I wasn’t planning to burst into a closed restaurant and absolutely claim the waitress when I walked up to the Short Stack, but when I saw Valentine through the window—head back, lips parted, like she was moaning, like she did the other night—the rest of my resolve crumbled like a day-old pancake.

I have to be near her again, have to touch her.

She’s still bright red as she makes her way to the door of the Short Stack and unlocks it, pulling it quickly open.

“Hey. I—”

Valentine cuts me off, sticking her head out the door and looking both ways like we’re characters in a spy movie. Then she grabs me by the front of my shirt and yanks me inside, slamming the door behind us and locking it again with a quick twist of her wrist.

“You weren’t followed, were you?” She says it like a joke, but I know she’s half-serious.

“Not that I know of.”

“Pay better attention next time you try to get me to break the rules.”

I have to crack a smile at that. “Oh? Are we not supposed to be in here?” I step a little closer. There are only inches between us now, and I can smell her shampoo over the sweet scent of syrup that’s settled into her clothes.

“No,” says Valentine, crossing her arms over her chest. “We’re definitely not. Sharon’s rules.”

“Then why’d you let me in?”

“You asked me to.”

“I told you to.” I step forward, lean down. “I told you to, and you liked it.”

Valentine shivers, but I see her smile out of the corner of my eye. “So what if I did?”

“I’m sorry.” I’m so close that it would only take the tiniest movement to touch her, but I don’t. My entire body hums with it, a bright feeling running down into my fingertips. I used to play this kind of game in Afghanistan. Hold back from doing the thing I want to do—jerk off, eat an MRE, pick up a beat-up book—until the energy is practically pulsing out of me in waves.

“For what?”

“For interrupting you.”

She blushes a deeper shade of pink, then shakes her head. “You saw that?”

“I saw you thinking about something that turned you on.”

Valentine turns her face away from me and bites her lip. “Well, maybe I was, and maybe I—”

That’s it. It’s like a lightning strike to my core. I can’t wait any longer. I can’t do this any longer. I’ve been beaten at my own game because I’m at my limit when it comes to the teasing. It doesn’t seem possible—it’s only been a few days since we started this fling—but I need her now.

She gasps when I take her in my arms, one arm around her waist, the other hand turning her face toward mine. The movement has just a hint of roughness in it, but in Valentine’s eyes, I see nothing but liquid heat. She fucking loves this.

“I saw you,” I repeat. “You were thinking about us, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” she whispers, then clears her throat. “I’ve been thinking about you for days. It’s stupid because one date shouldn’t—”

I silence her by covering her mouth with mine and she leans into the kiss, our tongues dancing. Fuck me, I’ve never kissed anyone like Valentine. I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone more.

Then I start backing her up, into the kitchen. “I’ve been thinking about us, too. All day, every day. I can’t stop, Valentine. I want you.” I growl the last three words into her ear, and the air in the room shifts, turns sultry and serious. 

Valentine’s back connects with a prep table and she sucks in her breath, grasping for the edge. “Ryder, I—”

I bend down and do what I’ve wanted to do since she left my front yard the other night. I press my lips against the creamy skin of her neck, just above the collar of her shirt, and work my way up toward her earlobe, flicking it with my tongue when I get there.

“Ryder—”

“That’s right,” I say into her ear. “Say my name. I’m going to make you moan it, scream it—”

“You can’t—”

“I can, and I will.”

Valentine is trembling in my hands, but her eyes are wide, bright with anticipation. “Sharon could walk back in at any moment.”

“Let her.”

“But I might—”

“Get to come so hard you forget all about Sharon and everyone else?” I lift her onto the table, my hands on the perfect curves of her ass. Valentine’s arms automatically go around my neck.

Her face is the fucking picture of desire, green eyes half-closed, lips half-open, and I take that as a resounding yes.

The little black shorts she wears for her waitressing shifts come off in my hands, slipping down over her knees with a yank, dropping to the floor.

“Here’s the thing, Valentine,” I say, spreading her knees apart with my hands and stepping between them. “We agreed that there was only one rule.”

“Right,” she says, breathless. “It’s just a fling.”

“So why...” My hands seek out the waistband of her panties. They’re pink and stretchy, some kind of performance fabric. “Do we keep...” I take them in my fists. “Dancing around this like we don’t want to fuck?” One yank and the panties tear away from her in my hands. I drop the remains to the floor alongside her shorts, and then I bend my head between her legs, spread her open a little wider, and lick the entire length of her pussy.

Her unbelievable, gorgeous pussy. She’s waxed it bare, and the smoothness of her skin just about pushes me over the edge.

“Oh, fuck.” Valentine braces her arms against the table and tilts her head back, just like she was doing before, only now she has a good reason. I lick her sweet slit, once, twice, three times, tasting her juices, and then I’m going for my own belt.

When I stand up, Valentine reaches for me, her hands firm on my shoulders. For a split second, I think she’s trying to stop me, and a tiny part of me dies inside, but then she looks me straight in the eye. “Are we being honest?”

It’s a strange question, but in this moment I don’t have time to think about what the fuck she means. I take it at face value. “Yes.”

“Then I should say…” She sucks in another breath. “I want you to fuck me. Right here, on this table, right now.” Then she blows out that breath between rounded lips. “Please, Ryder. Please fuck me. I need it.”