Page 4 of Hale Damage
“How impressive,” I say dryly, swatting his hand away.
Undeterred, he bobs one eyebrow, making the duck mole appear to waddle. “I’d really love to take you back to my place for the night. Does that make you wet?”
My right hand balls into a fist. I’m not above punching a motherfucker, but I answer with saccharine sweetness. “It makes me about as wet as the shampoo I used earlier tonight.”
Douchebag grins, and I notice he has spinach or something stuck in his teeth. “Let me guess. The shampoo was nice and creamy?” he literally croons.
I put on my own smile. “It was dry shampoo.”
It takes him a second to realize the dig, and his face falls just as I hear a chortle behind him.
And then a deep voice carries over the music. “My man, you’re messing with the wrong woman. My woman.”
Duck Face and I turn our attention to the speaker at the same time, and… whoa. He’s tall. Really tall, towering over Duck Face by at least a foot.
“Your woman?” the douchebag asks skeptically, and the big guy ignores him, stepping around the smaller man and directly in front of me.
“Hey, honey. Everything okay?”
Honey?I blink a few times because the man in front of me is fuck-a-licious. “Fine, dear,” I say, playing along. “I was just about to tell this guy you were on your way.”
His perfect mouth crooks up on one side, chocolate-brown eyes searching mine. I try to convey with my own eyes that I’m on board with whatever game he’s playing.
But the idiot behind him isn’t taking the hint, his voice accusatory. “I saw her come in with another woman. You weren’t with her.”
Neither of us deign to look at him because we’re fixated on each other. “I’m with her now,” Hot Guy replies, reaching up to cup mycheeks with both hands. He pauses, silently asking for permission, and I give him the slightest of nods. I’m not sure what he’s asking for, but I’m here for it.
“Missed you today,” he murmurs a split second before his mouth covers mine.
It’s like this is the first time I’ve been kissed in all of my twenty-three years. His lips are soft and warm, and he smells like something woodsy topped with hints of sweet citrus. My lips are suddenly in charge, taking over my brain function and parting for more.
The man makes a little hum, a mixture of surprise and approval, before dipping his tongue into my mouth.Oh my.He tastes as good as he looks, like a fine scotch with the perfect blend of oaky sweetness and something smoky.
One of his hands slides to the back of my head and beneath my hair, warm and firm against my scalp, while the other drops to my lower back. At his gentle urging, my ass slides forward on the chair and he steps fully into my space. My legs, the little sluts, spread as far as my dress will allow, the stretchy fabric being tested to its limits as the guy makes himself right at home between them.
I’m transported into whatever realm this man rules, and he undoubtedly rules something because no one kisses with this much confidence and skill without being a take-charge kind of guy. The type that says “jump” and the world happily asks, “How high, sir?”
Our tongues twist and swirl, and my nipples grow uncomfortably hard against the fabric of my bra. I don’t even realize my hands have found the man’s hair until the jet-black strands slide through my fingers.
It’s the perfect kiss… slow, sweet, and laced with dirty implications. When he pulls back, I’m breathless and my mind is hazy. The man licks his lips as if to savor one more taste of me and smiles. It’s a devastating smile. Either God or a very good orthodontist blessed him with the most beautiful set of teeth I’ve ever seen.
“Is he gone?”
The question catches me out of left field since I’ve been lost in the mesmerizing strokes of his lips and tongue. “Who?”
“Dry shampoo guy,” he replies with a smirk.
I snort in the most unladylike fashion. “Oh yeah. That kiss was so long I almost forgot about him.”
He lifts his hand to rub his thumb over my bottom lip, his hooded brown eyes following the move.
“Not long enough.” When he pulls his thumb back and sucks on it, I’m afraid I’m going to leave a wet spot on this damn chair.
I look over his shoulder. “He’s gone,” I say a bit reluctantly because I have no doubt this man would kiss me again if whats-his-face was still there. Just to stake his claim. And I’d fucking let him.
“Damn, I was hoping I’d be forced to kiss you again to prove my point.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Forced?” I place my hands on his chest as if I’m going to push him away in outrage, but I think we both know the score.
