Before I can think too much about what this new feeling means or the look on Saylor’s face, Nash leans in closer, his warm breath against my neck. His touch is addictive, and I consider stepping away from him, but his hands glide from my stomach to my waist, tracing the curves of my hips and causing me to arch into his touch.
It seems like tequila and Nash don’t mix well because my brain has bid fucking farewell.
Nash’s lips brush against my earlobe, his hot breath sending a thrill through my body as he whispers, “You feel so good, pretty girl.”
I can’t help but let out a soft sigh, my fingers finding their way to his on my hips, entwining with his as we continue to move in perfect harmony. Our bodies sway to the music, and I revel in the sensation of being so close to him after all this pining.
Nash’s lips trace a path down my neck, and I tilt my head to give him better access, my heart pounding in my chest. His mouth finds the sensitive spot just below my ear, and I gasp, my grip on his hands tightening.
Nash’s hips press firmly against my ass, his hard-on evident. My back arches against him, my body seeking even more of the delicious friction.
“Trying to resist the siren is futile,” he whispers in my ear.
The nickname feels like a bucket of cold water, reminding me that he’s just trying to prove to himself and his buddies that he can fuck me a second time.
I detangle my hands from his, prompting him to set his hands flat against my body again.
“Where’s your pretty friend?” I ask in a cold tone, stopping my dancing.
“Jealous?” He chuckles in my ear, his hand on my stomach wandering further down.
I step out of his embrace and turn to face him, but he just looks at me with a self-righteous grin.
“You wish,” I huff, turning to walk over to our table where Tally and Tim are already sitting, but he steps in my way and pulls me to him by the back of my neck, tilting it and pushing back the hair over my ear.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about your tight little pussy and the sounds you make since I came inside you,” he whispers, his words making the spot between my legs ache with need.
He leans back to look into my eyes, and I see his are hooded. The hand on my neck wanders up to cup my cheek, his thumb stroking over my bottom lip.
“I have not once thought about you,” I whisper on a breath, unable to look away from his intense gaze.
He chuckles and looks down at my cleavage before his eyes come back to my lips. “You lie so prettily, Siren.”
My heart speeds up, and a rush of desire courses through me.
I need to get away from him. My tequila-infused brain cannot be trusted.
I step out of his hold and make my way over to the table, where Tally is already watching me. “Hey, I’m tired and tipsy, and I need to go to sleep.” I lean down to give Tally a quick hug before I grab my purse and jacket from my chair.
“You’re going home with him?” She eyes me, but there is no judgment, only concern.
“No, I’m going to my guestroomalone,” I state a little too loud, wanting him to hear it if he’s still standing behind me while I put on my jacket.
Tim moves to stand. “Should I walk you?”
I reach out to pinch his cheek. “You’re a good one, little Timmy, but I’ll manage. Have a nice rest of your birthday party.” He gives me a glare while Tally laughs behind her hand. “Night!” I wave to the table before making my way to the exit, looking around in search of Saylor, but he’s still gone.
I lock eyes for a second with Nash. He’s leaning against a wall on the opposite side of the restaurant, sipping his beer. His gaze on me feels like a shark watching its prey.
Yes, I definitely need to get out of here.
The door falls shut a little too hard as I step out of the restaurant, leaving the music and chatter behind me. Thankfully, the street lamps reflect on the remaining snow. Not all of it has melted yet, and it provides enough light that it’s not too creepy to walk home in the dark.
The waves are crashing in the distance. It’s cold, so I pull my shoulders up and put my hands in my jacket’s pockets.
Suddenly, there’s the sound of heavy footsteps behind me. A surge of fear hits me when I turn to look at who is behind me. It’s North, walking casually a few feet behind, his hands in his jeanspockets. My fear immediately dissipates, as if I’m not in danger as long as he is behind me.
Who could be worse than Satan himself?
