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He takes a sip, too, and he clenches his jaw for a beat as if he’s trying to maintain control. He takes another sip, and then he straight up drains his glass and slams it on the table beside us.

I finish mine, too, and slam my glass beside his.

That’s two decently filled glasses of tequila for a girl who has a two-drink maximum when I’m drinking watered down vodka drinks. I know this is a bad idea. I know it’s going to hit me hard.

I can’t seem to stop myself.

“I want you,” he finally says, his lips by my ear again. I shiver at the hum of his voice. It feels like it reverberates all the way through me as he continues. “I want to taste you. I want to feel you. I want to fuck you. I want you to feel me every time you sit tomorrow as you think about who was there all night long.”

My mouth goes dry.

“What about you, Ivy? What do you want?”

“You,” I say softly, and it’s the green light he was looking for when he first said he wanted to kiss me.

He moves in a little closer, and his nose brushes along mine for a few beats that feel like an eternity. My heart pounds in my chest so hard that I’m pretty sure he can feel it since my chest is smashed to his. Electricity buzzes all through me as he holds me in his arms, and I wrap my arms around his neck. We’re in a hug, about to kiss, and I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.

That ache between my legs calls fiercely and brutally in anticipation. I need him. Tonight is the night.

Eventually he lowers his lips, and his mouth collides with mine. His lips are soft and firm, warm and sweet, and he opens his mouth to mine.

He isn’t just kissing me. He’s claiming me.

He’s showing everyone here at the club that we belong together—for tonight, at least. But as he claims me, as he explores my mouth, as his tequila tongue teases mine, as his fingertips graze along my hipbone, every person here at this club disappears. It’s just the two of us making out on a rooftop with incredibly loud music, Calvin Harris’s “Summer” forever immortalized as our song to me.

I want to savor this kiss forever. I want to keep my lips fused to his, intensity and urgency picking up and slowing down. I’m also desperate to get to the next step, for him to take me back to his place and make good on the promises he made me.

I know it can’t last forever. Nothing ever does—good or bad.

But it’s far too short as he pulls back and rests his forehead to mine, drawing in a deep breath as he gives me that devilish smirk again, the one that I’m becoming insanely addicted to.

I try to draw in a deep breath, too, but it’s shaky. As are my knees.

I reach for my glass, and I’m in deep here. I don’t know how these glasses of tequila might affect me, but I’m feeling pretty good right now.

“More?” he asks, nodding to my glass.

“Please.”

He refills mine, and I take the glass from his hand, clink mine to his, and keep on drinking.

CHAPTER 11: Cash Maddox

Desperate to Get Rid of Two Hundred Grand

She’s hot, she’s fun, she’s an incredible kisser…and she’s drunker than she realizes.

She’s not I’m going to puke on the dance floor drunk, but she’s probably at the point where she should stop. She might even be at the point where she’s going to forget parts of her night. Tequila tends to do that to people—especially people who aren’t big drinkers.

And if I’m being completely honest, I’m a little drunker than I usually get on these nights out with my buddies, too.

I want her in my bed, but I’m not going to fuck her when she’s drunk. Come morning, however…

All bets may be off once we’re both sober.

She wore white tonight. White. Like a bride.

My bet with West filters through my mind as I dance with her.