Page 11 of The Decadent Gift (The Gift 3)
But when she didn’t say anything more, I gave her an out. “Or we can just pretend the bet never happened.”
“Do you think I want to pretend it never happened?”
“You tell me,” I said. This time I needed her to make the move. I had to know she wanted this—wanted me.
I held up my phone. The stopwatch on it ticked past one minute. The time she’d predicted it’d take for the couple to be tangled up together.
We both checked them out at the same time. The woman in white wasn’t dancing with the guy.
Kate looked back at me and grinned.
Wickedly.
“Oops. It’s been more than a minute,” she said, lifting her chin. An offering. “Too bad I lost.”
Her gaze darted around the club, and when she spotted a dark corner away from the dance floor, she led the way there.
I didn’t need any more confirmation than that.
But I got it when she turned around, leaned against the wall, and locked her eyes with mine.
She was waiting for a kiss.
And she’d wanted to lose.
6
Kate
Just one kiss.
That was it.
That was all.
Didn’t I deserve it?
Tonight might not be a girls’ night out anymore, but if the maid of honor could have the Henry Cavill hottie, I could have one kiss as a bet.
I deserved just a little bit of dessert.
And Jake, holy hell, was he ever the definition of a decadent dessert.
Besides, maybe he’d stop being a white-hot distraction after one kiss.
It was possible.
As I gazed at his handsome face, his carved cheekbones, his square jaw, his eyes drew me in the most—dark brown and full of dirty intent. This man knew what he wanted. I saw it in those irises, so much desire, and it thrilled me to be the one he craved.
Thrilled me more than I was ready for.
Jake closed the remaining distance between us, clasped my cheeks, and dropped his mouth to mine.
The second we kissed, my skin sizzled.
My mouth tingled.
And my breath caught.
He swept his lips over mine, and in an instant, I knew.
His kisses were everything.
They were electric, hot, and heady.
Exactly as I’d imagined in all my what-ifs.
This wasn’t the first time I’d thought about kissing Jake. And kisses were only the start. In my imaginings, they’d spiral into touching, shift into filthy words, and descend into games, make-believe, and scenarios.
I pictured it all with him ever since I’d started seeing him in a new light a few months ago.
He kissed me greedily, answering all my questions. For months I’d wondered how he would kiss. Would he be hard, tender, curious?
The answer was none of the above.
Jake Hamilton kissed possessively.
He kissed me with ownership.
With his lips crushed to mine, he took my kiss. He commanded my body. His long, tall frame pressed against mine and gave me nowhere to go. And I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to feel everything in this moment. I wanted the sweet surrender to his lips. The scratch of his stubble. The taste of his breath.
This was a brief and wondrous escape from the troubles that had plagued me during the last year.
And what an escape it was.
Lips crushing, tongues skating, hands holding my face. As he consumed my kisses, my mind tripped back to how he’d read my wishes when he made his comments. You’re the Goddess of Observation. You like to watch. To see what everyone is up to.
Did he sense the full extent of my secret desires?
That predicting when the couples on the dance floor would touch only skirted the surface of what turned me on most?
I loved imagining the sex lives of other people.
Imagining what others did behind closed doors. And, with the right man, I loved the idea of inventing scenarios for them. Talking about them. Getting off together to those scenes.
I was a voyeur of sorts. I’d learned this about myself from observing the people in this city, from my job, and from the books I read.
But I’d never practiced it. And now, with this sex-on-a-stick man devouring my lips in the dark corner of a club, I couldn’t stop thinking about my particular brand of voyeurism. I trembled as I pictured taking this game to the next level with Jake.
To playing it.
We’d meet at a bar, find another couple to watch, and we’d tell the story of their kink—winding each other up, turning each other on, getting ready.
Would that couple over there like a sexy stewardess scenario? What about that one in the corner? Perhaps a handyman and hot housewife scene? Or those two over there? Maybe a boss-and-secretary game got them going?
Pleasure swept through me at the prospect of that kind of dirty storytelling with a lover.
As Jake kissed me hungrily, the reel in my mind flicked through images of all the games people played.
The game we might play.
Jake kissed like the kind of man who’d say yes if I asked him. He kissed like he’d be wildly aroused by taking me to a bar, only so we could turn each other on by watching others, by talking about their sex lives.
