“When did you write this one?” she asks, ignoring me completely.
I don’t turn. “Long time ago.”
She goes quiet. “That time… we?—”
“The night on the bike,” I cut in, my voice rough.
She’s looking down at her legs. “You were so mad you left marks then, too.”
“I was pissed at myself,” I mutter. “For doing that.”
Her eyes lift slowly. “I asked for it.”
She hops up onto the counter, and sits with her knees slightly parted, the black fabric of the leotard stretching tight.It makes breathing inconvenient. It makes thinking impossible.
“Come here,” she says.
I grab another bottle instead. Wipe a spot already clean. “Let me finish closing. I’m almost done.”
She sighs then shifts again.
And fuck.A perfect fucking view of her pussy. Even wrapped in that tight black fabric, I can see everything. The outline. Theswell. The obscene little curve where I know she’s slick and waiting.
She knows exactly what she’s doing.
“Just this once?” she asks lightly.
“What.”
Her gaze drifts over me.
She spreads her knees just a fraction wider.
“Use your magic,” she whispers. “Get it done, then come collect the reward for surviving such a fucked-up day.”
“Sisk—”
I bite out her name but she’s already tugging the leotard aside—fingers slipping where only mine should ever be.
She tips her head toward my hands, eyes half-lidded, glazed with lust and dare.
“Use it,” she says softly.
“It shouldn’t be used,” I grit out, the last of my resistance crumbling.
She smiles, a slow, victorious curve of her lips. “Fine,” she says. “I’ll do it myself.” Her fingers move to her clit.
Yeah, not a fucking chance.
The last thread of my self-control snaps clean in half.
I flick my fingers. The mop rips itself upright, plunging into the bucket with a violent splash. Chairs scrape and slam themselves into stacks on the tables. The register drawer slams shut with a metallic ding, coins rattling inside. The lights dip low, bathing the room in a golden, intimate glow. The entire bar bends to my will, whether I meant for it to or not.
Magic spills out of me now, fast and easy. Obedient, as if it’s been waiting for this permission.
I don’t remember deciding to move. One second I’m behind the bar. The next I’m in front of her, hands braced on either side of her thighs. The tar hums under my skin, triumphant, because this is exactly what it wants: me, losing control.
“All that training better have paid off,” I drawl. “Stretch for me. Let me see how far those legs really go.”
