He disappears into the kitchen, side-eyeing me the whole time. A smirk graces his lip.
A zip of excitement races down my spine as anticipation sets in. Anticipation for what, exactly, I don’t know. But something is about to happen. I feel it.
I toss the rag I was using on the bar top into the bin on the floor. What do I do now? Usually, I’d shout at Nate that I’m leaving, and then I’d walk out the back door. But I’m going home with him now. How does this work?
We haven’t closed the bar down together since I moved in with him. Either one of us has been here or he’s had Murray do it.
I walk around the end of the counter and mosey around the room. Chairs are on top of the tables so we could mop. The lights are off except for the light bar over the mirror on the back wall.
I come to a stop next to the pool tables just as Nate walks back into the room. There’s a confidence in his movement that could be construed as arrogance if you didn’t know him. But I do know him, and I know what’s about to happen.
My breathing stalls as he gets closer.
Instantly, my body tightens, ready for the experience he promised me days ago. It’s never happened. Ryder has been home. And on the one afternoon, he wasn’t, what started as a bath ended up in a deliciously slow oral exchange that I still think about.
“Have you ever played pool?” He walks by me, brushing against my side. His finger hooks the side of my shorts as he goes.
Pool? I don’t want to play pool, Nate. Come on.
“Not really,” I say, trying not to be frustrated with him. “Once or twice in here just messing around. Why? Do you want to teach me?”
He takes two sticks off the rack. “Get us a couple of drinks, and we’ll see what you’re made of.”
I was joking. I don’t want him to teach me how to play pool.
I want him to bend me over a chair. Pull my hair. Slap my ass and make me scream. I want to know what he’s capable of. I’m desperate to see the other side of him.
“Okay,” I say as cheerfully as I can and head to the bar. It takes everything I have not to flip him the bird as he chuckles softly.
I make two rum and Cokes, although I want a shot of tequila. Nate watches me the whole time.
His gaze is heavy—intentional. The entire room is heated from his stare. The unknown eats at my restraint. What is he going to do? Is he going to do it now? Here? Is he going to torture me with freaking pool?
He smiles. He’s doing this on purpose.
Two can play that game. One probably better than the other, but I’m still tapping in.
I squat down and remove my bra. My nipples press against the white tank top. I couldn’t have planned it better if I had tried. I stand with my back to him and gather a few cherries into a bowl.
I take a deep breath and gather myself, ignoring the way my stomach tightens at the thought of what I’m about to do.
Breathe, Paige.
Grabbing the drinks, I walk around the end of the bar.
Losing the bra was worth it. Nate’s eyes widen, darken, as he watches me near him. He licks his lips slowly.
Dammit.
I set the drinks on a table but keep the bowl of cherries in my hand. Nate leans against the pool table and smirks. We’ll see about that.
My heart pounds as I wonder vaguely if I’ve let my head, in this case, overload my ass.
Let’s hope not.
I saunter his way and stand inside the v of his spread feet. “Want one?”
He opens his mouth. I press a cherry between his lips and pull the stem away. He sucks it into his mouth, never taking his eyes off me.
I pop one of the bright red fruits between my lips and make a show out of closing them over it. His eyes darken even more.
His hands grip my hips, digging into the skin just above my waistband. Fingers flexing, he holds me in place as he watches me.
I grab the back of his head, lacing my fingers into his hair, and guide him toward me. It takes little effort to bring his lips to mine. His mouth opens, giving me the access I’m looking for. We kiss slowly—tongues lazily gliding across one another. When I pull away, it’s obvious it’s too soon for his liking.
He raises a brow and then takes the perfectly tied cherry stem from his mouth.
My body tightens, begging for him to touch me like I know he can. But he doesn’t.
“That’s impressive.” His words are controlled. Precise. His tone is low and gravelly, the vibrations lick at my core. “What do you want, Paige?”