And I have every intention of finding him.
Tequila scorches through my veins as I throw back two shots. The cute bartender slides over a third—a light pink one this time.
“On the house,” he drawls, eye fucking the hell out of me.
I smile over the rim as I tip it back into my alcohol-starved mouth, not having a clue what I’m drinking, nor giving a fuck.
I glide my tongue slowly across my lips and flash him a flirty wink, leaving him wondering what my intentions are. But I have no intention of returning… my only interest is in finding my pretty dancer.
I set out toward the dance floor, unsteady on my feet. A few curious glances follow me as I saunter past the bar, trailing my fingers along its edge. I’m fully aware that I don’t match the scene—ripped jeans, damp shirt, raw edges. Definitely not the proper attire for this crowd. But no one says a word. And if they did, they’d be dancing with my fists.
I’m not leaving until I get what I came for.
My eyes scan the crowd, flicking from face to face, body to body, seeking out my prey. And just as I’m about to turn away… I find him.
Noah.
His athletic, toned body moves like water, like fucking sin, winding around another man in perfect rhythm to a song I don’t recognize. Every twist of his hips pulls me in deeper, traps me in place. I can’t peel my eyes away.
He’s fuckingincredible.
The music shifts—slow, sultry. Noah’s arms drape around his dance partner’s shoulders, loose and lazy, as the man pulls him closer. Their bodies blend together, a perfect, maddening fit.
I’ve seen enough.
I push off the bar and let my feet drag me through the crowd, straight toward Noah. When I reach him, I grab his elbow and yank, pulling him free from the other man’s grip. His face flashes with shock before quickly shifting into something else—curiosity? Recognition? I don’t care.
I’m staking my claim.
I haul him across the dance floor, not bothering with apologies as I shove my way through. At the back of the club, a metal door waits under a glaring fluorescent sign: DO NOT ENTER.
Yeah? Watch me!
Still gripping his hand, I kick open the door and pull him out into the warm, breezy night.
We stumble into a narrow alley, butting up against a tall crumbling brick wall. A trash bin sits off to the left, and to the right, a short, narrow walkway littered with discarded boxes and beer bottles. I spin him around and push him up against the hard, unforgiving surface of the brick, knocking the wind out of his lungs.
He startles, clear blue eyes locking with mine, wide and uncertain. A storm of questions running behind them.
He’s confused.
I’m furious.
I take him apart with my eyes, running them over his pretty face and kissable lips—glossy, with flecks of gold glitter twinkling like stars beneath the moonlit sky.
“Fuuuuck!”
I slam my mouth into his, savagely devouring his pouty lips, his tongue, getting off on the feel of the smooth metal from his tongue stud as it wrestles across my mouth and wreaks havoc on my sexual appetite.
He rips his mouth away from mine and separates my face from his. “You’re drunk,” he accuses, winded, struggling to catch his breath.
“And you’re fucking beautiful.” I spread my drunken words across his glossy, star-studded lips.
His sturdy hands come to rest on my shoulders as he seeks connection with my unfocused eyes. “So does this mean you’ve figured it out?” he asks with agonizing hope, his tongue sweeping across that shiny lower lip.
My eyes follow his tongue. “Mmm, I’ve always known I love strawberries.”
“You know that’s not what I mean, Alex.”
