Page 72 of Wicked Me
“Forgive me?” I asked.
“I can probably be persuaded to forgive you, yeah,” he said.
“We might as well eat the food that almost burned down your house.” I stepped toward him to brush my palm across his side on my way toward the stove. “Before the persuading begins.”
“And what kind of persuading will you be doing tonight? Do I need to buy more alcohol?”
I gave a one-shouldered shrug. “That depends.”
“On?” He edged up behind me and settled his hands on my hips.
“On how well you can pretend you like the pig that almost burned down your house.” My senses buzzed with his nearness, even though I didn’t hear a sound, and roared full throttle when he dropped his lips to my neck.
“I can pretend really...” Another kiss, this time below my ear lobe. “Really well.” His breath trailed a path of goose bumps over my skin.
I fisted my hands on the stove at the promise in his voice. But that mouth...and those hands that were now sliding across my belly and pulling my ass against his erection. Every touch unwound my resolve to keep my word to Nicole and Charlotte and go out with them tonight. I could call and feign food poisoning, which might not be too far from the truth after the dinner I’d made. Or I could say that a gorgeous man’s hands were inching down the front of my jeans.
My hips rolled backward into his, drawing a low moan from Sam that rumbled into my shoulders. My arm wound around the back of his head to keep his hungry mouth at my neck. I wanted him, every single inch, to help me explore these feelings toward him, fill my senses, and ease the mounting pressure between my legs.
“Come with me tonight,” I breathed.
“Stay here,” he growled into my hair. His hand crept lower into my jeans and cupped me with a powerful grip.
I grinded against his palm, my breathing at full volume, while small pulses flashed up and down my thighs. Speaking of persuasion.
“Come with me,” I said again, falling back against his chest.
“Break your promise and stay here.”
So, so tempting. “No.”
His sigh rolled goose bumps down the skin on my neck. “What club did you say again?”
“I didn’t. The Underground Hill.”
His playful, mischievous demeanor morphed into a tense column of muscle within seconds. “I’m coming with you.”
