Page 6 of Overexposed

“Hotel,” he said. “Let’s go.” Then he picked me up like he was going to carry me over there.

“Nachos,” I argued, and he paused. He shot a sidelong glance at the hood of my car. “Margaritas too. We have a long night ahead of us, and we should definitely carb up.”

“Fuck me.” He exhaled the two words like a prayer, and I enjoyed sliding down him.

“That is my plan,” I promised. He let me go long enough to grab the pitcher and I got the nachos, and then we were heading to the hotel with his arm around my waist. We probably made a sight as he kept pausing to kiss me.

I could get used to that. Once at the hotel, he handed me the pitcher and said to wait, then he disappeared into the building. Thankfully, he was back out not even five minutes later, key in hand.

Laughing like a pair of idiot teenagers fucking around after curfew, we hustled down the row of doors to one away from the street. The hotel was barely a three star, but it was clean and the walls weren’t paper thin—I might have stayed here once or twice in the past after a night of drinking at the C and C.

Once in the room, I set my nachos on the table and he put the pitcher of margaritas next to it. His wallet and keys hit the table next. I tugged the purse strap up and over my head and dropped it in the chair. I tossed the condoms on the bed, then reached up to pull that damn baseball cap off his head.

“Better,” I said as I tossed it onto the other chair.

“Not yet,” he said in a voice that held a lot of promise. “But we’re getting there.”

Maybe it was the huskiness or the way his eyes swept over me in the half light of the hotel room. I went from being buzzed and light to overheated and needy.

“One question,” I said as I jerked off my boots, then stripped off my shirt and bra.

“I’m clean,” he said, like I’d asked if he’d had an STD check. The minute my shirt hit the floor, I went for the buttons of my jeans and paused to stare at him.

He wasn’t moving, but his mouth was open, his gaze glued to me.

“Shit,” he swore, then shrugged out of the plaid before he yanked the Henley off in a smooth one-hand over-his-shoulder move to tug the fabric up and over.

Damn. Those muscles I’d felt earlier were right there, ripped and cut in all the best ways.Strip first, look after, I ordered myself.

My jeans and panties hit the floor. The air-conditioning in the room chose that moment to kick on with a clank. The rush of cold air blew right across my breasts and my already-taut nipples tightened further.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, Slick,” Gem said as he stood from dropping his jeans and boxer briefs. His cock was red tipped and already angling up. Oh, that was going to do real nicely. It was long and it was thick and it had some lovely veins already popping on it.

“Thank you,” I said. “You’re not so bad yourself.” But when he reached for me, I put a hand on his chest and he went still. “Question,” I reminded him.

“I thought I answered already.”

“You told me you were clean,” I said. “Thank you, that’s good to know, but that wasn’t my question.”

“Then ask,” he practically growled. “But it’s going to cost you.”

The cost was being hauled to him and his mouth slamming down on mine. His hands were hot and callused, and he stroked them down my back to my ass. The fact that he picked me clean up until his dick was resting against my cunt but he didn’t start humping away just made him all that more attractive.

I had to fist his hair and tug to get him to lift his head. I didn’t wait for his permission.

“Do you prefer to be on top or on bottom?”

His eyebrows shot up. A ripple of dark, humor-laced pleasure went through me. “Goddamn, Slick, I could get addicted to you.”

“Not an answer.”

He turned and tossed me onto the bed. “You have two condoms. Let’s find out which I prefer…”

chapter

three

Stella

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