My gaze drops before I can stop it.
Yeah. That’s… not subtle.
His cock is straining against those ridiculous green boxer briefs, the fabric pulled tight over gingerbread men and the “Bite Me” slogan now sitting at a very distracting angle.
Heat slams low in my belly.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this right now,” I whisper, though I don’t step back. I can’t. My fingers are still curled against his chest, feeling every rapid breath.
His eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them. “Pretty sure that ship sailed the second you promised us private shows,” he murmurs.
From across the room, Noel laughs, the sound rich and amused. “The girls are going to lose their minds,” he calls, not even looking up from the costume pile. “Authenticity in performance and all that.”
The reminder hits like a splash of cold water. Fifty drunk, feral women. A schedule. An event I am technically responsible for.
“I’ll stall as long as I can,” I tell them, forcing my hand to flatten once more against Kane’s chest before I peel myself away. He lets me go, but his fingers trail along my waist as I step back, reluctant to lose contact. “Take your time. Make it good.”
“Oh, we will,” Noel says, finally glancing over with a wicked grin. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint your audience.”
My audience.
My men.
The thought is reckless and dangerous and does awful, wonderful things to my pulse.
I slip back out front. The noise swallows me instantly. Ruby is already onstage with the microphone, working the room like the pro she is, getting them to shout, to cheer to keep the energy high.
My head is spinning.
That pulse of arousal I felt when I took Noel into my mouth, how I crawled into Kane’s bed? The same tight, breathless need from breakfast with Chris yesterday? It’s slamming into me again, harder this time. Meaner.
Waves of heat that have nothing to do with the temperature in the bar roll through me, leaving my skin too tight. There’s a heavy ache building between my thighs, persistent and insistent, and every time I blink, I see Kane’s mouth, Noel’s grin, the way they moved onstage in those stupid briefs.
Not sure moving in with them and being this close all the time is doing my pre-heat situation any favors.
I need suppressants. Soon. Very soon.
Before I do something even more reckless than letting them strip for fifty drunk women…
Like asking for that private show and not stopping at a kiss with all three.
15
HANNAH
We stumble through the front door, and the blast of warmth from inside is so welcome I could cry. My face is numb from the cold, my fingers stiff.
Kane is already kneeling by the fireplace, arranging logs. “Just got a text from Chris. He’s still at the station processing those idiots. Says it’s a busy night down there, but he’ll be home when he can. And apparently he has something to tell us.”
