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My panties were stuck to my wet skin. Sipping my wine, I pressed my thighs tightly together to help ease some of the ache low in my belly, but I wasn’t sure that was the answer.
When he sank the eight ball, Jake strode over to me, stopping so close our toes touched.
“Congratulations,” I said softly. “I’d demand a rematch, but I think you have the advantage since you live with the pool table.”
His huff grazed my lips. “The pool table is in no way loyal to me. I got through that game quickly to relieve your boredom.”
“My boredom?”
“Yeah.” He rested his forearm on the wall beside my head but didn’t allow any of himself to touch me. Not even a little bit. “You looked bored over here. Maybe pool isn’t doing it for you. What about a round of darts, Clara? Would that do it?”
I tipped my chin, meeting his dark eyes. “Maybe. We’ll have to play to find out.”
My head fell back with a groan. “I’ve never been this terrible at anything.”
Jake chuckled from behind me. “I’m surprised at just how bad at darts you are. I think we’ve found the one thing you can’t conquer.”
That raised my tipsy hackles. “I can conquer darts. It’s just a dumb game. Give me time, and this dartboard is mine.”
“I knew you’d be competitive.” He reached around me, stopping me from tossing my dart. “Let me help. We’ll work on aim.”
I nodded. “I think aim might be the most important part of this game.”
“Think you’re right.”
He was behind me now, his chest pressed against my shoulders. The room had become almost unbearably warm. My free hand twitched with the urge to unbutton my blouse to cool off. But one button wouldn’t do, not with Jake so close.
“Here.” He circled his other arm around me to splay his hand on my stomach, pressing below my belly button. “Hips and shoulders back. Look where you want the dart to go. Focus on that and nothing else around it.”
His hand around mine, we flung the dart toward the board. It didn’t strike the bull’s-eye, but at least it hit—a huge improvement over my last try.
“Yes!” I bounced on my toes in celebration. “I did it!”
Jake hissed and pressed harder on my stomach, which brought his groin to the top of my ass. There was no mistaking the thick ridge pressing into me. Without thinking about the consequences, I bounced on my toes again.
“Fuck, mama,” he barked. “Watch yourself.”
I leaned my head back on his shoulder to look at him. “You can wrap yourself around me, do that growly talk in my ear, touch me how you want, but I can’t even move?”
He inhaled sharply. “Are you saying I’m turning you on?”
“What do you think?”
His eyes slammed closed, and he released a shuddering breath. “This is why I don’t make promises.”
His fingers went to the snap of my jeans, pausing there. This was the moment to tell him no and go home. Nothing had happened. It would have been so easy to walk out of here.
No—not easy, possible.
Instead, I arched into his fingers, and he took that as my consent. Unbuttoning my jeans, he slipped his big hand inside, completely bypassing the band of my panties, and cupped between my thighs with a sigh.
“Molten,” he whispered harshly. Shoving my panties to the side, he parted my lower lips and let his fingers glide between my folds. “Yeah, Clara, you’re turned on.”
His lips closed over the side of my neck, and I melted against him. Sliding his free hand up my torso, he molded his fingers around my breast, kneading firmly.
I’d missed his command of my body. His confident touches and heady kisses. I’d missed being held by him, my skin stroked, being the sole object of his attention.
He removed his hand from my jeans and spun me to face him in one smooth motion. There was no time to protest the absence of his touch before his mouth was on mine, his tongue parting my lips to plunge inside.
