A Wild Card Night (Happy Endings 0.60)

“But close enough?” she asks, like she’s hoping the answer is yes.

“Do you want to be Cinderella?”

“I have no desire to be in a fairy tale.” Her eyes flicker with hints of naughtiness. Or maybe I’m just seeing my own wishes reflected back. “Unless . . . it’s the dirty kind.”

Ah, and naughty hope wins the night. I step closer, brushing her hair off her shoulder. She trembles, and I don’t think it’s from the night air. “And now we’re talking the same language.”

I savor the anticipation in this moment.

The moment before.

There is little I love more than teasing a woman, than drawing out the high of expectation.

I play with her hair, running the strands through my fingers, then dart my thumb to her cheek, stroking a soft line across her jaw.

She breathes a shuddery sigh, and I inch closer but still don’t touch. I wait, staring at those glossy pink lips.

Katie lifts her chin slightly. “My language says kiss me. What does yours say?”

I slide my palm over her shoulder then down her bare arm. Goosebumps rise in its wake. “Same, but a gentleman should ask, Katie,” I say. “May I kiss you?”

“Get your lips on mine.”

“You’re my kind of woman,” I tell her, then I shut the fuck up. I close my eyes and brush my lips across hers.

A jolt of pleasure slides down my spine as I taste her—lip gloss and sweetness and a hint of champagne.

Sugar and sparkles.

So damn fitting.

I start slow, exploring her lips with a gentle sweep of mine, letting the moment expand, enjoying every sensation—from the hitch in her breath, to the jut of her hips, to her soft hands traveling up my chest.

I cup her cheek, running my thumb along her face, then I thread my hands into her hair. Soft strands slide through my fingers as I flick my tongue across the seam of her mouth, pressing a little harder.

She parts her lips, inviting me in.

Her eager hands fall to my hips, and in one swift move, she jerks me against her.

Yes, ma’am.

Wrapping a hand around the back of her head, I draw her lips close and her body closer. As we kiss, my other hand skims down her back to her ass.

I squeeze, savoring the handful of flesh.

This full-body kiss causes my bones to hum. She makes the sexiest sounds—little murmurs and sighs as our tongues get to know each other. Katie kisses like she talks—flirty, fiery, and full of sass. She doesn’t simply relax as I take the lead. She kisses back all hard and rough, and I love it. Love it even more when she draws my bottom lip between hers, then nips me.

It’s like a zap of pleasure.

We break apart for a second. “Do I have a biter in my arms?” I ask.

Her eyes blaze with a yes. “Maybe a little. Promise I won’t hurt you, Harlan,” she says, a little coy.

“Maybe I like a little hurt. A nibble here or there would do the trick.”

She tests me by running her lips along my jaw then nipping. A sizzle of pleasure shoots through me.

“Oh yes,” I rasp as I grab her ass harder.

With a throaty purr, her lips journey up my neck, peppering me with hungry kisses. When she reaches my ear, she nips on the lobe, then lets out a little roar like a lioness.

I believe I have met my match.

She’s the fire to my fire. I want all her passion, and I want to give her every ounce of mine.

I let go, back her up against the terrace edge, and meet her heated gaze. “You like it the same way, sweetheart?” I ask, my voice low and smoky.

“Seems I do,” she says, reaching her hands around my neck, playing with the ends of my hair as I crowd her against the stone railing, my whole frame lined up with hers.

So she can feel me.

Know how aroused I am.

Experience what she’s done to me.

I slide my hands down her sides, savoring her curves—enjoying too the wild look in her eyes as I touch her body. She shudders, and the sound urges me on. I drop my lips to the hollow of her throat where I can lick, kiss, suck. As I move along her sweet and spicy skin to her collarbone, I graze my teeth over her flesh.

“Ohhhh,” she says on a shiver, trembling in my arms.

I nip a little harder, push my pelvis against her, meeting her move for move, moan for moan, giving as good as she gave.

Tit for tat.

Speaking of . . .

Letting go of her hip, I roam a hand upward over the pink silk, then up a little higher, then higher still.

Katie gasps—a needy, sexy sound.

A lovely plea inviting me to indulge.

So, I do, cupping a breast, filling my hand. I squeeze, and she lets go of my mouth, tosses her head back, and moans against the night, “You.”