Page 32 of Tempt

He leans across the table. “And what did we settle on for victor’s spoils?”

I close the gap between us and bring my lips to his ear. “Loser licks first.”

Sam squeezes the back of my neck, re-adjusting our head positions so he can have a turn whispering perfectly inappropriate things to me. “That’s right. So please, Hazel, kick my ass. I want to pinch my way down to your soft, sweet, succulent pussy and feast on it while you scream my name.”

From the next table over, someone clears their throat. My face heats up, but Sam doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes?”

“We noticed you two had quite the rousing game of Scrabble there.”Rousing?I do my best to bury the filthy image Sam put in my mind, and turn my head to see who Sam’s new friend is.

It’s a woman about our age, wearing a Fair Isle holiday sweater. A man in a matching sweater approaches carrying two mugs of steaming something. Apple cider, I realize as he sits down.

I hope they also play loser licks first, but in a wholesome way.

The woman beams at Sam. Perhaps she likes his perfect hair, too. And that’s okay, I can share his hair. “If you’re finished, we’d love for you to join us. We could play a game of cards?”

I wince. We haven’t talked about his gambling again, but that doesn’t sound like a good idea.

Sam doesn’t miss a beat. “We have an appointment, unfortunately,” he says smoothly. “But thank you for the offer.”

We play the last few turns, each of us using one letter at a time.

I win.

We quickly put our game away, then beeline as if we actually do have an important meeting. Sam doesn’t say anything about the card-game offer, but his grip on my hand is extra-firm, and his jaw is set in a way that makes me want to kiss it soft—but also, maybe, ask him to take me over his knee so he can turn my ass pink.

My bottom volunteers as tribute.

When we get up to the room, he pushes me up against the door, drops to his knees, and finds the bare slice of skin between the top of my jeans and the hem of my shirt. His tongue is a hot flame on my body, a lick of fire to which I immediately surrender myself.

His hands are rough against my thighs, shoving my legs wide. I brace my hands against the door behind me as I realize he’s going to yank off my boots.

Do it, Sam. Take me.

He doesn’t say a word. Just ruthlessly undresses me in hard, jerking motions that make me slippery wet.

Sam Preston is magic. Hard and soft at the same time. Rough and then, when I’m aching and ready for it, whisper soft with his tongue against my clit.

This is more than I ever thought possible. It’s worse than I ever feared, back in the day. Sam is dangerous tempting. I knew it then. I pushed him away for exactly that reason. Because in one kiss I knew that if I had another—just one more—I’d be hooked enough to do something stupid like fall for him.

Then I went and kissed him again. Again and again, for two days. It took a decade, but I forgot just how dangerous Sam is for my heart.

And still.

Andstill.

I don’t care.

He can consume me. Burn me up.

It’ll be worth it.

What’s the worst that could happen?

His hand reaches up blindly and presses me hard against the door. The wind rushes out of me as he loops my left leg over his shoulder and pushes up, tilting my hips out and away from the door—and right against his ravishing mouth.

This is the worst that could happen. Sam and his knowing smile. His complicated past and my better judgement—totally absent from the moment our train came to an unexpected stop.

And still my clit throbs in his mouth.

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