Ripe for the picking. Drenched in syrup.
She sets my head spinning before her lips twist again. Another softer kiss, and then she’s gone. I’m left standing with impatience flooding my veins and the sweetest view of her arse as she moves towards Ronin.
“Wife?” he asks, laughing still.
In the next step, I watch my best friend transform from pissed idiot to something very different.
I’ve been with Ronin since we were but kids. We’ve grown together, seen each other through thick and thin, good and fucking tragic, and I know this is going to be one of those memories that sticks forever too.
“Go find someone else to spend the night with, my husbands are not included.” Her voice is as sweet as her scent.
I wish I had a mirror to see my “wife” in action, although Ronin’s expressions are as good as. He's always been a cocky motherfucker. It comes from his parents, the life we were born into. Probably the crown he’s guaranteed to one day wear has also helped, but in front of her, he gets surer, and confident, of himself.
A rumble spills from him as his eyes don’t move off her. I see the moment he gets a hit of her scent; his eyes close and his head falls backwards.
His hands reach out, snapping around her waist and dragging her close until there’s no space between them. He drops his hands to her arse and holds her pressed hard against his front.
Ronin does the same as I did. He soaks in her presence, no doubt filling his lungs with her scent and committing it to memory.
“Where you been, baby?” he asks, flicking his head up, expecting an answer.
“With Santiago,” she offers, making Ronin glare.
“You don’t go off with strange men anymore. That’s my only warning, baby.”
She tips her head to the side. “Or what?”
I don’t need to see her face to know she’s challenging and teasing him; it coats her skin, making me harder again.
“I’ll spoon their fucking eyes out.”
Her hand snakes up his chest, and he twists his neck from side to side. “Come on, we’re here to have a good night. Take me dancing.”
He flicks his chin up, demanding her mouth. And her hand grabs the front of his shirt so she can stretch up. Of course he helps her out, lifting her off her feet, closer to his mouth.
I step forward, only because I want to see them kiss. And it’s better than I expected. No jealous rage takes hold as his tongue dances with hers. My hand doesn’t even shake when I pull her my way, so I can taste her again.
When we stop kissing, Ronin takes her mouth again before he’s talking to the both of us. “We’re going to drink and dance, then we’re going home to fuck.”
She purrs.
And it’s like nothing I’ve ever heard before.
It does something to a part of me deep inside. Maybe I’ve drunk way too much, but since she kissed me, I feel more sober too.
Ronin cups his hands around her waist and hoists her up to straddle him, and the black dress flutters around her arse cheeks. I press in behind her, my hands finding their way to trace along her milky thighs.
“Fuck, Kee, our wife scents too good. Right?” His eyes are an invitation for me to dip down behind her and drag my nose over her slender neck, inhaling her scent from the source.
She twists at the last second. Her eyes are dilated, her cheeks flushed, and I swear she doesn’t look like she's acting. Her eyes are locked on mine and she leans back for a kiss, stopping me with a finger to my lips.
“Santiago, maybe some drinks?”
“More Jameson. We’re celebrating,” Ronin adds, but I’ve already dismissed the conversation, instead wrapping my hands around her face so she can’t talk anymore.
“Give me more of that mouth,” I grunt, nipping at her lips.
She opens them for me, and I spend an ungodly amount of time acquainting myself with them. And her tongue.
