of my own throat. With my toes curled snugly in my boots and my fingers fisted into the front of his shirt, I’m once again becoming lost in this man. Whether it be the delicate caress of his fingers, the gyration of his hips, or the warm whisper of his breath as his lips trail a path across my neck, his every move feels deliberate. Practiced. The man knows his way around a woman. If I had my wits, that would probably bother me, but as it stands, I can’t feel anything but appreciation for the skillful way he’s molding me to his will.
Calloused hands travel along my sides and over my hips before reaching around to cup my ass. He pulls me flush with his body, nipping at my lips before pulling back just a hair’s breadth. “That’s a ten,” he rasps before inclining my chin with the tip of his nose so I’m staring right at him. “Fight me.”
I’m never one to back down from a challenge, but at the moment there is no fight in me—none whatsoever. I nod, gripping the back of his head with both of my hands and attempt to bring his mouth back where I want it—where I desperately need it.
What is it about this man that has me willing—hell, practically begging—for him to take me right here, out in the open for anyone to see? The way my hips are grinding into his pelvis like they have a mind of their own—the mind of a slut—tells me what I think I already knew… I’ve not learned a damn thing from our past experience.
“Say it,” he commands, through a jumble of nipping lips and gnashing teeth.
“T—ten,” I agree, sagging into him as I mewl against his lips.
With that, he breaks away, sporting a satisfied smile as he tucks my hand into his. “That’s more like it.” He tugs my arm, moving toward the entrance, but I’m still too worked up to move, nearly tripping over my own feet. “Come on, we got some rugs to cut.”
“What?” I gawk at him like he’s speaking another language while adjusting my clothes.
“Cut a rug?” He does a little shimmy. “You know? Dancing.”
“Right.” I suck in as much of the cool December air as I can as we cross the parking lot, attempting to regain my wits before entering the bar. “You ever been before?”
He inclines his head, looking up at the flashing neon pink sign. “Here specifically? Or line dancing?”
“Either…both.”
“Neither,” he admits, gripping the lapels of my jean jacket and pulling me in to plant a kiss on the tip of my nose. “I’m not really one for formal dancing.”
“Great,” I rasp, reaching around him for the door handle. “This should be a blast.”
My adrenaline starts pumping when we step inside, greeted by the flashing strobe lights and the familiar tune of “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” blaring through the speakers. My hips start swaying along to the sound of boot heels stamping on the wood floor in time with the beat.
Dancing might not be his thing, but I was born for it.
“Keep that up,” he teases, pulling me back into his chest with a finger hooked through the beltloop at the small of my back, “And I’m gonna have to find the owner of this place…see if they have a dumpster out back.”
“Don’t tempt me,” I tease, feeling emboldened by the lively atmosphere, and also still more than a bit worked up.
He nibbles my ear lobe before jutting his chin out straight ahead toward my petite brunette bestie who’s standing on a stool, flailing her arms in the air like a maniac to get our attention. “Wonder if she noticed us walk in?” he muses.
Kate and Beau have somehow managed to snag one of the coveted high-tops right off the dance floor. They must’ve gotten here as soon as the place opened.
They are adorable…all matchy, she in black leggings, a plaid tunic, western boots, and her hair in twin braids draped over each shoulder. Beau’s dressed down from his usual lawyer garb, in a black button down tucked into a pair of Wranglers and cowboy boots. His habitually styled hair is wind-tousled, giving him a playful charm. “Damn, Beau,” I tease, leaning in for a hug. “You look almost human tonight.”
“Could say the same about you,” he counters, looking me over from head to toe. “Where’s the pencil skirt and red bottom heels?”
“Ahem,” Kate hacks, loudly. “We’re standing right here, assholes. Stop flirting…damn.”
I roll my eyes, making