Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Suddenly he was gone, abandoning me on the dance floor like an STD. I jerked away from Painter, rounding on him and jamming a finger into his chest.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
He looked down at me, his face grim.
“What’s the rule, Mel?”
“What?”
“We got one rule—what is it?”
“That you’re an asshole?”
“You stay out of my world,” he said. “I’ve backed away, given you your space. But you stay the fuck away from my world, and that means no bikers.”
“Greg’s not a biker.”
Painter cocked a brow. “He’s a hangaround with the Reapers. Or at least, he was. Now that I’ve seen his hands all over your ass, I got a feeling he won’t be hanging around anymore. Never liked the look of that fucker anyway.”
I blinked, trying to bring things into focus, both literally and figuratively. This would’ve been a whole lot easier if I hadn’t drunk so damned much booze. Shit.
“How was I supposed to know that?” I asked, frustrated by how much my words slurred. I couldn’t hold my own against this fucker if I couldn’t even talk right.
“You should’ve asked,” he said. “And now you’re gonna pay the penalty.”
I blinked, trying to process this, then faster than you could say, “I hate bikers,” Painter caught my hips and jerked me into his body. He’d touched me enough over the years that I was well aware the raging attraction between us had never died. Now it roared to life, clouding my thinking almost as much as the vodka. We started swaying to the music, me tucked into him as one of his hands rubbed slowly up and down my back. The other one caught my head, resting it against his chest.
That familiar ache swirled through my stomach, and while I should’ve been telling him to fuck off, I wasn’t entirely sure I’d be able to stay upright if I wasn’t holding on to him. If he’d said anything—if he’d even copped a feel—I might’ve summoned the willpower to stop him. Instead we just danced slowly.
I felt myself falling into him.
It was nice. Way, way too nice.
The music changed, another slow song. Painter surrounded me. No matter what else had happened between us through the years, this never changed—the burning need I felt for him, the desire to rub myself against him and spread my legs and . . . Oh God. It hurt. It actually hurt, I wanted him so bad. I should be pulling away, but instead I burrowed my nose deeper into his chest, taking in his incredible scent, my nipples tightening.
One of his hands slid lower, catching my butt, squeezing obscenely. His cock hardened against my stomach, the slow sway of his hips growing more aggressive. We’d gone from swaying to grinding and my body loved every second of it.
Clearly, it’d been too long since I’d gotten laid.
“Jesus, Mel,” he whispered, leaning down to nuzzle my neck. The heat of his breath, the softness of his lips contrasting with the hardness of his body . . . It was almost more than I could take. The ache between my thighs was growing, turning into an active need beyond my ability to contain.
This was a very bad idea.
I didn’t even notice when he started walking me toward a dimly lit table in the back of the bar. Puck was there, along with Banks and a couple of girls I didn’t recognize. Painter grabbed the chair in the corner against the wall, pulling me down into his lap, catching my mouth with his before I could even imagine protesting.
This kiss wasn’t hurried.
It wasn’t hot and desperate and dangerous, just a slow fire building until I completely forgot about everyone around us. When he shifted my hips to straddle his across the chair, I didn’t care who might be watching. I was too drunk, and not just on the booze.
His dick pushed between my legs, one big hand guiding me as my hips slowly rubbed against his. The other hand was buried deep in my hair, holding me prisoner as his tongue dove deep inside. The pressure started to build, and all I could think about was how much I wanted the rest of him inside me, too.
Desperately.
“What the fuck is going on here!”
Jessica. That was Jessica’s voice. I froze. Here I was, making out in a bar with Painter, and Jessica had just caught us and . . . Oh God. I’d lost my fucking mind—there was no other possible explanation for what I’d just done. I tried to pull away but Painter held me tight. Then I heard Puck’s deep voice.
“Go to hell, Jess,” he said. “It’s none of your damned business what they’re doing.”
I managed to bring my hands up, pushing against Painter as hard as I could. His arms loosened, although he still didn’t let me up entirely. Looking at Jessica, I saw exactly how bad I’d fucked up written all over her face.