Page 47 of The Price of Forever

“Do you want to?” she asked.

I laughed, but it was humorless. “That’s irrelevant. I know you don’t go past a certain point in here. I’m shocked you even let me grab your ass.”

“This is for a new routine, remember?”

I ground my teeth, conjuring every last ounce of willpower that remained. This was the final frontier. Her bare tits brushed against the fabric of my shirt and I was a half-second away from demolishing all the rules.

“It’d get you fired,” I bit out.

“New service I plan to offer on the side,” she said into my ear. Then she bit my earlobe. I squeezed my eyes shut, steeling myself against the heat sizzling through my veins. I would not fall victim to Jordan’s sexiness. Could not.

“That’s what I need to test out,” she went on when I didn’t say anything. “You’re not a paying customer in here, so this doesn’t break any rules.”

“I didn’t peg you for wanting to get down and dirty with strange men outside of the club,” I forced out. My rational brain was floating away. I couldn’t believe I still knew how to form sentences.

She paused, like maybe this was a record skip in the rationale. “I plan to be very picky about who I do this for.”

Then she dipped her head down, though for what, I had no idea. Maybe she wanted to say something or whisper another sweet nothing. But my primal brain kicked in. I needed her. I’d reached the end of my rope when it came to resisting her. She was a gorgeous, writhing bombshell on top of me, and I wanted to dive headfirst. I wanted it more than air.

I caught her lips before she could utter a word. She didn’t miss a beat—when my mouth found her silky lips there was so hesitation, only hunger. Jordan clutched my face as we kissed hungrily, intensely, our tongues meeting forcefully in the middle. She fell against me as we kissed, making small noises that nearly undid me. I gripped the fleshiness of her ass, desperate to grind against her, but she was still on her knees above me.

When we broke for air, her chest heaved. She watched me with an accusatory look.

“Jesus Christ, Seven.”

I pushed my fingers beneath the sides of her thong, desperate to learn every curve of her body. “What?”

“I didn’t think you’d kiss like that.”

I blinked, still lost in the bliss of that make out session. She clambered off me unsteadily. I needed her back on top of me. I needed to be on top of her. I needed to tear off the remaining shreds of clothing separating our bodies and sink so deep into her she couldn’t work for a week.

Every ounce of logic and rationality had left the building.

“Maybe it was a fluke,” I admitted. “We should try again and see.”

She pressed a hand to her forehead. “I can’t think straight now.”

“You should sit down,” I told her. “Right back where you were.”

She laughed, but instead of doing as I suggested, she sank to her knees in front of me. My heart rate picked up.

“It’s time for my new move,” she said, trailing her hands up the sides of my legs.

My entire body prickled with anticipation, and somehow my cock found an extra quarter inch of length at her words. My Glock dug into my dick at an awkward angle, but I was too turned on to notice the pain.

“But first”—she slid her palms up my thighs, heading for my crotch—“I need to pull your pants down.”

I tipped my head. According to Jordan, the golden rule of Gemstones was that nothing ever happened in these VIP rooms that involved bodily fluids. But if my dick came out to play, there would absolutely be bodily fluids after I left.

“Why?”

She hooked her fingers along my belt and tugged gently. “Because I don’t want to ruin your nice pants.”

“Ruin them?” Maybe my brain was too hazy to understand what she was getting at. That kiss had knocked a few wires loose on my end, too.

She laughed softly as she undid my buckle. “Seven. There will absolutely be a mess if I sit on top of you. I can’t let you go back out there looking ridiculous.”

The meaning refused to click. “What mess?”

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