What the fuck am I doing?

The question was a legitimate one. And if Nash Booker was in a better frame of mind, he might even have answered it. But he was so far away from thinking with a straight head (because of the current situation with the head between his legs), that as soon as the thought whispered through his brain, he pushed it away. He ignored everything in him that was saying this right here was a bad idea. Probably the wrong play, but he was past doing the right thing.

It was that very thing that should have given him pause.

As it was, Nash couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman as much as he wanted Honey. Sure, sex with Jade had been good. Melinda too. Hell, any woman he’d been with got the job done. But right now, his entire body was on fire with the need to bury himself deep inside the woman before him.

And they weren’t even friends. Not really.

If he’d been paying attention, he’d have noticed the signs. The slow burn that took hold in his gut tonight and never left. Though, if he was honest with himself, it was a slow burn that had been simmering for weeks. Nope. Check that. Simmering for months. And up until now, he’d handled things. He’d backed off because he was smarter than this.

So what changed? Was it the sight of Cam and Honey getting close as they’d worked his bar? Jack Hazel asking him at least ten times for her phone number? Or the fact he’d caught her staring at Hudson several times, a strange expression on her face. He knew virtually nothing about the woman, and that made him wonder about a lot of things. But then, so did the damn tattoo up her spine. He sure as hell wanted to see that again.

And maybe find the hidden ones.

She made a noise at the back of her throat, and his dick swelled to the point of pain. Did he really give a shit about any of the reasons that brought him here? To this moment with this woman?

He inhaled sharply, but had enough sense to drag his mouth from her skin so he could look her in the eye. He had to take a moment and clear his throat.

“This can go sideways if we’re not careful.” Okay. This was him being the good guy.

She licked her lips and flashed a seductive smile. “Don’t worry about me, Booker. I’m fine.” She reached for him. “This is just sex. Nothing more.”

This is just sex. Four little words every guy loved to hear, with the added bonus of two more that absolved a man of any emotional baggage.

“What if it’s really good sex?” Hell, he knew he was going to blow her mind. But he didn’t want to be an asshole.

She slid her hands up his neck and cradled the back of his head. Leaning forward, she whispered, “Then we do it again.”

That was pretty much it. He was done with any pretense of being the responsible party in this dangerous dance.

Nash grabbed her by the ass and set her up on the bar, his hands caressing her curves as he moved between her legs. She was still dressed for work. Jeans. Boots. T-shirt. He angled his head, eyes roving her curves. Spread legs. Long hair spilling over her shoulders and nipples straining against the soft, white cotton. Her mouth was open, and he groaned when her tongue darted out to lick at the corner.

The corner he’d nuzzled minutes earlier. The corner he was dying to taste before he let himself wander further. He bent forward and placed his hands on either side of Honey, his palms resting on top of the bar. Smiling to himself at her sharp intake of breath, he leaned in and slid his tongue along her mouth. Once he got that far, he didn’t hold back. He claimed her lips in a hot, passionate kiss that went deep and got damn intimate, damn fast.

He tasted JD mixed with something else--mint? Whatever the hell it was, he liked it. A lot. Fire ripped through him, and he moved closer, deepening the kiss as her head tilted to give him more access. Access he took advantage of. He tasted her thoroughly and took his time before slowly dragging himself from her mouth. She protested, and he smiled, sliding his lips down her throat until he felt the fast-beating pulse at the base of her neck.

There was a perverse pleasure in knowing he was responsible for it. Nash was losing control fast, and for once, he didn’t give a goddamn.

He kept his mouth on her body while his impatient hands tugged at the bottom of her T-shirt until he was able to pull it up over her breasts, exposing a sexy-as-hell pink bra. Honey had a dancer’s body. She was long and lean and toned. But her breasts were more than a handful, and he stared down at them in anticipation.

She wiggled a bit, and he moved an inch or so, his body tight as she slowly reached for the front clasp and undid her bra. The silky material fell open, sliding across milky-white skin until she was exposed. Her dusky nipples puckered, and with a groan, he bent forward.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, eyes riveted to her chest. His hard-on was killing him, but he knew the longer he waited, the better it’d be.

For both of them.

“No one’s perfect,” she replied, thrusting forward, giving him what he wanted. Nash would have debated the point, but he had other business to attend to. He took a moment to drink her in. Long dark hair a mess around her shoulders. Smoldering eyes, heavy lidded with desire. Half-dressed. Exposed skin. Beautiful, round breasts and nipples that begged for his touch.

“Really, Booker?” Her words were whispered, the tone husky. “Let’s get on with it.”

His eyebrow shot up at that, and slowly, he touched her, a gentle swipe of his fingertips across her nipple, and a rash of goose bumps spread across her skin. He waited a heartbeat and then touched the other nipple his fingers lingering there so he could pinch it, not in a rough way, but to enhance her pleasure. She wriggled and licked her lips, chest heaving. He smiled and bent forward, flicking his tongue where his fingers had just been.

But only a fleeting touch—a whisper, really—nothing more.

Honey inhaled sharply, eyes on him, her expression unreadable. Her skin was flushed, those high cheekbones a delicate pink, and he held her gaze as he leaned in once more, this time taking the entire tip into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the puckered flesh and then suckling hard.

She groaned, and her head fell back, her fingers gripping the edge of the bar. Nash took his time, his mouth and tongue and hands giving equal attention to each breast. He would have kept at it, hell, he’d have taken all night, but her hands suddenly grabbed hold of his head, and she yanked him back. They were both breathing heavy, and her eyes glistened in the low light.

For a moment, he thought he’d done something wrong—the expression in her eyes puzzled him.

“Just so you know, Booker. This right here…this is a sure thing. We don’t need all the foreplay.”

She pushed him back and lifted her hips, using her hands on the bar to steady her body. “Undo my pants.”

A strange kind of electricity sizzled between them, and in the recesses of Nash’s mind, he knew the game had just changed. The problem was, he didn’t know what it meant or why.

“Now,” she commanded. The tone of her voice was off, and he looked at her sharply.

“Now you’re just being bossy,” he said, reaching for her jeans.

She didn’t reply but kept her hips elevated so he had easy access. He undid her button and pulled on the zipper. Jesus. H. Christ. The woman went commando. Nash gave a slow whistle as she was laid bare to him, his eyes riveted to the sweet spot between her legs. She moved and kicked her feet a bit until he yanked her jeans down to her knees.

Which she spread.

And holy hell, she glistened from between her lips, her arousal scenting the air between them.

“Your turn,” she said raggedly.

Nash was so far gone, he didn’t hesitate. He reached into the pockets of his jeans and pulled out a condom.

“Nice to see you’re prepared,” Honey said, watching him from behind half-lidded eyes. He wasn’t about to mention Jade or the fact he had planned on getting busy with her tonight. Because then he’d have to examine the real reason he’d ditched the blonde. And that reason was right in front of him.

He took exactly three seconds to appreciate the visual of a woman who still wore her clothes but was fully exposed to him. And damn, but the combat boots made it all the more sexy.

He undid his jeans and pulled out his cock, watching her closely as he slid the condom over his dick. He was hard as hell, and without pause, he lifted her down, turning her around and bending her over. Considering they were still clothed, it was the only way.

She arched her back, and the sight of her perfect ass nearly did him in.

“Now, Booker,” she growled.

That was all it took. He sank into her balls-deep, one hand on her hip holding steady, the other pressed against the small of her back. She began to move, and he had to work to keep up. She was tight and hot and so damn wet. She fit him like a glove, and Nash looked up, his eyes drawn to their reflection in the mirror.

She made no effort to hide from him. In fact, she held his gaze, her eyes full of desire and lust and satisfaction. Something happened then. A zig to his zag. It punched him in the gut, and he struggled to keep his shit together. This was different. She was different.

They moved together in silence. The only sound was the echo of his body slamming into hers as he drove himself home. He’d worry about that other stuff later, because this was gonna be quick and dirty. He couldn’t help himself.

“Faster,” she gasped, reached back for the hand he had at the small of her back. She pulled it away and guided him around front. “Here,” she said.

Later, when he had some time to reflect, he’d smile at the way she ran the show. At how she was so comfortable with her body and in tune with her needs. But in the moment, he didn’t think of any of those things. He pressed his finger against her swollen clit and circled the tight bud, pleased when she groaned her pleasure.

Nash increased his rhythm, and she matched him stroke for stroke. He felt her tighten, smiled savagely when she swore and bucked against him. When Honey came, she screamed, and her body shuddered against him. Three strokes later, he followed her down and came so hard, his legs began to shake.

Nash didn’t stop. He pumped her body until every last drop of him was released, until his body slowed down, until he could catch his fucking breath. And for a moment, that was all he heard. Their jagged breathing. He wanted to pull her into his arms and get rid of the rest of their clothing. To feel her heat awhile longer. To see every inch of her.

He looked up once more and found her eyes on him before they slid away. Slowly, he withdrew, and she turned around. She hiked up her jeans but didn’t bother to do them up. Her long hair was tangled, and she pushed it back and squared her shoulders. She looked at him, the air between them rife with unspoken things and an energy that wouldn’t leave.

His dick stirred. Christ, he was ready to go again.

“Thanks for that,” she said, a slight smile curving her mouth—a mouth Nash had a hard time tearing his gaze from. God, she had great lips. “It was good.”

Wait. What? He jerked his head up, dark eyes slamming into hers. Was she kidding? “Good?”

“Yeah it was good.” The smile widened, and she stretched like cat, nodding as she did so. “I’ll sleep like a baby tonight.” She moved away from him, and Nash had to work to keep his mouth from gaping open. Shadows enveloped her as she headed toward the back door that led upstairs to her apartment. “You might want to give that barstool another wipe.”

“That’s it?” Was she serious?

“Does there have to be more?” She sighed and turned around. “Thanksgiving dinner doesn’t make us friends. We barely know each other.”

“You make a habit of banging men you’re not friends with?” It was a low blow, and he regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth.

She didn’t bother to acknowledge them. She headed for the stairs. “Don’t forget to lock up when you leave.”

Nash stood by the bar, his shirt open, pants undone, his sex-induced euphoria long gone. What the fuck? What they’d shared was more than just good. Hell, he’d made her come so hard, he was pretty sure she’d scored the top of the bar with her nails.

Had he read the situation wrong? Was he that stupid?

He stared into the shadows for a long time. So long, in fact, that his thighs cramped and the back of his neck ached. He scowled and zipped up his jeans before grabbing his leather jacket from his office. He turned off the lights and swore. Nash Booker had been used for sex and tossed aside like a piece of meat by a woman who didn’t give a rat’s ass about him.

He scowled and gazed into the darkness. Huh.

So this is what it feels like.