She tastes like fine whiskey and bad dreams. The second our mouths fuse together, she moans. Low and soft, rising from deep in her throat, the sound fries the part of my brain that’s responsible for restraint and good decision making.
I hold her jaw in my hand and drink greedily from her luscious mouth like a man who’s been living without water for years.
She leans into me, flattening her hand over the center of my chest, arching closer to my body. Off in the distance, someone whistles a catcall and starts clapping. We both ignore it.
I slide my tongue against hers and wish we were already naked.
“Get us a room,” she breathes, her lips moving against mine.
I capture her lips again because I’m not done kissing her.
She’s delicious. Warm, soft, feminine, and completely fucking delicious.
I want to devour every inch of her body. I want to leave handprints on her skin. I want to bite her and lick her and fuck her in every way between tender and brutally hard.
I want to let this woman with pretty eyes and a sad soul ruin me.
At least for tonight.
Turning her head, I growl into her ear, “I’m going to the front desk. I’ll meet you in ten minutes by the elevators. You shouldn’t be there, Shay.”
“I will be.”
“You shouldn’t.”
Tearing myself away from her, I rise from the booth and nod at Matt behind the bar to put the drinks on my house tab. Then I walk away, weaving through the tables as I head out toward the lobby and front desk.
It takes every ounce of what willpower I have left not to turn around to see if she’s watching me go.
