“Hey!” she screeched, stumbling forward for the bottle.
I held it up and out of reach. “Is it because I passed out?” My empty chuckle cut my sentence in half. “And that’s grounds for taking my truck?”
“You’re overreacting.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re really mature.”
“Yeah? And you’re a lousy fuck.” She grabbed the bottle from me and tipped it back until it emptied. I erased the space between us with one step. She didn’t step back. Her stare collided with my chest, then crawled up until our gazes crashed.
Her eyes were hot with intensity.
I was okay until she looked at me.
After that, I was lost.
“Harlow,” she enunciated slowly, reaching out to cup my cock through my jeans like it belonged to her. “My name is Harlow, Mr. high-as-a-kite, who just falls asleep on me. Like who does that?” My dick hardened in her palm, but she didn’t let up.
I couldn’t move. One look into that catlike stare, and I lost the battle before firing a shot. Before a body hit the ground. I did belong to her, I thought. I belonged to her just as much as her hand belonged on my dick.
“Harlow?” My voice came out thick and muddied, and I laughed to break it apart. “What the fuck kind of name is Harlow?!”
Her hand left me, and she turned away. My dick twitched against denim, wanting to break through my jeans to get back to her. I was a ball of rage and excitement and mania.
I was about to lose it.
I grabbed her elbow and spun her around, suddenly out of breath. She was a savage who’d just given me a taste of a thrill, then ripped it all away.
And I would admit to anything to get it back.
“I’m kidding, Lo. I know your name.” My grip tightened, threatening to melt her flesh. “I’ve always known your fucking name.”
11
#lalalalala
HARLOW SAINT JAMES
At first glance,Linc Hendrix seemed like your average lucky bastard. It always took a second glance because he had a way of leaving something behind. After your brain registered that he was equal parts wild and unworldly—a depth of a man—he had your spinning back around. A sight to see again.
For the first time, as I stood on the sidewalk of Santa Monica, leaning against a truck parked under a palm tree and wearing his hoodie, his long fingers claiming my hips as I teased his cock, it felt as if I were the lucky bastard.
Linc’s dark eyes drank me in even though his backdrop was a fading night and a Californian morning on the rise. Palm trees were our only shade from the rest of the world. Despite all this, he stood tall before me in his athletic pants, tattoos appearing behind his ripped tee, a brown mop of unruly hair, and smelling like a dash of cologne and sex.
Linc Hendrix looked like abstract art.
“Suns coming up, Linc. Your time is over.”
His words were melted ice cream in my ear. “It’s over when I say it is.”
My bikini string wrapped around his finger, and his devious eyes flicked back to mine. He was so close I could feel his breath on my lips.
Then he licked my lips once before taking them, kissing me slowly with a seductive tongue. The rhythm matched the stroking of my hand. “You taste like champagne,” he whispered with a gust of mint that tingled my tongue. He leaned his hips into me, and I squeezed his cock. His mouth fell lazily over mine with a moan. “You should get in my truck.”
“But you don’t fuck in your truck.”
He chanced a look around, his covered cock in the palm of my hand and the tip stabbing my stomach. “Get in the truck, or I’ll take you right here on the sidewalk. Your choice.”
In no time, I was straddling his lap and grinding my bikini-clad pussy against his erection. Linc was cupping my face and kissing me hard. The seatbelt base dug into my knee, but there was no stopping.
