Page 46 of Pulse

Too damn long.

She needed to spend some quality tension-relieving time with her silicone boyfriend later. With the way Pulse looked tonight in a snug T-shirt that accentuated his firm, tattooed arms, she had plenty of fantasy fuel to carry her through a tension-relieving orgasm.

That thought had her giggling as she walked—staggered—down the hall toward the restroom.

“Shit,” she whispered as she bounced off the wall for the second time. “I think I’m super drunk.” She burst into a fit of giggles.

When was the last time she’d let this happen? It had been ages since she’d felt comfortable enough around people to let down her hair and pick up a drink.

Or four drinks.

It felt good to let loose and have some frivolous fun for once.

She made it to the bathroom without incident, took care of business, and then stumbled out of the restroom. As she shoved open the door with too much force and burst through with the grace of an elephant, she smacked into a hard, nicely scented body.

“Oh, shit! Sorry,” she said, snickering so hard she snorted. She slapped a hand over her nose and mouth. “Sorry,” she said again, muffled this time.

“No worries.”

The familiar, amused voice had her head whipping up.

“Pulse,” she squeaked.

Of course. Of-freaking-course.

He gripped her upper arms, steadying her. His hands felt so damn nice on her skin—warm, strong, yet gentle.

She shivered.

Pulse sucked in a breath, having caught the involuntary tremor.

Their eyes locked.

The air thickened.

“You smell so good,” she muttered as she rose onto her tiptoes and inhaled his scent at the base of his neck. The aroma was more intoxicating than the gin. It went straight to her head and between her legs.

“Talia…”

She couldn’t tell if his voice held a warning or a plea. The alcohol had soaked through her rational thinking and flooded her reasoning. Thoughts of going home and touching herself to the memory of his hands, smell, and how he looked obliterated the last of her good sense.

Her pulse thrummed heavily through her veins, making her whole body throb. Her breasts felt heavy, and her lips tingled. She licked the lower one, then inhaled him again.

She was so drunk. Drunk on alcohol, drunk on Pulse.

And it was so lovely.

Forget thinking. Forget good sense. She spent all day every day focused on those things. Tonight, with the mixture of alcohol and Pulse coursing through her veins, she only wanted to feel. She planted her hands on his chest and shoved.

His back hit the wall with a surprised grunt.

“Tal—”

She kissed him.

Not a shy, you’re-attractive-and-I-want-to-explore-something kiss, but a full-on fuck-me kiss—open-mouthed, tongue, teeth, and aggression.

He froze as though stunned by her behavior. But it didn’t last long. His arms closed around her, and he stole control of the kiss. Soft lips moved with hers—sure, confident, and hungry—while his arms held her flush against him.

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