Radiant Extension

The Fire has transferred ignition heat to adjacent materials across open space.

 

Do responsible twenty-six-year-old hotel managers go out on Christmas Eve?

Am I considered responsible? I don’t even have a place to live right now.

As far as I’m concerned, I am responsible. I graduated from UW and landed a job with the most successful hotel in Seattle. Never mind the fact my dad owns the hotel. I’m good at my job. It’s just everything else in life that sucks.

Tucked in the corner of the bar on the far side of the dance floor contemplating my responsibility and feeling like the oldest one in the bar, I’m people watching and judging the choice of attire for most of the women.

This part of the night is why I enjoy going out with Scarlet. We’re the perfect pair. We balance each other out, and I know if I was ever to murder someone, she’d bury the body, no questions asked. I know this from experience too. Not the murdering part, but the volunteering to hide the body. On the way here she offered to “take care” of Judah.

By that, she means calling her cousin Salvador and telling him to do it. I’ve never asked, but I think he’s like a hit man or something. Anyway, you’d be surprised to know I declined the generous offer. I mean, first of all, I don’t want anything to do with her cousin because he’s scary as fuck and two, I don’t think I have it in me to order a hit on someone.

Back to my point. Scarlet is my Thelma.

I think I’m Louise. Mostly because I tend to think things through and Scarlet is usually the one flirting with disaster.

I met Scarlet my first year at UW. We were roommates and instantly hit it off. I even got her a job at the hotel and then she dropped out our sophomore year, but we remained friends.

She’s also my favorite drinking buddy because I never have to tell her what I want. She automatically knows my drink of choice. Bay Breeze.

“Christ almighty,” Scarlet gasps, bumping in my shoulder as she hands the drink. “That guy is a badass.”

“Which one?” My already drunk stare scans the bar, my eyes eventually landing on the bar where there are in fact two guys fighting. Or I should say one is fighting, the other is trying to defend himself or maybe trying to run away. I can’t tell.

“There’re always fights at this bar,” I tell her, focusing on the dance floor and people watching. It’s been my experience that you encounter the most bizarre people in any public place.

Remember when I said there was one boyfriend I wanted to think I was dead?

His name was David. Last name doesn’t matter. I met him in a library. Another place to people watch.

I knew in the beginning I should have ran away from David but I was fifteen and didn’t know any better. He’d paint my toes, watch Beverly Hills 90210 with me and drank chocolate milk all the fucking time. He’d tell me I was beautiful fifty times a day and licked my armpits.

Do you like how I snuck that in there? He did too.

We were in the middle of having sex, I know, fifteen is a little young but focus on the fact that the dude licked my goddamn armpits.

So where am I going with this?

You can people watch all you want, even get in a relationship with them but in the end, you never really know people. They’re always going to keep some thoughts to themselves. Unless of course you’re Tom and you have no filter. I know he says whatever he’s thinking because nobody in their right mind would say some of the things that come out of his mouth.

I’m not sure I ever knew Judah. Sure, I lived with him, but you hear about that kind of shit all the time. The show Snapped? Perfect fucking example of people being crooked fucks. You think you know them and then one day you come home to them dismembering a body in the kitchen sink and storing brains in the freezer next to the pizza rolls. Or fucking the neighbor. Same difference in my book.

Guess who’s at the bar tonight?

Judah “Neighbor Fucking” Prince. And he’s dirty dancing with a chick wearing leather pants. Who can pull off leather pants anymore?

That girl. Clearly.

Of all the nights I have to run into him, it’s the night after he kicked me out. Or the next night . . . whatever.

All I know is I do not want to see him with her or any other slut he might pick up tonight.

I watch them dance and immediately regret it. Who the hell is that girl? An exotic dancer?

I’m thinking Judah knows I’m here when his eyes find mine in the low-lit bar. The air changes around me, his stare on mine is damn near suffocating. I watch them for a moment and think to myself, Good God, are they fucking?

Knowing Judah, they might be. He once fucked me in the grocery store. Okay, let’s rephrase that. He stuck it in just because I told him he couldn’t do it without getting caught. So next to the smoked sausages in the meat section—ironic, I know—he slipped it inside, thrusted once, maybe three times and then pulled out. Keep in mind I was wearing a dress and he was wearing sweat pants. Easy access on both parts.

Anyway, Judah’s talented in being discrete. Too bad when he was fucking the neighbor he didn’t have the decency to be discrete about it. Whatever. He’s a tool, but the thing is, them dancing like they are, isn’t discrete. Judah wants me to see him with her like this and I can’t figure out why because he kicked me out. He broke up with me.

So why are his eyes trained on mine as the girl twerking on his dick grinds against him?

I want to look away. I want to break the hold he has on me when Scarlet nudges my ribs. “Stop that.”

“What?” I’m still staring at him.

To make her point clear, she steps in front of me blocking my view and gives me a pointed “what the fuck?” stare. “Staring at Judah.”

Oh. That.

Nervously, I gather my long brown curls over one shoulder. “I’m not,” I lie. Remember? I’m awful at it, and she knows. “I’m trying to read that sign.”

Scarlet glances over her shoulder quickly and sees there’s no sign. “What sign?”

Shrugging, I down my drink in hand and leave the glass on a nearby table. “Let’s get another drink.” I grab her by the arm and steer her toward the bar before she can say anymore.

“You should make him jealous.”

I sigh, annoyed she’s saying this. Mostly because I’ve already thought of that and quickly threw the idea away. “I’m not a fifteen anymore. I don’t need to go around making my ex jealous.” But despite my words, my eyes betray me and sneak back to Judah, who now has his tongue down her throat, probably showing her what his tongue ring feels like.

Goddamn it. I know where this leads me, and I hate it. Why can’t I be like a normal girl and sit and eat ice cream and cry out my broken heart? Oh, right. I did that last night by myself, and he wasn’t in front of me. Now here he is, and I need to make him see he hasn’t gotten to me, right?

My voice is timid when I ask, “What did you have in mind?”

There’s nothing wrong with seeing what she has in mind, right? Scarlet always has good ideas. It’s part of the reason she’s my best friend.

She points across the bar to a booth in the corner. “Ask that guy to dance.”

I lean into the bar trying to appear relaxed when I’m not. My heart is racing a million miles per hour and I think I might throw up.

“What guy?”

“That guy. You need to go up to him and have sex with him.” Scarlet points to the one with the busted lip and bloody knuckles. The one who just caused a bar fight and hasn’t been kicked out. “That’s who you need to forget about Judah.”

“That guy?” I point at him, which I shouldn’t because what if he takes offense to it and beats me up too? Luckily his back is to me and he doesn’t see me pointing at him. I take the drink she ordered for me, my lips searching for the small black straw. “You make this sound so easy.”

She nods, giving me a gentle shove. “It is easy. Now go.”

“One problem.”

“And that is?”

I stare at her, completely dumbfounded that she thinks this is the answer and in the same sense, actually hoping she’s right because goddamn, he’s hot! “I can’t just go up to him and say let’s have sex.”

“Sure you can. Any man would jump at the chance of having sex with you.”

Bashfully, I twirl a piece of my long dark hair as a man next to Scarlet smiles and sets his chin on her shoulder, winking at me. “Is she offering?”

What a creep.

My cheeks blaze, and I’m just about to tell him hell to the no when Scar slaps the man’s cheek. “Mind your business.”

While she pushes him away, I sneak a peek over at the brawling hottie in the booth. He seems . . . unstable?

No. Judah’s unstable. This guy . . . he’s untouchable. You know, the badass type no one fucks with. The mysterious-looking motherfuckers you spend half your time looking at and wondering what the hell they’re thinking and the other half knowing you really don’t want to know the answer to that question.

“And that guy just basically beat the shit out of that other guy.” I’m trying to reason with her and talk my way out of this, two things I’m never good at with Scar. “Do you really think I need to be with him? How will he be any different from Judah?”

Scarlet sighs, as if having to explain this to me is like having to clean up after a bachelor party in the penthouse. “I’m not saying marry the guy. I’m saying fuck him. That’s all. Or at the very least dance with him where Judah can see.”

And then she shakes her head and does that thing where she gives me a sincere apologetic look. The one parents give their kids when they realize they’re beautiful because they’re dumb as a fucking rock. It’s similar to looking at Tom. You feel sorry for him because he’s that dumb, but then again, his looks make up for it, so it’s okay he can’t do basic math, and I doubt he can read. He once put on his time card for the date, his birthday. He does this weekly, so I know it wasn’t just a one-time thing.

Scarlet draws in an exaggerated breath and purses her lips. “I’m sorry, Mila. Judah is a pussy. That guy—” She points right at the bar brawling bad boy. “That dude would fuck him up.”

Scarlet’s right. Judah may have a mean glare, black eyes and covered in tattoos, but it’s all show. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.

But this guy . . . he’d probably tell his grandmother to fuck off and mean it.

And then again, do I really need to get involved with a guy who goes around beating up people in bars?

Probably not.

Does this stop me from following Scarlet over there?

Nope.

Scarlet takes another few steps toward their booth, but I stop walking and pause. I’m waiting for my conscience to knock some sense into me and tell me to go home.

Unfortunately for me, the bitch has absolutely nothing to say.

For a quick moment, I examine the guy who was fighting moments ago and is now seated in the booth like nothing happened.

I mentioned he’s hot, I’ll say it again, but he’s mostly tough. He’s definitely different that Judah. While he appears to have his forearms covered in tattoos, he doesn’t have that same mean glare Judah has 90 percent of the time. Our eyes find one another, briefly and he seems . . . approachable now. Or maybe he’s one of those guys with a warm smile who fucks you over the minute he knows he can.

Despite my internal battle, I walk across the bar with Scarlet with the promise to myself of nothing more than tonight.

We’re going to make Judah jealous, maybe give my vagina a Christmas present, and run the other way. No relationship.

“Do you have a plan?” I whisper to Scarlet before we’re in front of them.

She shrugs. “No, but we have tits for that. They’re magical. When you don’t know what else to say, stick your tits in his face.”

“I’m not wearing a bra,” I blurt out.

“Even better.”

This certainly isn’t the first time I’ve been summoned to seduce a guy. And probably not the last. The realization is sobering. Actually, it’s depressing as shit.

Within a foot of the booth, I realize how big this guy is. Not like huge but he’s definitely got some muscle mass on Judah. His dark gray shirt stretches over his broad chest nicely, and my eyes wander to his black hat. His eyes are a lighter color than Judah’s, but I can’t tell in this lighting if they’re blue or green.

Though our eyes meet again, he’s talking to the guy seated across from him.

It’s a second later, and we do make solid eye contact, and he stops talking to his friend. He’s looking directly at me. Not Scarlet. And I see stars and unicorn glitter.

Just kidding.

Nothing spectacular happens at all because then he’s staring at my tits.

See? They’re magical as Scarlet says.

Or maybe it’s because I’m not wearing a bra. That’s the problem with coming out on a whim. My bra wasn’t clean, and now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t remember the last time I shaved my legs.

Before I say anything to the guy, I glance at his hands, the bloody knuckles and the way they’re wrapped around a glass with amber colored liquor in it. Call me crazy, but you know, the bar fighter was turning me on already, and I hadn’t even heard him talk yet. I always pick the bad ones. Not that I want to snag the bad boy. It’s nothing like that. It’s more like me wanting someone to pull my hair, and fucking mean it. Bad boys are the only ones who can deliver.

“Hey,” Scarlet says, her voice warm and honey sweet. She sits down like she’s old friends with these guys. Only she doesn’t sit beside them, she sits on the guy across from the bar brawler’s lap.

“Hey, yourself,” he says to Scarlet, but there’s a grin on his face.

Can’t say the same for the brawler. He’s glaring.

His eyes, the glare, it’s no wonder no one has approached him since he basically busted a guy’s jaw for no apparent reason. His mere presence here is intimidating but leave it to Scarlet and me to find the darkest motherfucker to make Judah jealous.

From one prick to the next, as my mother always said.

“I’m Scarlet . . . and you are?” She stares at the lighter-haired one wearing a dark blue hoodie, waiting for an answer.

“Owen.” He nods across the table. “That’s Caleb.”

Caleb? That’s a cute name, and it’s not even close to Judah. Perfect. And I can totally picture the name falling from my lips in the heat of the moment.

Here’s some information about Scarlet in any social situation. Scarlet can basically put herself in any group of people and get them talking. She’s gifted like that. Which is why I hate that she won’t move over to customer service in the hotel and sticks with cleaning rooms.

Unless I’m at work and need to, I can’t start conversations to save my ass, but I suppose this is why I’m friends with Scar, right?

Precisely.

“Are you guys police officers?” Scarlet asks, motioning a bartender over with a flick of her wrist as I stand there like an idiot refusing to do the same and sit down.

Owen laughs after Scarlet gives them her drink order, tossing his head back in amusement. “No. Definitely not brass. We’re America’s heroes.”

I still haven’t sat down. My hearts in my throat and I can feel my eyebrows getting hot. As if seducing men is her calling in life, Scarlet’s hands move over his shoulders and then she gives me a side-eye, like I’m supposed to do the same thing to Caleb. She looks at Owen again. “Military?”

Watching Scarlet with this guy totally reminds me of middle school when I was slow dancing with Kevin Kirk while intently watching the actions of the cooler, more popular Emma Lane and what she was doing with her boyfriend. I couldn’t even tell you what song was playing that night, all I knew was whatever Emma Lane did, I did to Kevin Kirk.

Lucky him.

“Military?” Owen repeats, staring at Caleb, eyebrows drawn together, and then he glances up at Scarlet, straight-faced, as if he can’t stomach for her to get it wrong again. “No. We’re firefighters.” And then he adds, “We run into a burning building when everyone else runs out.”

Firefighters?

I watch Caleb, and now I really want to sit on his lap. So me and my hot eyebrows take a seat right on his left thigh. Boldest move I’ve made since Kevin Kirk.

Caleb can carry me out of a burning building. Hell, I’d set the motherfucker on fire if I knew he’d show up.

But he doesn’t say anything to me when I do it. Doesn’t even look my direction but you know what does respond? His body. It tenses and his back straightens, as though me sitting ignited a response in his body. Possibly, but I’m not sure, and I’m afraid to look at him because when you’re sitting on a stranger’s lap, there’re a few things to keep in mind. You’re inches from their face, and I can’t remember if I brushed my teeth after work. In fact, I didn’t.

Here’s the other thing, you can’t hide anything that far apart. What if I didn’t get that tiny black hair that grows on my chin every month and I have to rip it out. What if it’s peeking through? Fuck I’m so nervous! Now my armpits are all prickly.

As if he finds his friend’s lack of reaction funny, Owen grins and eyes me, and then Scarlet. “So, what are you, strippers?”

Caleb snorts, as though he finds some annoyance in the question, but still doesn’t say anything. I’m sitting on his lap, and he’s certainly letting me, but he hasn’t even acknowledged me.

“No, we’re not strippers.” She winks at me like we have an inside joke I don’t know about. “So you’re like those guys from Chicago Fire?”

“Those shows are bullshit,” another man grumbles from behind us and takes a seat next to Scarlet. “All the firefighters are hot. So not true.”

“Uh, speak for yourself,” Owen adds. “I’m fucking amazing.”

“You guys are pretty hot,” Scarlet says, licking her lips. “I’m Scarlet and that’s my girl, Mila.”

Owen clears his throat, leaning forward and reaches his hand out to me as he tips his head next to the guy who sat down next to him and Scarlet. “That’s Evan. He’s complicated and has two girls at one time.” And then nods to Caleb. “He’s got commitment phobia and is a real fuck face most of the time. What’s your name, honey?” He winks at Scarlet. “I can handle both of you.”

Caleb reaches up in a quick movement and slaps his hand away. “She don’t care what your name is. She’s on my lap.”

And that’s the first I’ve heard him speak. Gotta say, I’m not disappointed.

With the movement of his arm, I notice the way his shirt clings to his biceps and stretches across the hard planes of his chest. Keeping me securely on his lap, his hand drops to his drink and raises the glass to his lips.

You know that saying, “I want to be that glass?”

I wish my vagina was that glass.

Just as my heart begins to race, beating like the wings of a hummingbird, I think I should get off his lap, Caleb moves the arm that’s draped across the booth to my waist and then the left side of my ass cheek.

My. Ass. Cheek.

It’s one lucky cheek.

He holds his eyes steady on mine for a moment. The look in his stare is intoxicating and commanding. He could turn me into a submissive and handcuff me to a tree or toss me in his basement and I wouldn’t even complain. I feel like he’s trying to figure out what I’m doing on his lap.

I stare back without blinking. Mostly because I’m nervous and partly because his eyes are pretty.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he whispers in my ear with a voice made for whispering and earlobe tickles. “But why’d you sit on my lap?”

Is he flirting with me or making fun of me? I can’t tell.

With him closer, I can now smell him, and he smells so manly. Like matches and whiskey and he’s cuddly, like a bear and I want him to maul me.

“I’m making my ex jealous,” I confess, and then blink rapidly, waiting on his response.

There’s no sense in starting this off with a lie. Might as well be perfectly honest up front.

Shifting on his lap, I press my knees together, mostly because I need to close my legs before I take his hand and shove it somewhere it shouldn’t be just yet.

Carefully considering my confession, he then nods, as though he’s okay with that being the reason. “Okay, fair enough.” He’s still whispering, and I never ever want him to stop. “How far are we talking?”

I stare into his eyes framed by the darkest eyelashes I’ve ever seen. His eyes are green. Like pretty evergreen tree green. “No clue,” I finally say. I’m too mesmerized by his beauty to say much else, and the cut lip with the dried blood only adds to his appeal. I like a man who’s not afraid to defend himself.

Scarlet slaps her hand down on the table trying to draw my attention away from the firefighter. “Judah’s coming over here,” she whispers.

Judah who? I don’t even look.

Caleb’s eyes move away from mine to the distance and then back. “Is that the guy?”

“What guy?” Someone slap me upside the head. I sound like a fool.

He laughs lightly, his eyes dropping to my lips for the merest fraction of a second. “Your ex?”

“Oh, him. Yeah, probably.” Get this . . . I even bat my eyelashes. I’ve been brainwashed. Already. Show me a tattooed guy with blood caked on his face, and I’ll spread my damn legs for him.

Now do you see why I have all these rules and who not to date? By the end of the night, I bet we’re gonna have to add firefighters to the list. Pretty soon they’ll only be the guy at Starbucks who gives me free mochas on Tuesdays because I wear a low-cut shirt and he can see the goods one day a week. The shitty part?

I do it on purpose for the free coffee. I manage a hotel. Clearly I can afford my own cup of coffee, but it still doesn’t stop me.

I’m not expecting it, but in a quick reaction, Caleb grabs my left tit and sees for himself I’m not wearing a bra, his thumb grazing my nipple that’s something similar to those little pellet ice cubes you get from Taco Time.

I try to act offended. My game’s pretty weak. “Uh, what are you doing?”

Keeping his stare on mine, his tongue darts out and wets his bottom lip. “You want to make him jealous or not? Because another guy grabbing my girl’s tits—” He pauses and draws in a whistled growling breath. “—it’d make me crazy.”

He growled. Imagine what his groan of pleasure sounds like. Fighting the urge to growl and paw at his face like a damn fool, I shift my thighs when the heat becomes unbearable and nearly fall off his lap. I’m a shit show. That’s all there is to it. Good thing his hands are all over me.

“What are you doing here?” Judah asks when he approaches the table, calmly, tilting his head to the side as if he really wants to know.

It’s all I can do not to break a glass against his head for being such an asshole to me. “It’s a bar, douchebag. Last time I checked you didn’t own it.”

Like how I added douchebag? There’s one thing Judah hates. It’s being called a douchebag. Maybe because he is one and hates to face the reality of it. Or maybe because he doesn’t understand how the term “douchebag” became an offensive cuss word. We actually had that conversation once, but it was boring so I won’t go into detail.

He knocks his knuckles on the table, his dark eyebrows drawn together in pain. “Let’s talk.”

I don’t answer. I’m not going to but Scarlet’s right. He’s totally fucking jealous right now, and all it took was me sitting on some random guys lap for five minutes.

“She’s kinda busy right now,” Caleb says, never making eye contact with him.

Judah doesn’t like this at all. And you know, I fucking love it. Screw him.

Tattooed hands slap down on the table as Judah leans in. Trying to be intimidating, he waits for Caleb to look at him, and eventually he does, but I can tell he’s uninterested and more than likely wants him to leave as badly as I do. “If we want to get technical about this, she’s still my girlfriend.” Judah darts his menacing stare to Caleb’s hand on my ass, then returns to the firefighter with the once again tensed body. “Maybe you should get your hands off.”

It’s not the reaction he’s hoping for, but I laugh in Judah’s face. How insulting! On his part. Not mine. How can he consider me his girlfriend when he broke up with me and kicked me out of an apartment I paid the rent on? I knew he was crazy, but this is certifiable.

“How so?” I shout over the blaring music. “I moved out. Actually, you kicked me out after you fucked our neighbor.”

“You misunderstood me, baby.”

Baby? Are you fucking kidding me?

My face is turning a rosy shade of fuck you. What the hell is he talking about? Did the last ten years of constant drug use go to his brain all in one day?

Caleb smirks, nodding once and then runs his thumb over his lower lip. Pensive eyes dart to mine, then Judah as he adjusts me closer to his chest and says lowly, “Well, technically, there’s a pretty good chance I’m gonna fuck your girlfriend tonight.”

Judah’s jaw tightens as he shoots me a glare. I fight the urge to lay my head on Caleb’s chest and sigh contently as his words.

Instead, I wink at Caleb. “Your chances are really high.”

“Fuck both of you,” Judah mumbles, smacking the table as he walks away.

Caleb doesn’t miss a beat when he tightens his hand on my ass and mumbles into the side of my neck. “You wanna dance with me?”

When I glance at him, he tips his head to the dance floor.

Hell yes, I want to dance with him!

I nod but don’t offer a verbal response. I’m mostly afraid if I do, my words will come out breathy like I’m attempting phone sex operators voice.

As we stand, Caleb’s hand immediately finds the sliver of skin between my shirt and jeans. His finger runs along the band, stopping at my hip bone. At this point, I think I’d agree to anything to have his hands on me all night.

Now that I’m vertical, the alcohol hits me, and it’s apparent I’ve drank entirely too much tonight.

Scarlet giggles at something Owen says and I had almost forgotten they were at the table through all that with Judah. My thoughts don’t drift back to Judah either. How can they around this guy?

Before we make our way to the dance floor, Caleb reaches down and downs his drink, and I do the same with my sixth Bay Breeze. It’s there, I might as well finish it, but I make a mental note not to order another one or I might not remember anything that happens later. And I really want things to happen later.

I can’t tell you what song is playing, some rap, bass-thudding one, but it’s perfect for dancing like this. By like this, I mean grinding on each other like we’re back in high school. There’s nothing awkward about our bodies coming together on the dance floor. They do like we’re meant for one another, perfectly shaped pieces fitting as one.

The boy has more going for him than being a firefighter in my book because goddamn can he dance. I’m half Hawaiian, half Puerto Rican, and a little bit white girl, and I can shake my ass with the best of them.

So I do. I even turn and grind my ass into him and notice Judah taking shot after shot at the bar, watching me intently. What’s his deal tonight?

Is it all just a reaction to someone else having their hands on me?

I want to flip him off because how could he not know I’d move on, eventually, if we broke up? Did he really think I’d mourn the loss of his shitty boyfriend qualities for months on end?

Knowing him, he did.

Caleb grabs me by the waist and turns me around bringing us chest to chest once more. “Don’t look at him. He don’t matter anymore.”

That my friends, was a demand.

And I listen.

His left leg is between my legs, and his thigh feels amazing. Or I should say the friction my tight-ass jeans are creating is amazing.

My arms wrap around his neck, drawing myself closer, refusing to allow an inch of space between our bodies. Our chests press together, his hands low on my waist, gripping my hips a little harder than before. I watch our movements, my panties become wet.

He smells so fucking good, his warm skin, all of him is delicious, and I want to lick the side of his face. Or his whole body. Definitely his entire body. Starting with his cock.

The song changes, a slower beat when Caleb’s rapid breath hits my neck, then his words follow. “I bet I can get you off.” There’s a slight break in his words, a catch in the confidence that hits my center. His voice sounds as seductive as our movements.

Tingles. All. Over.

I don’t say anything. At least not in words. My breathing gives my reply, and if that doesn’t, my cheeks flush brighter, and there’s this feeling in the pit of my stomach I can’t describe.

Actually, I know that feeling. It’s the makings of that special tickle between my legs I haven’t felt in weeks. Maybe an entire month.

With his hands on my hips, he angles them and raises his leg a touch, as if to give me the okay to hump his thigh.

Biting my lip nervously, I glance around the bar. Nobody cares, and it’s so dark I doubt they notice if they did care.

Despite knowing where this is going, the eager part of me—you know the part, the one desperate to reach the finish line?—that part rolls my hips for me, rubbing my pussy on his thigh and it feels oh so fucking nice.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, his mouth twitches a little, and I can’t tell if it’s from amusement or pleasure.

I don’t know why, but I really want to stick my hand down his pants and find out if he’s having the same reaction. I want to feel the arousal, to know it’s caused by me, to know I’m turning him on as well.

It all happens rather quickly. His teeth meeting the skin over my collarbone, the ease of our movements and the way he helps me along, all of it. It’s him, guiding and commanding me. The ripples of his muscles beneath his shirt, the hitch in his breathing when I’m fisting my hands in his clothing, that’s what initially sends me over the edge.

Before I can stop it, because I don’t really want to, my orgasm explodes, spreading through me from my stomach to my thighs. I grip his neck so tight, my braless tits smash against his chest.

“Oh my God,” I gasp, my cheek pressed to his warm ear.

It takes everything in me to stay upright as I come, my arms and legs shaking with effort and exertion.

It takes me a breathy few seconds, or an entire minute before my mind returns and I think, Holy shit. An orgasm from dancing?

Did he notice? Stupid question. Of course he did. Why else would you have tried to pop his head off by choke holding him?

I draw back an inch, swallowing my rapid breaths and peek at him, but my body melts into him, practically purring against his chest.

There’s a smug look of arrogance plastered on his face. Oh yeah, he fucking noticed all right.

Did the last five minutes really just happen?

Fuck me. If he can do that dancing, imagine what he can do in bed?

I certainly am.

He kisses the side of my neck. “Don’t be embarrassed. Watching you come is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

I bet he’s said that before. In fact, I guarantee he has.

Caleb’s mouth meets the base of my throat and his tongue darts out, dragging up my overly heated skin. Burying his lips in my neck, kissing and biting, but never once do they make their way to my lips. The heat of his mouth covers my skin, and I fight the urge again not to collapse at his feet. At least there’s comfort in knowing since he’s a firefighter, he probably knows CPR.

His fingers dig into my hips, and he growls, as though he can’t take this dancing any longer. “Goddamn,” he mumbles against my skin and the angle of our bodies changes, his hips making contact with the side of my hip. He’s hard all right, and when that monster is let loose, I can’t be held responsible for what happens next.

Moaning slightly, I close my eyes and let my head loll back at the sound of his ragged breathing. I have to stop myself before I beg him to take me in a bathroom.

Pushing against his shoulders, I attempt to reason with the two of us. Mostly me, I think. “Okay, let’s set some rules. I wanted to make Judah jealous, not get pregnant.”

I’m mostly teasing.

His lips hover over mine, but he doesn’t attempt to kiss me. Instead, his voice is rough, and he dips his head, laughing lightly against my neck. “You should have thought about that before you sat on my lap.”

Oh shit. His laugh is adorable.

“Um, thanks for that.” I motion between my legs. While I think it’s fairly obvious by the flush of my cheeks and the slickness in my panties, maybe he doesn’t know what he’s just done for me. Or wait, he does. He told me not to be embarrassed.

As I’m waiting for some sort of response, Caleb does that thing where he wets his bottom lip once again. His eyes search my face for what I have no clue. “It’s Caleb. Thank you, Caleb.” And then he waits.

Oh, I see what he’s doing there. Clever. He wants me to say his name.

I want to scream it now.

Quick, react or you’re screwed!

Then I laugh and it’s louder than normal, a bit giggly and I know it’s a product of the alcohol, or maybe the mind-blowing orgasm I just had. Probably a little of both. “I’m starving!” I yell into his ear, my entire body in line with his.

That’s what you say in a moment like this? Dumbass. But the dumbass in me has a point. Sobering up might be a good idea.

Caleb’s hands stay on my hips, his mouth and lips grazing the side of my neck as he asks, “We can go back to my place, or I could fuck you in the bathroom here.”

I falter, trying to grasp that he thinks I’d fuck him in a bathroom. Who am I kidding? I would but seriously, he thinks I’m talking about sex when I say I’m starving?

I blink a few times. I like how honest and bold he is.

I am, but I don’t want him to know that just yet.

I know what he’s thinking by the depth of his tone, so I’m quick to say, “For food. I’m hungry for food. And then we can go back to your place.”

Caleb leans in again, chuckling, his voice barely heard over the music. “Then let’s eat.” And then he nods to the table we were just at.

I’m leaving with the firefighter.

Judah who?