I stick out my tongue. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“Oh, I am,” he says, swaying me to the music. “I just hope you’ve got a fire extinguisher handy, because that man’s about to blow.” Russell’s knee slips between my thighs and his hips gyrate against mine like a scene fromDirty Dancing.
Behind me, a chair scrapes violently.
“Here we go,” Russell whispers.
Before I can blink, Flint’s beside me, pulling me away from Russell.
“What the hell—” I squeal, laughing as he throws me over his shoulder as if I weigh nothing at all.
Gasps ripple through the crowd.
My head bobs behind him as he squeezes my thighs. Russell gives me a thumbs up, and Jo just gapes beside him.
“Put me down!” I protest, pounding Flint’s back.
“Not a chance,” he grunts, carrying me through the door and out into the cool night.
The door slams behind us, muting the music. The night air tastes of salt, the breeze carrying the sound of the waves crashing against the harbour in the distance.
He sets me down hard against his truck, caging me in with both arms braced beside my head. His chest rises and falls, breath hot against my cheek.
“I’ve had just about enough of your brattiness for one night.”
“Am I not allowed to have a good time?”
“Not when you’re drunk and flaunting yourself at every guy in the bar.”
“Chill out, Dad,” I tease, though my voice shakes.
“I’m not your dad.” He leans closer, the heat of him searing through me. His calloused fingers glide over my chest until they’re curling around my neck, rough but also gentle.
My heart thunders in my ribs. Part furious, part aroused.
“I’m your Chief.” His lips crash to mine, bruising, as if punishment and surrender all at once.
My hands fist his shirt, dragging him closer, while his tongue licks away the last hint of vodka in my mouth.
Teeth bite into my bottom lip as he growls, the sound vibrating through me and straight to my core. This isn’t just a kiss, it’s a confession of all his pent-up desire. He wants me.
My palms cup his jaw, rough stubble scraping my skin, sending sparks through every nerve. I wrap my fingers around his neck, holding on to him as he devours me, my tongue trying to match each of his strokes, but he’s too fast, too dominant, too strong and all I can do is surrender my mouth to his claim.
He pulls away breathless. “Are you gonna behave now and stop being a brat?”
“Yes.” The word comes out on an exhale. I’m breathless and boneless and dizzy at the turn of events.
He tightens his grip on my throat slightly and uses his other hand to tangle his fingers in my locks, giving my hair a slight tug. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, Chief.”
“Good girl. Still think I should chill out?” he rasps.
My lips curve. “Guess you’re not as cold as you pretend, Chiefy.”
His eyes darken. “Get in. I’m taking you home.”
I should argue. Instead, I grin, tug my lip between my teeth, and climb in.
