The soft skin just above her collarbone? That was mine as well.
The curve of her ass that filled my hand as she rocked her core against my cock? Yep, mine.
Her fingers tunneled through my hair as I gripped her other thigh and lifted, holding her against the wall as she wrapped her legs around my waist.
“More,” she demanded, pulling my head back to hers.
I went willingly.
She rocked. I thrust, grinding against her like I could fuck her right through the layers that separated us.
I balanced her weight with one on the wall, then slid my hand up her waist and ribcage with enough deliberation for her to protest. She didn’t. Instead, she arched into and moaned as it covered her breast.
The sweet sound made my dick twitch.
I flicked my tongue across hers at the same time I stroked her nipple with my thumb. Fuck, she felt perfect. I needed her in my mouth, needed to see just how hard I could get that peak between my lips, my teeth. I didn’t just want one kiss with her in the back of a bar. I wanted this woman laid out like an offering to the sex gods so I could worship her properly before fucking her out of my system.
Maybe that was exactly what needed to—
The door flew open, accompanied by a feminine curse about the light switch.
I whipped my back toward the door, blocking Bristol from sight.
“I was honestly just looking for…yep, there it is.” Echo grabbed a bottle of liquor from a case near the door.
“Omigod,” Bristol mumbled into my neck, every muscle going rigid around me.
“Get out, Echo,” I snapped over my shoulder at Sawyer’s wife, who also owned the bar we were currently making out in.
“Will do. Don’t worry, the bar seems to have this effect on people. Carry on. My office is open if you need it, but for the love of God, stay out of the kitchen.” She gave me a two-fingered salute and grinned on her way out the door, shutting it behind her.
I steadied my ragged breathing, then slowly lowered Bristol to the floor, making sure she was steady on her heels before backing away to get some much-needed space between us.
That had spun out of control so fucking fast that I still wasn’t sure exactly how it had happened. But I knew it couldn’t happen again.
Her wide eyes met mine as she lifted her fingers to her lips.
“Walk out now, Duchess.” I pointed to the door.
“Cormac,” she whispered, stepping toward me.
I backed up another step. “Walk out. Right. Fucking. Now.” I felt a table behind me and gripped it with both hands, trying to talk my body off the ledge.
Bristol glanced at the door, running her tongue over her lower lip, and I groaned.
If she wouldn’t leave, then I would.
“Fuck!” I snapped, then walked out, not looking back when she called my name or even stopping to say goodbye to the guys. I got the hell out before I did something we’d both regretted.
Something I had a feeling we both wanted.
Angela smiled at me the next day as she led me into the penthouse. “Thank you so much for fitting us in! Ms. McClaren had some of her other designs overnighted from New York, and she just wanted to check the sizing before we got to work on the rest.”
“No problem,” I answered, offering her what I hoped was a friendly smile and not a grimace. I’d nearly told Bristol to fuck off when she’d summoned me here this afternoon, but this was business, and what happened last night…well, that wasn’t.
Business meant I’d showered and come straight from our Sunday matinee game. New Jersey had been a win, but we’d had to fight for it.
Suitcases lined the wall, and assistants carried even more as they came from various rooms of the suite.
“Oh, you’re here!” Bristol said, her eyebrows rising in surprise as she stepped out of a bedroom and into the hallway, her hands clutching a designer bag.
“As per our agreement.” I didn’t notice that she’d gone casual in jeans and a fitted T-shirt, nor did I appreciate just how well the denim hugged her ass as she turned around, handing the bag to another assistant.
“Thanks, John,” she muttered. “Come on, Mr. Briggs, we don’t have all day.” She lifted her head and strode down the hallway, leaving me to follow after her.
I shook my head, but I sure as hell followed.
Maybe that was one of her problems. She was always the one in control. Always the one with the power.
“Do all the men in your life just follow you around when beckoned?” I asked as we walked into the room she’d transformed for fittings. Grabbing the fabric behind my neck by the fistful, I yanked my shirt off.
“And how many men do you think I beck—” She turned, then stilled, her gaze sweeping down my bare chest.