“Fuck that. Maybe I’m the one who needs to be teaching you.” His mouth trails lower, and my laughter turns to a moan as his teeth nip at the swell of my breasts.
Holy shit, this man’s mouth is going to be the death of me in more ways than one. “Sorry if this disappoints you, but I don’t need a tutor. I consider myself an expert.”
“Really?” He straightens, and those liquid honey eyes burn into mine. “Have you ever even been with a good man? One who knows that treating a woman like a queen doesn’t stop at the bedroom door?” He cups my breast, and when his thumb circles my nipple through my suit, I arch into him. “One who worships you the way you were built to be worshipped?”
“I’m not a virgin.” I release a ragged exhale as I thread my fingers through his hair. I tug gently and guide his mouth back to mine, kissing him with all the hunger I’ve felt for years. “I know what it’s like to be fucked.”
“Such a dirty mouth,” he murmurs, but there’s only approval in his tone. When he kisses me again, his tongue is velvety soft against mine, and his guttural groan makes my thighs clench. He tastes like his favorite IPA—slightly citrusy and a lot hoppy. I hate beer, but it’s good on him. I want to drink him in until I can’t taste anything else.
He tears his mouth away, and I whimper, but my sounds of protest turn to moans of pleasure as he kisses his way down my throat and nuzzles his face between my breasts, gently nipping at the swell of each before soothing away the sting with his tongue. My nipples tighten painfully. God, I need that mouth lower. Need to feel his teeth against that sensitive peak.
He works his way back up to my ear with his mouth and back down to my thighs with his hands. “You know what it’s like to be fucked, but do you have any idea what it’s like to be savored? To have a man who wants to earn every moan, every sweet gasp from those lips?” He nudges my legs apart, and his fingertips brush faintly against the fabric between my thighs. It’s hardly a touch. It’s a whisper. A promise of what’s to come. And when I jerk my hips toward him in a raw, physical plea for his touch, he pulls away enough for me to see his smile.
“Tease,” I say.
Just as Kace parts his lips to reply, there’s a knock on the door. “Kace? You okay in there?”
He drops his hands, his eyes wide. Now I really do whimper. Leave it to Smithy to have the worst timing.
“Uh . . . Kace?” Smithy sounds equal parts worried and curious.
“What the fuck, man? I’m in the bathroom.” He throws his head back in frustration and closes his eyes. I’m feeling pretty frustrated too, considering those big fingers that were dancing between my legs a minute ago are now hanging at his side.
“Shit. Right.” Smithy chuckles. “Sorry to catch you with your pants down.”
Smithy’s laughter is contagious, and I have to bite my bottom lip so my own doesn’t give us away.
“Dean was looking for you, and I thought . . .” Smithy clears his throat. “I thought it might be better if I was the one who found you, if you know what I mean? I told him you were in the kitchen to throw him off your trail.”
Kace scrubs a hand over his beard. “Tell him I’ll be out in a minute.”
“I’ll stall so you can . . . you know.” He clears his throat. “Finish and whatnot.”
I wait until I hear the sliding doors open and close again before I speak. “Smithy must’ve seen us both come in here.” I swallow. “I’ll talk to him. Tell him I needed your help with something.”
“Thanks,” Kace says. His light brown eyes meet mine, and he looks . . . remorseful. “Sorry, Freckles. This was a bad idea.”
My stomach sinks. Of course. I’m Stella. Party girl. Dean’s little sister. Walking disaster. He’s Kace. Businessman. Responsible father. All things good and noble. Of course I knew he’d decide this was a bad idea. I just didn’t know he’d decide that after I found out about his dirty, dirty mouth.
I try to retreat, but the vanity hits the small of my back, and I can’t. I’m trapped in a bathroom between a sink and a man who doesn’t want to want me. I lift my chin. I promised myself long ago that I wouldn’t cry any more tears over Kace Matthews. “If you say so.”
He cuts his gaze to the door and shakes his head. “I think everyone’s planning on hanging around, so I can’t promise it’ll be as soon as I want, but if you don’t mind being the last to leave . . .” He smiles at me again. And his dimples melt all my walls. “You deserve better than a quickie in a bathroom, anyway.”