Page 3 of Liberating Love

Deciding to push a little more, I ask, “So what’s your name?”

He finally spins in his stool enough to face me, squaring his shoulders and tilting his head upward. “Does it matter?”

Feisty.I study his features. He has to be in his late twenties, early thirties, but his eyes show a tired weariness that pings my protective instincts and ratchets my attraction from optimistically interested to I’ll do whatever it takes to get this man under me—give him a night to remember.

Before I can turn on the charm, a little blonde bombshell pushes into my side, perching her breasts on my arm. I glance down; not to be rude, but because they’re right there and it’s impossible not to when she has her cleavage on full display. I hear Freckles snort, and when I glance toward him, he’s already spinning his body back toward the bar, ignoring me. “Do you want to buy me a drink?” she asks.

“I’ll buy you a drink, but I’m kind of in the middle of something so…”

She appraises the man in question, dismisses him and says, “I don’t think he’s interested, maybe you should play with me instead.”

I’m barely paying attention to her, though, so I don’t miss when Freckles rolls his eyes, while studiously pretending he’s not paying attention. Reaching into my wallet, I pull out a ten dollar bill and hand it to Miss Persistent. “Here you go, hon. You take that and go get whatever you want, but I have plans with Freckles, here.”

They gasp at the same time, her stomping away—after grabbing my ten—and him whirling back at me. I’m pleased to see the fatigue that had been hovering over his face and clouding his eyes is now smoldering with irritation as he glowers at me.Oh, yeah, so feisty. “Who in the hell are you calling Freckles?” he demands.

“Tell me your name,” I say softly.

“No.” He narrows his eyes at me in challenge.

Raising my brows, I say, “Then I’m calling you Freckles until you do.”

“Well, since I’m going to finish this beer and head out, I guess that’ll be for the next ten minutes or so.”

I snort. “Whatever you say, Freckles.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Leaning in toward him, I inhale his fresh, clean scent, as I whisper in his ear, “If you want to know my name, Freckles, you’re going to have to tell me yours.”

“Why would I care what your name is?” Though he doesn’t move away, there’s no missing the tremble in his voice and the almost purplish tint to his skin.

“I just thought you might like to know who’s name to call when I bend you over.”

He jerks back. He’ll either punch me, and with that body, it’ll hurt, or if I’m reading him right, and like me, he needs a break from his own mind, from his life.

He maintains eye contact as his arms move. I’m not sure what he’s doing until I see money fly toward the counter. “I got yours, too.”

“Where we going?” I tease.

“Let’s see what you got, Old Man.”

* * *

“Fuck yes,”I breathe above his lips before I take his mouth in a searing kiss. I waste no time dipping my tongue in and exploring. The fifteen minutes it took to get out of the crowded bar and to the hotel Freckles checked us in to has left me ravenous for this man. The blatant hostility toward me right up until the minute I shut the door and backed him into it has done nothing but fuel my lust. Pulling back, I say, “Tell me what you want, Freckles.”

“For you to quit calling me Freckles,” he growls before leaning up to capture my mouth in another kiss. This one burns even hotter as he takes control, attempting to dominate me. But that’s not what he needs. I know that look, I’ve seen it over and over in my lifetime, but never more pronounced than during my time in prison. This is a man who needs a night to forget and just feel, and I’m more than happy to provide it for him. I give him another moment of control, running my hands down his sides, but as I move up under his t-shirt and push it up his sides, I break from his mouth so I can throw the shirt off of him and onto the floor.

“Look at those,” I say, slowly tracing my finger from his shoulder down his chest. “So many beautiful freckles.”

“Stop teasing me,” he mutters.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m not teasing you at all,” I say, low and husky as I push back into him, slipping one leg between his, grinding my cock into his thigh. “I was hot for you, but these freckles, they’ve got me so fucking hard.”

His head lurched toward my face, his lips smashing into mine, and it’s on. It’s the snap of jeans, the whispers of zippers, the whoosh as I pull my own shirt over my head. I step back to admire his body. “You don’t skip on leg day, do you?”

His face flames red. “I can’t tell if you’re teasing me again,” he says.

Reaching out, I run my hand over his cock. It’s not too long or thick, but fuck, it’s so pretty. “Freckles, I promise you, I want you like I haven’t wanted anyone in a long, long time.”

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