“How’s that?”
My friends are listening, and I get uneasy, thinking this might not be something I should air in front of them.
Maxim appears amused, though. He gives an easy shrug. “Because if they say something disrespectful to you, I have to kill them.”
My friends ooh over his comment. I guess it is sort of swoon-worthy. Especially if you don’t know he probably means literally kill.
I’m saved from responding by the arrival of our cocktail waitress—or I should say his because she is definitely all about him.
She sets a shot glass of tequila in front of each of us, along with a small plate of lime wedges and the salt shaker.
Maxim reaches for the salt shaker, beating me to it. “Body shots. I pick the location.”
I blink at him. I know what body shots are. I’ve done them before with stupid college boys. But never with the hot, virile man beside me. The guy I’m married to. The man my friends and the liquor I’ve already consumed has lowered my inhibitions with.
I hesitate, waiting to see where he’ll put the salt, but he chooses an innocuous place—the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. He licks it and sprinkles on the salt, then holds the lime in his teeth.
All the while, my friends watch, waiting to do their shots for the entertainment at hand to unfold.
He brings his hand to my lips. I lick, pound my shot and bite into the lime between his lips as my friends whoop and holler.
“Are you sharing, girl? Because I might want to lick some of that, too,” Kimberly says with a wink.
I know she’s kidding—probably swaying it to nudge me into having sex with Maxim, but I can’t deny the smack of jealousy that hits me square in the chest. It’s that, along with my newly-recognized exhibitionism, that makes me grab a lime and the salt shaker. “Come and get it, big boy.” I rub the lime across the top of one of my breasts where the skin shows above the dress, then sprinkle salt on top. I shoot him a do-you-dare? look, even though I have zero doubt he does, indeed, dare.
Yes, he makes a total show out of it, and I’m the center of attention—exactly the way I like it. He moves in slowly and drags his tongue across the salt. Then he swipes again, and a third time, before dipping his tongue below the top of my dress and teasing my nipple.
“Mmm.” He comes up and holds my gaze while he downs the tequila. He doesn’t suck the lime in my teeth. Instead, he kisses the fuck out of my mouth, twisting and torquing the lime between our lips while holding the back of my head captive.
When he finally stops, I spit the lime onto the table and gasp for breath.
Kayla fans herself. “Oh my gawd. So that’s how it’s done.”
“Your turn.” Maxim winks, and my friends salt their own thumbs and down their shot.
A round of bottled waters magically appears—Maxim must’ve ordered them before the cocktail waitress left the last time.
“Let’s go dance,” I suggest, somewhat drunkenly after I’ve downed half my water.
Maxim stands to let me out. “You want me to go with you or stay here and hold the table?”
I put my hands on his chest, accidentally bumping right up against him when I lose my balance. Why was he being so dang nice to me?
Oh damn, I asked that out loud. I definitely need to dance off that tequila shot.
I go up on my tiptoes and press a sloppy kiss on his lips. “Thank you for saving our table,” I say and weave onto the floor with Kayla and Ashley. The other two stay behind with Maxim. I whirl when I get a few steps away and point between them. “No body shots on him while I’m away. He’s mine.”
Maxim’s amused smile sends cascades of warmth into my belly and down my inner thighs.
Handsome husband.
Chapter 9
Maxim
My bride and her friends like the attention they garner on the dance floor. I’m a possessive man—extremely possessive. And when that mudak had his hands on her, I was jealous as hell. But I’m not one of those guys who needs his woman to cover up and not show off the gifts God gave her. Especially not if it gets her horny flaunting it.
The women dance and return. I push water, then order another round of cocktails, which they don’t finish. The next time they go out to dance I go with them. There are two-foot platforms people can climb onto to dance against the wall, and I lead the group back there. I hold Sasha’s hand to steady her and lift my chin toward the platform. There are people dancing on it, but I project enough authority—like I own the place, and I decide who gets to dance on the mini stages—that the people on it decide to hop down.