Bedded Bliss (Found in Oblivion #1) - Cari Quinn Page 0,35

were tethered, linked in a way that defied logic.

“Ask,” she panted. “Ask your question, Michael.”

The relief that she knew who he was too sang through him like a note that went on forever. He could barely speak around the tightness of his throat. “Do you have freckles all over, Chloe?”

Saying her name again felt like a form of defiance. Yeah, they weren’t supposed to be doing this. Not the sweet, single mom with the difficult past and the asshole rockstar who wreaked destruction wherever he went. But she was still looking up at him with those glowing eyes, and her mouth was still swollen from his.

No one could tell them no. Apparently, not even each other.

Saying nothing, she gripped his hand and led him over to the woodgrain bar at one side of the club. The final stool was empty and she leaned back on her elbows, giving him room to slide her onto the bar. Up, up, up, until that expanse of bare belly was fully on display and she was stretched out in front of him.

“Why don’t you find out?” she whispered.

Chapter 9

Hours seemed to pass while she was on that bar. Lost to him and the fire he’d stoked inside of her.

Now it was raging.

The watery tones of the song seemed to infiltrate her skin. Her hips followed the silky rhythm as she lifted her arms. She closed her eyes just enough so the twirling lights became streaky trails dragging her away from reality. Her fingers brushed over crystals dripping off the overhead lighting fixtures of the bar.

She had enough vodka in her veins to ignore the fact that Michael Shawcross was at her feet. When his fingers skimmed over her calves and around to the backs of her knees, she opened her eyes and met his hooded gaze.

Silver winked from his eyebrow, and the shadow of a beard emphasized the angular lines of his face. He was absurdly handsome. Too attractive, to be honest. No man should be that hot and be even remotely attainable.

Yet there she was. On the bar, with the calloused tips of his fingers dragging up the backs of her thighs.

She slid her fingers into his hair. The super short hairs sifted around her trimmed nails until she got to the denser wavy strands on top. Just enough to twist, so she did. She tugged his head back, pressing her knee to his shoulder.

He reached up for her, gripping her waist with his huge hands. His long fingers made her feel tiny. Wanted.

His eyes screamed hunger.

No. Not for her. He wasn’t for her.

Rockstar.

Wrong type.

So much the wrong type.

Too bad the crackling arc of attraction between them wasn’t freaking listening.

Her breath shuddered out as she slid down his body, her breasts rubbing against his firm chest. Muscles everywhere. The breadth of his shoulders wouldn’t allow her to encircle all of him. She held onto what she could, her toes dangling off the floor.

His mouth was right there.

So close that she could taste the tequila shooter he’d just sipped off her flesh on his breath. The bite of lime would still be on his tongue. Her nails dug into his shoulders.

She wanted that lime.

Wanted his afterburn one more time.

She couldn’t remember the last time her skin had felt so tight and responsive. She didn’t want to question it. Didn’t want to play it safe.

Safe made no sense tonight.

She covered his mouth. There was no teasing between them. Foreplay had been the air between them, the lights and the music that followed him around like its own forcefield.

Power and haunting charisma drenched in charm.

She felt the hint of his smile before their tongues tangled.

Slick and dominant, he brought every want into the foreground. She’d believed the lies she told herself. That she didn’t need to be touched. She could live without passion.

Now she’d learned otherwise. The starvation diet never worked. As soon as she’d sampled off the forbidden tray, the craving had become all-encompassing.

Hot. Worse than any drug she could imagine.

Want eroded sense. Sense floated away the moment his taste infiltrated her body.

He demanded participation with a tempting wind of lips and tongue. Just when she thought she would need to rip herself away to breathe, he adjusted their kiss and offered a hint of oxygen.

Just enough to feed the beast building inside her chest.

In one sweeping move, he lifted her then carted her across the room. He dropped suddenly and she went free-falling into his lap. Startled, she tried to find her footing, but