Fuel the Fire (Calloway Sisters 3)

Instead he effortlessly hoists himself onto the bar, and he kneels on either side of my thighs. The crowd cheers, and I sweep his features: his grin lifting, his eyes only dead-set on me, his fingers—his fingers remove his first layer of clothing…pulling his long-sleeve shirt over his head, now in a white button-down and tie that he’d been wearing underneath.

He tosses the navy, long-sleeve shirt aside.

The band dies down, leaving only chatter and this event on the bar, spotlighted by camera flashes. Everyone is watching him.

More him than me.

This fact begins to morph my anxiety into sexual awakening, a pulse mounting below. My brain tries to register what’s happening, his fingers loosening his tie.

He clutches the back of my head with his other hand. And very slowly, so I understand, he whispers, “Get ready, darling.” His breath heats my neck. “This may spin your head.”

[ 31 ]

ROSE COBALT

My body thrums, and he slyly fastens his tie around my wrists, binding them behind my back. The cheers inside the bar nearly pull me out of the moment, but Connor rests a hand on my cheek.

“Only look at me,” he reminds me.

I nod, trusting him. Then he kisses me so powerfully, nipping my bottom lip with his teeth before he rises to his feet, no longer kneeling.

He towers above me, my head level with his crotch.

Oh God.

I cross my ankles that hang off the bar and glue my thighs together, the pulse starting to hurt. My body is screaming for him to ram inside of me, this need escalating while in a fully-packed pub. This can’t be happening.

But it is.

He strokes the top of my head with his hand, in arm’s length of me, even standing. I look up at him, and he unbuttons his shirt with a heady, seductive gaze that nails me like a hard fuck between my legs.

“Take it off! Take it off!” so many people chant. Among them are my sisters and friends, crowded near the bar.

Connor tugs my ponytail, forcing my attention back to him and not my surroundings. Focus, his eyes say loud and clear.

His fingers unbutton the last one, his shirt opening to reveal his infuriatingly defined set of abs and those carved biceps. My husband is stripping on a bar, a show meant to stir the media, but also meant for me.

His confidence transforms what could be a silly, sloppy act into a commanding, stimulating experience that has undoubtedly roused my body. I am completely soaked. I’m thrumming for his cock. Not to mention, I’m horniest the few days before my period, and this is one of those days.

And his hand—his protective and possessive hand on my head is doing a number on me.

He tosses his button-down aside, now shirtless.

“TAKE IT OFF!” the chants grow.

His pants…is he…?

I instinctively want to use my hands to shield my mouth that literally keeps falling. My wrists jerk against the restraint, and Connor tugs my pony again, until my eyes meet his intimate gaze that pushes right into me.

I take shallow, short breaths.

The corners of his lips begin to lift once more, especially as he unbuckles his belt, right near my face. Fuck…me. He steps closer so that my cheek is almost pressed up against his cock, an inch of space separating us. As he unbuttons his slacks, his knuckles brush my nose.

“TAKE IT OFF!”

The howls of approval sit far into the back of my head. My skin heats like we’re having sex on the bar. Are we? This feels like he’s fucking me, right here, right now. Everyone is watching.

He never falters. Never even balks. He acts as though it’s just us here, as though this is the easiest adventure he’s ever taken.

“Connor…” I say, not so much in warning just in place of expletives and exclamation marks that blare inside my brain. He teasingly pulls down the hem of his pants, inch-by-inch, revealing the band of his navy boxer-briefs.

I quickly steal a glance at my sisters, and they all have their fingers pressed to their wide smiles. Lily’s eyes look ready to pop out of her head.

I internally experience all of that and a pulsating arousal that screams fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!

Connor switches hands on my head, holding me with his left one—for Connor, his left hand is his more dominant hand.

Loren comes behind Connor, and he pulls down his pants and boxer-briefs enough to show off his bare ass. Connor is grinning at me. I must wear every emotion that pounds at my mind.

Lo pinches his ass. “Happy St. Patty’s Day, motherfuckers!” Everyone cheers and raises their pints and green cocktails. He lifts Connor’s boxer-briefs back, but I’m aware that Connor has my head entirely stationary, in line with his cock.

He thrusts against my cheek three times, my entire body combusting, and a strangled moan latches in my throat, the noise smothered by the euphoria around us.

I break through the tie restraint, and I grasp his thigh with one hand and a little higher with the other. His ass flexes beneath my palm.

I’ve frozen.

He lowers, kneeling on either side of me again, and while my head spins in a million different directions, his lips meet mine, the force—the power returns. Though it’s never left. It just fills me orally, his tongue parting my lips, his arms pulling my chest into his body.

I can’t keep up. I fall into wherever he directs me. Into the headiness that he supplies me. I just hold onto his biceps, and he slides off the bar, bringing me with him, setting me on my feet.

He’s still kissing me, still wrapped up against me. Yes, I think. He manhandles me the way I love to be manhandled, and I accept him, every action, every flick of the tongue. My lips sting beneath his, my skin flushed, the alcohol not even coming close to the effect that Connor has on me.

“DO IT AGAIN, CONNOR COBALT!” the nearby shout breaks into my actions, and I squint at the harsh light of camera flashes, coming in waves once again. My husband is still shirtless, his belt unbuckled and pants unbuttoned, but his slacks rest in the proper place, covering his ass from view.

Connor holds my face caringly, his grin lifting higher and higher. “You liked that.”

I smack his chest, still breathing heavy, and he’s hardly even winded. He seizes my hand and kisses my knuckles. I realize I didn’t even need to be on-the-floor wasted to accomplish a bigger public display than most people will ever commit to in their lifetimes.

He made me feel safe.

Comfortable. He’s done this before, switching an event onto himself so it eases me into it. His confidence has a way of seeping straight through me, and I love this person in front of me…a man that I always want to be with.

I splay my palms flat on his bare chest, and he hugs his arms around me, even if I don’t really reciprocate it with my arms around him. I just keep my hands right here.

My tipsy-self almost wants to tell him, you’re so hot. I want to bang you. You’re bangable, you know? Your hair is perfect. Your lips even more so. I keep opening my mouth, but even the thought of uttering an overly sweet compliment tastes strange and wrong.

So I land with this, “I hate you.”

He grins more. “So much so that if I stayed up there for three minutes longer, you would’ve climaxed.”

I scoff. “No…” I trail off, remembering the pulse of my body that was climbing towards a peak. You would’ve orgasmed on a bar, Rose. In front of e

veryone.

I believe it, but I just raise a hand to his face to shut him down.

He clasps my wrist, and he lowers his lips to my ear. “I’ll take care of you tonight.”

Translation: Keep drinking if you want.

I do want.

And then I watch his eyes slip off me, and I follow them to Ryke. Everyone laughs around him. Even Daisy looks like she feels better with a brighter, more genuine smile. However, he wears a dark questioning glare, pinned on us.

It says: why the fuck are they doing this? Did they lose a bet? It doesn’t make fucking sense…

What we can’t reply: we’re doing this to draw attention off our kids and onto us.

This might be the night where Ryke refuses vague excuses and fights for a real answer.

[ 32 ]

CONNOR COBALT

Daisy and Rose stumble down the hotel hallway together, drunkenly laughing and clutching onto each other for support. They both took tequila shots until the pub closed, and they’ve been singing “My Heart Will Go On” by Céline Dion, all incredibly out of tune.

I’d enjoy the whole scenario more if Ryke wasn’t beside me, silently overthinking my striptease back in the pub. I can practically feel his mind at work as we walk behind the girls, and he steals reticent, cautious glances my way, hoping I’ll meet his eyes and regurgitate every secret I have.

I’m not that easy to crack.

The girls trip over each other near our hotel door, and they collapse in a heap, giggling. I rub my lips, trying not to laugh since Rose never makes this noise. It’s a rarity that I’ll remember—it’s one that I do adore.

I stop in front of them, staring down as they look up. “Girls,” I say, passing Ryke the hotel keycard.

Daisy with glazed eyes says, “Rose wants a cupcake. Don’t you, Rose?” She pets Rose’s cheek.

Rose wears a pleased smile. “Yes…cupcakes, please.” She holds out her hand, as though waiting for me to kiss her wedding ring or deliver her a treat.

“How about bed, darling?”

She makes a face at me like I offered her dirt in a bag. “That’s a horrible present, Richard.”