What was I thinking?

All that bravado of telling myself that I could go after Sanders, yet here I stand, watching him from afar like some psycho stalker. Where the hell is all the courage I had when I told myself I was going for it, no more waiting? It must have gotten lost in the mix.

Knuckles is packed, which isn’t surprising since it’s a Friday night. I recently bought the joint from Chip, who owned the place for years. I know this place inside and out, having worked here since I was old enough to be legal. The waitressing tips helped pay for much of my schooling. Then, after graduating four years ago from the University of Illinois Chicago with a degree in business management and accounting, I did Chip’s bookkeeping. With all the experience with Knuckles, it was only logical that I would take over when Chip decided to retire, which was just a few months ago.

Being the owner instead of an employee has been strange, and it has taken a bit of adjustment, but I always make my presence known on Fridays and Saturdays. I may not be slinging drinks, but I step in when I need to. It’s also great to keep the skillset up; you never know when someone calls in sick.

Right now, though, I’m watching the object of my obsession from across the room as he stands against the side of the bar, resting his hip against it with a bottle of beer wedged between his index and his middle finger. So damn sexy without even trying. He only needs to breathe to attract everyone in the bar, and I’m not just talking about women. Men too. Sanders just exudes this power, like he could take on anything and everything with a snap of his fingers.

The expanse of his chest pulls the black V-neck T-shirt he has on within its last stitch, as it molds to every groove and swell of his body. And believe me, he has a lot of those grooves and swells to accommodate. I’ve watched them grow over the years, enticing not only me, but everyone else in this town. I’d be a very rich woman if I took a dollar every time a woman talked about Sanders.

His tight ass is hugged in the most worn pair of Levi’s I bet he owns, and damn, they look good on him, like they were custom-made to lure in every woman in a ten-mile radius. They do a damn good job too, judging from the three women hanging on his every word, smiling and laughing at everything he says.

His hair. Damn his hair. It’s long, midnight black, and I swear it has a bluish hue to it in different lights. I’m talking, down to his shoulder blades long, and right now, he has it pulled up tight in what I like to refer as his sexy-as-hell man bun. I never thought I would be attracted to a man whose hair is almost as long as my own, but as Sanders grew it out, I changed my opinion quick.

He raises his beer to his lips and, from the side, I can see them mold around the opening of the bottle. My stomach churns, wondering what that light spattering of a beard he has would feel like on my neck, down my chest … between my legs. How his tongue would lick me, just as I’m sure it’s touching the glass.

As his tattooed arm flexes as he lifts the bottle, I thank God the music in here is loud; otherwise, my groan would’ve been way too awkward. I don’t even have to wonder if I’m wet. Nope. Whenever I even think of the man, I’m done for.

For the past twenty-six years of my life, Sanders Becker has been my fantasy. He’s been the star in every one of my dreams. He’s even played a major role in my vibrator helping me out with this ache. He’s helped me get through some very, let’s say, delicate situations when a guy I was with couldn’t exactly live up to what I needed him to be. In those cases, thoughts of Sanders were what tipped me over the edge, not that I have told anyone that. Not even my best friend Mal. Nope, that one I keep locked up.

The way he stands at the end of the bar, commanding the space around him, one would think he was a celebrity or something. And in a way, he is. He’s not the most straight-laced man around. Sure, he’s run his family’s electrical company ever since his father passed away, but that’s not it. It’s the ladies.

I won’t lie to myself and say I will be the one to tame Sanders Becker, because I know I won’t. I honestly believe there isn’t a woman on the planet who could tame the Harley riding, get any woman he wants, bad boy. And to be honest, I wouldn’t want to tame him. Okay, I would like to tame the get-any-woman part, but I’m not going to fool myself into believing that I would change him. I just want a piece of him; have wanted it since I knew what liking boys meant. However, he’s always kept me at a distance.

Abby, one of the women vying for his attention, rubs her hand up and down his strong arm, the one without the tattoos. He doesn’t flinch or move, no doubt used to all the touches. Me, I want to rip her hand away and shove it up her ass.

Abby is beautiful. She’s three years younger than I am and was the homecoming queen runner-up. With our town being close-knit, I know everything. With the big city around us, this small niche of people knows it all. It’s just how it is. Some things you’re just stuck knowing even if you don’t want to.

“Jess?”

I turn my head toward Layla, my head waitress, prying my eyes from Sanders and not caring in the least that she caught me staring.

“Yeah, hon? What’s up?”

Her eyes float to a table across the room where Darren, a regular, and some of his guy friends sit laughing and pointing at some of my girls, no doubt drunk off their asses.

“Those guys won’t stop touching. I’ve told them twice. Both Beth and Alissa have come up complaining about them. I think they need to be cut off.”

When I’m not here, Layla handles problems, but when I am, she likes to divvy out the not so fun tasks to me. I can’t blame her. When I waited tables, I hated this part of the job too. Still do.

“I’m on it. Tell the girls to stay away from the table and I’ll deal with it.”

Layla sighs in relief. She’s such a cute little thing. Whenever I see her, I think of Tinkerbell. Only my Tink wears tight boy shorts that cut up the cheek of her ass and a bright yellow V-neck T-shirt that reads Knuckles across her bust. I’m not changing a good thing. That uniform allowed me to pay for college and put a decent chunk down on this place. It’s doing the same for my girls, and they haven’t complained.

I peer over at Sanders who is laughing it up with Abby and a few of her friends that have come along. First, I’ll deal with Darren, then him.

Steering myself in Darren’s direction, I push through the crush of people all drinking, dancing, and having a hell of a time. That’s one thing I love about this place, the good vibes and happy moods.

Darren is about five years older than me, so the only school we went to together was grade school. He’s attractive in the boy next-door kind of way. His sandy brown hair is cut so it doesn’t move in any way when he turns his head, but he has the nicest green eyes in town. Women normally flock to him, so why he’s getting touchy with my girls when he knows the rules is beyond me.

Five guys sit at the circular table, but I move behind Darren. The other guys are no strangers to me either. Each of them are from Darren’s graduating class.

“Darren, am I going to have to throw you out for touching my girls?” I ask in my seductive, get-what-I-want voice. I love that voice. Too bad I’ve never had the balls to use it with Sanders. But that changes tonight …

Shit. Focus.

“Oh, honey, I was just having some fun,” Darren coos, his eyes bloodshot, but more in the he-hasn’t-slept-well-in-a-long-time way, and not the drunk way, look up at me.

“You know the rules. You touch again, you’re out. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, or I’d put you out right now.” I plaster a smile on my face, but my eyes are dead serious. My two bouncers are Blake and Jimmy. With one snap of my fingers, the table will be cleared. Not to mention, if it gets too bad, I have my Ruger in the back. I bought it when I turned twenty-one. It’s pink, but the gun kicks ass. One of my favorite things to do is go to the range and shoot it.

“All right, sweetheart. My boys and I will be good,” he promises with a wink.

“I’m serious. Oh, and I’m cutting you off after that pitcher.” I point to the beer on the center of the table. “That way, I know you’ll behave.”

“Come on…” Darren groans, just like a damn adult child. I hope he doesn’t do that with the ladies. It’s a total turn off.

“I mean it.” I look up at Beth, shaking my head no, in which she nods in understanding. “Any trouble, you’re out.”

“Well, hell, woman,” Darren gripes.

“Hell nothing. You follow the rules or your out.”

His eyes flair. “We’re just having some fun.”

When people are drunk, they become lawyers defending themselves with everything they have inside of them. There is no need for him to do so, yet he feels the need.

Bending down, I look into his eyes with every bit of seriousness I can muster so he gets the point. “I get it. We all want to have fun, but once you’re assaulting my waitresses, that’s when I pull the plug.”

He pushes back in his chair putting a bit of space between us. “We didn’t assault anyone.”

Placing my hand on my hip, I challenge, “Look, either keep your hands to yourself, or hit the door. I’m not doing this childish bullshit. Choose.”

He rolls his eyes, but takes the out I’m giving him. “Hands off. Got it.” He pushes back up to the table.

“Bye, boys.” I don’t dare call them men. When they act like spoiled little children, they get called what they deserve.

I move to the bar where Ryder, my head bartender, is pouring drinks. Ryder is a hunk of a man. He was the quarterback of our football team and owns his own Internet marketing company. He works for me on the weekends for fun he says, and the ladies love him. I always tell him that he should get out there more and stop hiding behind the computer. With his dazzling blue eyes and killer smile, he could have anyone he wants. Regardless, I have yet to see him with anyone since high school. I don’t pry, though. I’m the boss and need to keep the line.

“What’s up, boss?” Ryder asks.

“Keep your eye on Darren. He’s had a bit too much, and they’re all cut off.” I turn, looking back at the group who is now cutting it up and laughing. “They shouldn’t be a problem, but …” I trail off, shrugging my shoulder. Who knows these days?

Looking across the bar, my eyes lock on Sanders, and my insides go weak. Why I let this man have this much power over me, I will never know. I need to shake that shit out.

I give him a friendly smirk and wave at him just a bit. Sanders shakes his head at me with a grin, no doubt thinking I’m the biggest dork to ever walk the planet.

My brother will be here soon, though, and if I’m really going to do this, I need to suck this shit up. I’m a strong-ass woman. I survived the death of my parents at age eighteen, relationships that blew up in my face, college, and owning a bar. I got this.

I’ve never thrown myself at a guy before. I’ve never had the courage to be so bold. I’ve always relied on the men to come to me. In this case, though, if I keep waiting, I’ll be old and gray, and it still won’t ever happen.

“Got it,” Ryder says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I pull my blonde hair off my neck briefly, letting the air cool the heat before dropping it, letting it fall down past my shoulders.

When I did my makeup tonight, I had this moment in my mind, going sultry and sexy, thinking that would help my confidence level. Right now, not so much. I even added my favorite light pink lace bra and panties with my worn jeans. I chose my emerald green wraparound top specifically to bring out my green eyes that I’ve been told shine when I wear this shirt. My wedged sandals with gold straps wrap around my ankle and give me a little more height.

Sucking in a deep breath, I make my way over to Sanders, seeing that, along with Abby, there is Stacy and Eve. They are all beautiful, all prying for Sanders’ attention, hell practically begging for it.

I can do this. There is absolutely nothing wrong with me. I’m hot and sexy. Giving myself a pep talk, I slide in behind Sanders, nudging his arm to get his attention. God, the brief touch sends thrills through me lighting me on fire.

He turns his head toward me, and I’m met with the most gorgeous blue eyes I have ever seen.

“Hey, darlin’, everything going okay?” he asks in that deep baritone voice that makes my stomach begin to quiver.

One thing with Sanders, he may have never made a move on me before or shown the least bit of interest, but he does like to joke and kid around with me. I am, after all, like his sister. Gotta stay on my good side, right?

I want to laugh at my idiotic thoughts, but refrain and shake them away. They aren’t wanted or needed.

I pull in a deep breath. This is it. I’m doing it.

I am.

“Can you come in the back and help me with something?”

When his brow quirks, I wish I were a mind reader. Or maybe not, because he’s probably thinking: What in the hell is she thinking?

I’ve never asked him for help at the bar before, never even asked him to help me lift a glass, yet now I’m asking him to come to the back with me.

His eyes warm, and a glint forms in them that I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing before. I don’t focus on it, because it will totally throw me off track on what I want to do here.

“Sure thing,” he finally says. This is it. Now or never, I fight to keep my nerve up.

I move toward the back of the club, and he follows me, not saying goodbye to the three women who were trying to get his attention tonight. A smile creeps in at that small victory.

I move through the people, leading Sanders back to my office. I can feel his eyes staring and burning me. When I open the office door and allow him to step through, I close it and lock it. No doubt he heard the latch engage.

“What’s going on, Jess?” he asks, resting his ass on my desk, arms crossed over his chest, and ankles crossed. He looks utterly delectable.

While I would love to spend hours exploring him, this will have to do. It’s my only shot. My only chance, and I want to remember every second of it.

Mentally, I pull up my big girl panties and walk up to Sanders, pulling out the sultry look I give guys when they have something I want. It’s a look I’ve never used on him, so I really don’t know how he will react, but we shall see.

“I’ve been thinking.” I pause in front of him as he raises to his full six-foot-plus some height, uncrossing his arms and now looking down at me, eyes still holding that warmth and something new.

“And what have you been thinking?”

This is it. Do it… or bail. Fuck it. We only live once, and if I die tomorrow, I won’t regret this… unless he turns me down, that will be a bitch to handle.

I grab his T-shirt with both hands, feeling the fabric tighten and stretch more tautly against his chest. Stepping closer to him, I raise myself up on my tiptoes until my mouth is only an inch from his, and whisper, “This.” Then I kiss him, putting all my pent-up sexual frustration into the kiss.

After a few moments of him not responding, I start to get flustered.

He’s not rejecting me… is he? He can’t.

I keep our lips pressed together, letting go of his shirt to thread my fingers through his hair, pressing my body flush to his. But no response from him.

Why is he not kissing me? What the hell is wrong?

Finally, I open my eyes, embarrassment consuming me as I pull away, seeing Sanders’ jaw is slack, his eyes focused on me.

He doesn’t want me. How does he not want me? This is Sanders. He’s bagged most of the town, something that should disgust me, but right now, it makes me feel like absolute shit. Worse than shit, whatever that is, because he doesn’t want me.

I immediately pull my hands out of his hair feeling the rejection hard and step back, wiping his taste off my lips and onto my jeans. Tears threaten to spill, but are held back, barely.

Shit, shit, shit. In all the scenarios that ran through my head, this wasn’t one. Him rejecting me wasn’t on the list at all. It didn’t even enter my thought process when I came up with this scenario.

“I…” I start, but then the hurt sets in deeper, gutting my heart and stealing the breath from my lungs.

After all the women he’s had, I’m the one he rejects. I’m the one he doesn’t respond to. Fucking hell. What in the hell was I thinking going after him? Who in the fuck did I think I was? Temporary insanity, I’ll claim.

Turning away from him, I move quickly toward the door, placing my hand on the cool knob. It does nothing to cool the raging inferno of utter humiliation I feel. This is worse than any break up I’ve ever experienced, and we weren’t even dating. It was an obsession with him, one that needs to be laid to rest now.

“I’m sorry, Sanders.” My voice is so soft and unfortunately cracking.

I need to get the hell out of here. Like, leave. Leave the room. Leave the building. It’s not like me to leave the staff on a Friday, but I can’t be here. I can’t go back out there and watch some other woman take what should be mine. Let alone watch him leave with her after not responding to me.

Talk about horrendous. I bet if I looked the word up in the dictionary, my name and picture would be next to it along with the word moron.

I unclick the lock just as heat presses against my back, making me jump in the spot not going anywhere. Every inch of Sanders’ hard body is touching mine, even his hard cock that is nestled against my lower back. Shit.

He sweeps the hair away from my neck, and all I can think is: What the hell is he doing? His lips touch the skin of my collarbone, my knees weaken, and now all I can think is: Holy shit!

I clutch the door handle tighter; it being my only lifeline in this moment as his lips trail up my collarbone to the side of my neck to the skin behind my ear. My body shivers. Is this really happening?

“You’re not going anywhere,” he whispers softly, causing the hairs on my arms to rise to attention. “I believe you just gave me one hell of an invitation.” He darts his tongue out, licking my bottom earlobe before he pulls it into his mouth in one swift move. It’s like a shot of heroin to my core.

I want this more than anything. I need this more than anything. But why didn’t he kiss me back? Why did he let me feel even the slightest bit of rejection? Jess, get your damn feelings out of this right now.

My forehead crashes to the door. “Thought you didn’t want it.” Now, why did I whisper that? I just told myself to leave my damn feelings out of this. One night. One chance, but who the hell was I kidding. Emotions are hard to leave out of something you’ve craved for so long, you’re almost desperate for.

“Oh, I fucking want it.” He presses his cock harder against me, wrapping his arms around my body and holding me to him, surrounding me in his warmth.

God, how many times have I dreamed of this moment? Wished? Hoped?

“And I’m taking it.” He turns me abruptly in his arms, pulling me against him as he crashes his lips on mine in an explosion of heat and power.

I wrap my arms around his neck, more to keep myself grounded as I give as good as I get. Every ounce of twenty-six years of frustration comes out in the kiss. The heat of it is so damn hot, I’m positive we’re going to set the room ablaze. And I don’t give a shit right now. The whole bar could go up, and I wouldn’t want to move from this spot.

Not only that, he’s fully kissing me back with the same fervor. Yes, he does want this.

Cascading his strong hands down to my ass, he squeezes hard. It’s painful, but in a way that only fires up my arousal. He devours my mouth with his tongue, and I fight for some type of control, but Sanders refuses to let me have it. I must say, I love it.

With each of my lovers, I had to do everything. I made each move and hated every second of it. Sanders is not that man.

He cups my ass with both of his hands, lifting me, and I have no choice but to wrap my legs around his body, locking my ankles. Our mouths attack one another’s in a devotion that I’ve only seen in movies and read about in books. Passion, lust—all of it combusting together.

I can’t breathe, but I don’t care. Who needs air when I’m kissing Sanders, or I should say, he’s kissing me?

I feel us moving, but I pay no attention to where, letting him have full control. After a loud crash that, again, I pay no attention to, I’m on my back, lying across the hard desk, with Sanders’ weight on top of me, pressing the wood into my back.

His dick presses against my core as he moves slightly, and I moan into his mouth at the sensation. He doesn’t try to pull away, and I’m thankful for it. Instead, he roams his hands along my body, setting my skin on fire with the hottest flame. Each swipe of his hands turns me on like no other.

His hips move, needing just a little more friction, as I claw at his shirt, wanting it away from his body. He grants me my wish, reaching between his shoulder blades and tearing it from him.

Holy mother of God. His body is absolute perfection. I itch to explore every inch of it, but Sanders brings his body down on mine, and he attacks me with his lips as he reaches under my shirt and up to my bra where he squeezes my breast. I break the kiss to arch my back into his touch.

“Off,” he orders, sending a thrill through my core.

I lift my arms as he tugs the shirt off with ease. I’m patting myself on the back for wearing a front clasp bra when he flicks it open like he’s done it a million times, but push that thought far from my mind.

The cool air of the office cascades over my sensitive nipples, causing the already pert tips to harden more. Sanders devours my breasts. There is no other word for it. Pinch, nip, roll, suck repeatedly, he works me into a frenzy.

I pant, unable to fully inhale any oxygen into my lungs. I tightly grip the sides of the desk, trying to keep some type of ground, but it doesn’t help.

One deep suck of my nipple sends magnetic pulses straight to my clit, and I scream.

Holy shit, did I really just come from only getting my tits sucked? That’s never happened before.

“You have the most edible tits I’ve ever laid eyes on. I could feast on them for days.”

I groan. I won’t last days. There is no way in hell.

“As much as I want to, and as much as I want to taste you for hours, I want inside that hot pussy my dick’s been rubbing against. This what you want? You want me to fuck you, Jess? There’s no going back from this shit.”

In my daze, I only register the part about him being inside of me. I want that more than anything. That is what I set out to do.

“Yes… Oh, God, yes. Please,” I moan out, reaching for the large silver buckle of his jeans and beginning the task of ridding him from what’s preventing me from seeing his, what must be from the feel of it, large cock.

When he backs away, I momentarily freak. He’s not stopping, is he? He wouldn’t get me all worked up like this and then just stop, would he? No, he wouldn’t. Would he? Fuck!

“Stand up.”

I follow his order on shaky legs. Then, in all of fifteen seconds, my pants are undone and them, along with my underwear, are kicked off to the side of the room.

His gaze begins at my toes as he slowly takes in my body. The urge to throw him down on the desk and take him comes over me. But then he reaches for his jeans pocket, pulling out a condom. After that, every piece of clothing he had on falls to the floor, his buckle making a tink sound as it lands.

I stare openmouthed, looking at Sanders’ cock. No wonder. No fucking wonder. It’s so damn thick, I’m not sure my mouth would go around it. And the length… It’s practically touching his belly button. Is that really going to fit inside me?

He strokes himself up then down, and I lick my lips. I want to taste him, take him in my mouth and suck.

“No. I want inside,” he says when he sees the gesture; sees what I want to do in my eyes. “Lay down.”

I lay back on the desk as he rolls the condom over himself, groaning at his own touch. Then he reaches toward me with one hand and slips his finger into my pussy.

“Drenched. That just for me, Jess?”

Oh, that and so much more, I want to say, but refrain. Instead, I tell him, “Yes.”

Unexpectedly, he kneels, his face aligning with my wetness.

“Give me that pussy,” he growls sexily as he grips my hips hard. His tongue lashes out against my folds, sending sparks of pure, unadulterated pleasure through me. When his teeth nip my clit, my back arches off the desk, and I grip the edges, holding on for dear life.

My climax builds with each stroke of his tongue. It’s right there… Right there… until he abruptly moves away.

I jerk my head up, watching a slow grin form on his lips. “Why are you laughing?” I pant out, needing just a little bit more to send me over. “This isn’t the time for laughing.”

He climbs up my body, his lips crashing against mine. I taste myself mixed with him, and the headiness of it makes me forget my anger.

I feel the tip of his cock at my entrance, but he doesn’t enter. Instead, he rubs his cock up and down my folds as his lips torment me, and want grows into desperation.

“Please…” I beg, ripping my lips away from his, panting because my lungs can’t get oxygen.

“That’s my girl.” The head of his cock enters just a touch, which sparks my every nerve ending on high alert.

When he stops again, I connect my eyes with his. Frustration in mine, seriousness in his.

“You sure about this, Jess? Been waiting a long fucking time for this shit. Once I’m in, you’re mine, and I don’t give a fuck about anything else.”

He’s been waiting for me? What? I will be his? What the hell is he talking about? I’m so lost in my haze of horny lust that I can’t compute what he’s saying. He doesn’t just want a one time thing? He wants more?

“No one else will touch this pussy. No one gets to fuck it. No one touches you. You’re mine.”

Oh God, his words set off more explosions inside of me. No man has ever spoken to me in such a way. No man has wanted me with this ferocity, and I fucking love it. Love everything about it. And I have no doubt this “mine” shit is in the heat of the moment, but I’m going with it. Hell yes, I am. I’ve wanted to be his forever, and I’ll worry about the post-sex take back he’ll probably have later.

“Please, Sanders… I need you,” I say breathily, reaching around to grab his ass and try to pull him inside of me. I try, but he halts my movements with his strong legs, and I groan in frustration. So damn close.

“Look at me, Jess.” His icy blue eyes stare back at me. They are so molten that they are almost white. “I’ve wanted you for so fucking long. This isn’t something that will go away after. Once my dick goes inside of you, we’re together.” He wiggles his hips, sending him in an inch more, which makes his eyes roll back with a groan until he seats himself, and all I can do is try to breathe. “Fuck me, you’re mine.”

With a thrust, his dick slides so far inside my body that I swear he’s touching my internal organs, and his girth hits every single sensitive spot in my channel. God, sex has never felt like this. Never.

I grip his ass so tightly I’m sure I’ll leave marks. I want to mark him. I want him to know who he’s with. I want him to remember me.

He drops his hands to the sides of my head as he begins to move, slowly at first, but then the air in the room changes to something frantic, needy, wanton. Sanders moves his hips so damn hard and fast that the desk begins to scrape across the hardwood floor with each thrust.

As his hands white knuckle the desk, his lips crashing down on me, the large ball of tension inside of me explodes, shattering me into a million pieces and scattering me across the room. His thrusts don’t change tempo, and then he begins to assault my clit, moving back and forth in a frantic pace.

“Give it to me again, Jess,” Sanders growls, and I do just that.

My back arches, touching his sweat-slicked chest as my body thrashes on its own accord. I reach for his shoulders, needing something to hold on to. Inside, I feel him growing as a sound bubbles up from his throat that is so pure and primal as he releases inside of me.

Then Sanders supports himself on his forearms, while his forehead falls to the desk beside mine. Our breathing is so labored I’m sure, if we were at the doctor’s, they would put oxygen masks on us in a rush. My mind is in such a dazed fog that I just lie there limply. I’m sure, if I had to move at this moment, it wouldn’t happen.

Holy shit. I just fucked Sanders, and it was everything I ever thought it would be. Hell yes! The sad thing is, I guarantee no other man will be able to fill his shoes. I tried keeping my feelings at bay, but who am I kidding? It’s Sanders.

I lock all of that down deep, pushing it so far in the recesses of my brain and gut that it won’t show its head again. What he says during sex is different than what it’ll be after the climax hits. That’s the part that scares me.

“Jess,” he grumbles from where his forehead lies on the desk, with his dick still inside of me and twitching.

I really don’t want him to talk. I don’t want him to ruin this moment. If he does the “it was great to see ya” thing…

Shut up, Jess.

I clear my throat and remind myself: no emotions. “Yeah?” I answer softly.

“Come home with me.” It’s not a question, but it takes me a second to answer.

“Yes,” I whisper as he pulls up and looks down at me.

His eyes are warm and inviting. It’s a way that he’s never looked at me before. He brushes the hair off my sweat-slicked face then sweeps his lips across mine in a ghost of a kiss.

“Let’s get dressed. I want you in my bed.” He pulls his dick out of me, and I groan at the loss of him.

I lift myself and grab my clothes, putting them on quickly as my thoughts turn to how many other women have been in his bed; not that I have any reason to think or feel this way. I wish I didn’t, but suddenly, I have the urge to go to my place instead.

“You want to come to mine instead?” It’s the first real sentence I could form since my last climax, and it comes out way breathier than normal.

He tugs his shirt on then undoes the band in his hair, making it fall around his face. Damn, he’s sexy. He ties it back up tight, and even though we just got done and he gave me two of the most fantastic orgasms, I can’t help wanting more.

“No. You’re in my bed. That’s where you’ll be from now on.”

Huh?

“From now on?” I repeat, confused. Sanders is not a one-woman man, at least he never has been.

He buckles his belt just as I snap my jeans. Then he pulls me to his body before cupping the sides of my face and holding me hostage with his eyes.

“You have no fucking idea how long I’ve waited for this. How many times I just thought ‘fuck it, I’m going for it.’ Years, Jess.”

I let his words swirl in my head. He’s wanted me? Really?

“You gave me a fucking opening, and I’m not letting you go back on it,” he continues.

He presses his lips to mine, and I grab his hair, fearing I may have just fallen down a large hole that I will never get out of.

When he pulls back, I can do nothing but stare at the man in front of me. Is this really happening?

“You got shit to do here?”

I shake my head, trying to clear the webs. “Uh…” I clear my throat. “I need to go tell everyone I’m heading out.”

“Meet me out front at my bike. You’re on the back of it,” he demands.

I become giddy. I have ridden with him on his bike a few times, and each time was better than the last, my arms wrapped around his hard body. But it has been years since I’ve been on it with him.

“I’ll be there,” I promise.

He pulls me into him and kisses me before releasing me. Then I run my fingers through my hair. No doubt it looks like I just got fucked really nice and good. Shit.