Time for dare number three.
I give the spinner a flick and watch it land on . . . “kiss a boy you used to love.”
Shit.
The chorus of laughs and gasps from my friends leaning in with obvious thrill weaves itself with the music and bodies dancing around us.
I shake my head, looking from Sarina to Piper, readying myself to tell them I’m not going to do it. But before I can, a chant of, “Do it. Do it. Do it,” pulses through the group, urging me on.
My heart hammers in my ears as alcohol rushes through my veins.
A little voice in my head cautions me to think twice, but I ignore it. Because, as I have established before, my sensibilities subside whenever it comes to Patton Pierce.
So, it’s no surprise that in the next moment I’m striding across the room toward the man leaning against the bar.
The air feels heavy, both in and out of my lungs, as my feet come to a halt in front of him.
Patton’s brow lifts, and that’s all the warning he gets before I grab the lapels of his blazer and yank him down to my lips.
The kiss is instant heat and hunger.
An instant rush, but surprisingly, not instant regret.
His hands capture my hips as if on instinct, dragging me closer, until there’s no space between us. Until I feel his heart thud against my chest.
If he’s stunned, it doesn’t show by the way he takes control, parting my lips with his tongue and reclaiming what’s always been his. The scent of bergamot and mint, along with the taste of whiskey, floods my senses, and all I want is to drown.
One moment we’re surrounded by howls and gasps from our friends, and the next, all sound fades. There’s no music or noise. No hammering inside my ears.
In that moment, there’s just all-consuming tranquility, like nothing else exists.
Patton pulls back first, taking my breath with him. He drags his thumb over my still-tingling bottom lip, and I almost thank him for holding me upright.
His hand slides lower, discreetly brushing over the erect nipple behind my leather dress, before he lifts my spinner-pendant to read the last dare—fake an orgasm in front of a man.
The corner of his mouth quirks up, a daring glint in his eyes. Eyes I’ve looked into for hours on end. His warm breath coasts over the shell of my ear and my core constricts as his words register.
“Dare you to make it real.”
thirteen
nisha
My Magic Bullet
My hands tremble as I unbuckle his belt.
Let’s not even talk about the way my heart thrashes inside my chest or how my stomach flips like a fish out of water.
I feel possessed, crazed and frenetic. Like I’ve been body-snatched by an unhinged version of myself.
It’s not the first time I’ve felt this deranged and out of control, either. No, my ex-husband has seen this side of me plenty of times, knowing exactly how to flip that switch inside me with his body, his words, and the kind of kiss that erases all common sense.
Forget Brain Eraser shots, this man is all I need to short-circuit.
And he knows it.
I’m not sure how we went from the party—still in full-force inside the barn—to the backseat of his private car, but we’re here now, with the partition up and tinted windows cocooning us from the rest of the world.
