Page 24 of On His Knees
As a matter of fact, you can.
“How about another round of drinks,” I say, and put my hand on his arm. He takes a breath, and I love the effect I have on him. No man has ever reacted to me like this before. Then again, maybe they have and maybe I ignored it because none of those men were Tate.
“Sure thing,” he says on a rasp. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth to stop myself from grinning; but when he turns and I glance at my friends, they’re shaking their heads.
Cara fans herself. “I was pretty sure he was about to take Bill down caveman-style.”
“The tension between you two is off the charts,” Amber adds.
“And I plan to do something about that.” I glance at the bar, watch Tate make our drinks. He hands them over to a female server, and his eyes meet mine before he disappears down a long staff-only hallway—off-limits to patrons. Am I going to let that stop me? Hell no. “You two wouldn’t mind excusing me for a minute, would you?”
“A minute? It had better be more like thirty,” Amber says, and gives me a suggestive wink.
I climb from my chair and adjust the clip in my hair, piling it high on my head, the way I always do to keep it off my face. As I make my way toward the hall, my heart pounds harder. I can’t believe I’m in a bar, in the Swiss Alps, about to have sex in some back room with a bartender. This is so not like me, but holy hell, I’ve never done anything so brazen, so exciting, in my entire life. I walk by some storage room just as a door opens. I jump, fearing my seduction has been foiled and I’ll get kicked out of the place for trespassing, when Tate emerges.
His head rears back, and his eyes widen when they land on me. “Summer,” he says as he smooths one hand over his chest again while the other flicks the storage room light off. He glances left, then right. “What are you...”
His words fall off when I give his chest a little shove, sending him back into the storage room, and follow him in. I shut the door, push him against the wall and go up on my toes to kiss him.
“Holy fuck,” he murmurs.
“Exactly,” I say, letting my eyes adjust to the dark. For a brief moment, he stiffens, like he’s having second thoughts. “I want you, Tate. Right here, right now.”
His body softens, well, all except for one part, and his hands slide around my back to capture my ass. He tugs me hard against his erection, and I let loose a little whimper of need. I deepen the kiss, and he moans into my mouth. What we’re doing is risky and inappropriate, but I don’t care. I want this. I want him.
“I’ve been thinking about your cock all day,” I whisper into his mouth, as my hands rake through his hair.
“You want my cock again?” he asks, his voice changing tone, dropping an octave.
“I’ve never stopped wanting it,” I say, bolder than I ever have been before.
“When I was behind that bar, saw you sitting there all hot and sexy, all I could think about was putting my tongue inside your hot pussy again, and tasting your sweetness.”
Oh God!
My entire body quakes, and in the light coming from under the door, I catch his grin. Yeah, he knows how much I love his brand of dirty talk.
“You like the idea of that, Summer?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Then you’ll let me fuck you with my tongue, feast on you and make you come?”
“Yes...please...”
He growls, low and deep, like an animal ready to attack. “Will you let me do anything else I want to do to you, right here in this storage room, where we could get caught at a moment’s notice?”
I’m not sure if it’s the risk of getting caught that makes this a hundred times hotter and dirtier, or hearing how he’s going to fuck me with his tongue, feast on me. Either way, I’m shaking all over, and eager for him to do just that.
“Yes, but I want your cock in my mouth again.”
As if my words unleashed the beast inside him, he tears into my jeans, and the hiss of my zipper cuts through the room. Am I really going to have dirty sex with Tate in a public place. Hell yeah!
His lips devour mine, then move to my neck. “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever met,” he says, as he presses hot, openmouthed kisses to my flesh. I tug at him, tear at the buttons on his shirt, wanting my hands on his magnificent body. Buttons pop, scattering on the floor, in my haste to get my hands on him.
“Sorry,” I murmur.
Not sorry.