“For what?” she asked. He stepped to the side, leaning across from her. His hand dropped over hers, tapping the edge of the glass she’d been sipping.
“I know I’m okay being a distraction for you, but I tried to make you a distraction for me, and I shouldn’t have done that without talking about it first.”
Hanna nodded, processing. He was only a tiptoe away from her, making it difficult to form a coherent thought.
“It’s okay, Milo. You have your own shit too, and I know I trigger that. Plus, the work stuff.”
Milo winced. “I didn’t have work stuff.”
She tilted her head.
“I, uh, I was calling my therapist.”
Hanna sighed. “Have you ever felt something without analyzing it?” she asked.
Milo huffed a sigh, tapping her hand. “No.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to ignore his throat flexing just inches from her lips.
“What if you just did what you wanted for once, and not what you thought you should?”
She’d hardly gotten the thought out before the thread snapped and Milo closed the distance between them. Whiskey still lingered on their tongues as they swept across one another. It wasn’t enough pressure, enough heat from where she stood. Hanna climbed onto the bar, pushing him back as she sat on the edge and parted her legs around him, begging him to fall into her. He didn’t miss a beat, sliding his hand along her thighs and gliding the hem of her dress higher.
It was a completely different kiss than the night before. Deep and thorough, not starved and scattered.
She yelped into his mouth when his fingers slipped the buttons over her chest away, giving him access to her soft skin. The sound drove him to squeeze harder, grab more of her.
“Milo,” she groaned, her head falling back as he moved to her neck. He lifted her, setting her feet on the ground behind the bar and pushing at the lace of her underwear, rolling it down to give him access.
“Fuck,” he whispered, finding her more than ready for him—as if she hadn’t been his to mold however he wanted all damn week. He kissed her again before pushing her forward, draping her over the bar. His belt hit the wood and a foil wrapper hissed in two.
“How old is that wallet condom?” she asked, laughing.
“Got a fresh box the night you flew in,” he rasped as he leaned over her back, gripping her neck and pushing into her slowly. The pressure as he took his time filling her sent a shockwave over her hips, manifesting in his name slipping from her mouth as he moved within her. They’d gotten so close so many times, she’d been brought over the edge by him so many times she thought she knew what it might feel like.
She’d woefully underestimated how good Milo would feel inside her, and that was one of the less fortunate truths of her life. One she’d have to contend with later—god, the time she’d wasted.
She pushed her hips back, searching for more of him.
“Easy now,” he spat out between moaning her name.
“Good time, not a long time,” Hanna panted.
Milo’s grip tightened on her hips. “You,” he gasped. “I need you so much closer.” He pulled her up and she whimpered at the loss of him. “How opposed are you to fucking on the floor of a bar that I swear was cleaned this morning?”
His hands dug into her ass and wrapped her legs around him, pushing against her as she fought for breath. In that moment, Hanna didn't give two shits if the floor had ever been cleaned. She only wanted to feel him inside her again.
Milo attempted to sink them gracefully behind the bar, but as soon as his knees hit the floor, he fell back. She caught herself between the wall and the backstock lined beneath the bar top, giggling as he repositioned himself to sit against the wall. He leaned at an angle, yanking her down to him and guiding her hips gently over his lap.
She rolled her hips forward and he grabbed both sides of her face, kissing her slowly, reverently. It wasn’t a distraction or to get a rise out of her. It wasn’t teasing or playing a game.
It was genuinely enjoying being with her, being claimed by her.
His hands glided over her sides, setting a rhythm that had her lost for words and well on her way to only being able to rasp sounds. She wound her hips in circles, her mind so full of him she couldn’t think of anything else as she inched closer to oblivion. One hand crawled up her thighs, pushing her dress up. She leaned back, shoving the fabric over her head so he could get to more of her, sink his teeth into her flesh.
He picked up the pace, fingers digging into her hips as they both stopped forming words. Hanna pulled away from his lips to breathe, but he was having none of it, hauling her back to him and biting at her lip, moaning into her mouth.
When the low thunder became her name, she damn near lost her mind.
