Page 10 of Rookie Mistake

She flips her long, dark hair over her shoulder as she saunters off the stage with the microphone toward me, stopping between my spread legs. I reach for her, unable to stop myself, sliding my hands along the soft, exposed skin along the back of her thighs, gently pulling her toward me. She doesn’t miss a beat as her fingers slide into my hair, and she tugs roughly at the long strands.

Her head dips, and suddenly, she’s a breath away from my lips, a single fucking breath, singing a song that I’m no longer even listening to because I can’t focus on anything other than her blown pupils and the fact that I’m about to have a hard-on in front of an entire bar full of bikers.

The tips of my fingers tighten around the back of her thighs, digging into her creamy skin.

The song ends, and the entire room erupts in a cheer for a show that I don’t think any of us anticipated happening before it started.

Zara’s chest heaves as she sucks in a breath, her eyes dropping to my lips and lingering before she stands and offers the crowd a small wave, then hands the microphone back to the person in charge of karaoke.

This was a fucking religious experience.

One I’m going to fuck my hand to more times than I care to admit.

I don’t know what it is about this girl, but I’m in so fucking deep.

chapter four

Davis

“Trouble”— Camylio

When I stand from the chair, Zara slips her hand in mine and starts to tug me toward the bar, calling back over her shoulder, “I need a drink, a shot…something.”

I don’t need to hear her say it to know exactly what she’s feeling.

Shit, that just felt like the hottest foreplay of my fucking life, and my dick’s still hard despite my attempt at tucking it into the waistband of my briefs.

“How about you pick this time,” she says when we get back to the bar, and she flags down Ernie. “Since Fireball isn’t your thing.”

“Alright. What about… tequila?”

She shrugs, offering me a smile before telling Ernie, “Two shots of tequila with lime, please.”

I notice when she turns to face the bar that the strap of her dress has fallen, so I lift my hand and slide it back in place, letting the pads of my fingers sweep along her heated skin.

A seemingly innocent movement, but she shivers in response, dragging her eyes to mine and swallowing roughly.

Time slows, and for a moment, we stay just like that, my fingers sweeping along the soft skin of her shoulder, her vibrant green eyes holding mine.

“Here you go, darlin’,” Ernie’s gravelly voice interrupts from the other side of the bar. We both turn to see the shot glasses of tequila he’s sliding to us, along with a set of limes.

Zara thanks him, giving him a saccharine smile as she grabs the tequila and lime and turns back toward me. “Okay, Loverboy, drink up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I pick the shot up, clinking the shot glass against hers, and we toss them back, immediately sucking on the lime afterward.

Zara’s nose scrunches, and her lips pucker as the lime juice runs down her chin and drips onto her neck. “Jesus, that’s more bitter than I expected. Ugh, shit, it’s everywhere.”

“Yeah, looks like a mess,” I murmur, leaning in, “Let me be a good boy and help you clean it up.”

Heat flares in her eyes, her pupils wide and blown, her lips parting.

Lowering my mouth to her neck, I drag my tongue along the rivulet of juice, licking and sucking every drop off her skin.

And fuck, for something that’s supposed to taste sour, it tastes so goddamn sweet.

“Davis,” she breathes, her hands flying to the front of my shirt and fisting in the fabric.

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