Page 4 of Clubs

“Are you fifteen?” I chuckled, pulling back to meet his gaze. “What’s with you today?”

“I don’t know.” His smile was still wider than the sky, hands sliding up and down my torso. “I’m just in a good mood. And you smell amazing.”

“Ah, that’s what this is.”

“What’s what this is?”

“You wanna feed, so you’re sucking up to me.”

“Sweetheart, if I wanna feed, you let me feed.”

That wasn’t true. I’d told him no several times. He respected that. But nine times out of ten, he was right. I did let him feed on me. Not because he needed blood to survive. Keeping him from death wasn’t a bad thing, but I’d be lying if I said I let a Werewolf feed on me because it was altruistic.

I did it because it was fucking orgasmic.

“No, I really don’t know.” He smiled still, eyes flicking over me. “Life’s just good right now, ya know? And we’ve both been off two days in a row—that’s nice. Rare, and nice.” His palms drifted down my bodice. “And something about this dress and the way your ass looks in it.”

I laughed. “You really are fifteen.”

Grinning, he leaned in for another kiss, and then another, and another. Between them, he said, “Is that really a no on round two?”

I fastened my arms around his neck and tightened my legs around his waist. “If you weren’t teasing me about your tongue between my thighs, my opinion can be swayed.”

His lips curved higher against mine as he kissed again. This time, he traced slowly down my jaw to my neck. Flipping up my skirt, his free hand drifted up my thigh.

I shut my eyes, holding his shoulders and threading my fingers through his hair, as his kisses trailed down my body—

Knock-knock!

“Occupied,” Declan called.

“Yeah, I’m aware,” Emory said, voice low. He was the only other employee at Spades. Also Declan’s best friend. “But you need to get the fuck out here.”

“Is there a fire?” Declan was on his knees now, parting my thighs, and kissing the inside of one.

“No, but—”

“A fight?”

“No—”

“Then I couldn’t give a shit less.” Declan grabbed my hips and slid me to the edge of the sink.

“Declan—”

“Emory, it can wait—”

“It’s the cops.” That sentence had all the aggression of a yell but the volume of a whisper.

Declan stopped. “What do they want?”

“I don’t know, dude,” Emory snapped. “You, I guess. They wanna talk to you. They wouldn’t tell me shit.”

Declan grumbled a curse as he stood. His shoulder slumped with disappointment, perhaps a bit of annoyance. “Rain check.”

“I’m satisfied for the night.” I smiled as I hopped from the counter. “Business first.”

He sighed, leaned in for one more kiss, and zipped his pants. My heels clicked against the linoleum as we exited the bathroom.

---