I comply, thrilled and frightened at the same time that we could be caught. My heartbeat is hammering and prickles of excitement race across my skin.

Reeve angles his head to the right slightly so he can get a better view, using his hand to inch my skirt up a little higher. He smiles approvingly then lifts his gaze to mine. “Black lace panties sort of your thing?”

“I have other colors,” I say tartly.

“I like the black lace,” he says offhandedly, then immediately inches his finger underneath the elastic at my hip.

“Reeve,” I say in a whispered gasp. “Don’t.”

He ignores me, running his finger over me and inching farther down to where I know he’s going to find me starting to get soaked.

My hand flies to his wrist in a feeble attempt to halt his progress, but he’s too strong, and really, I don’t want him to stop.

“We’ll get caught,” I say.

“So what?” he murmurs, the tip of his finger now running up and down my folds. His gaze is pinned to his hand between my legs, lustful fascination filling his eyes.

The fact he doesn’t care if we get caught is a turn-on, and even though I’m afraid we’ll get busted at any moment, my legs spread even wider.

Reeve gives a barely audible groan and then easily slides his index finger inside me. My lips part, my eyes close, and I let my breath out in a shaky stutter, trying to control my reaction. It most certainly would not be good to let out the deep moan that’s swirling inside my chest.

“Fuck, this is hot,” Reeve whispers, curling his finger inside me before relaxing it to slide out. Leaving me partially unshielded, Reeve removes his right arm from the bar. Before I can protest, he uses both hands to roughly pull my panties to the side, completely baring my pussy to him. Then his right arm goes back up on the wooden surface, his body turns again to hide me, and I have to wonder if the bartender is still watching the TV or us.

Reeve drops his left hand back down between my legs and runs his knuckles over my mound. “I could feel you were bare,” he mutters with a smile, “but seeing it is even better. Wish I could bend you over right here and run my tongue over you.”

“Oh God,” I moan as my head tilts back. Reeve uses my distraction to push two fingers in me, and I can’t help but jerk in pure pleasurable torture.

“Shh,” he soothes me. A quick look back over his shoulder seems to satisfy Reeve. He turns back with a big grin. “Don’t want the bartender to know what we’re doing, do we?”

“This is insane,” I gasp as he slowly pumps his fingers. “We need to stop.”

“Tell you what,” he says thoughtfully, his eyes pinning me with challenge. “I’ll give you a choice. You continue to let me finger-fuck you until you come, right here, or you go with me to the bathroom where we’ll have a bit more privacy.”

“Bathroom,” I gasp as his fingers pull out of me and brush against my clit, causing my hips to rocket off the chair.

“Good choice,” he growls, pulling his hand away. My own hands go to the edges of my dress, pulling it down.

Reeve turns, takes his drink, and downs it in one gulp, hissing through his teeth over the burn. I stand from the chair, grab my purse, and ignore my martini.

I don’t even look backward at the bartender as Reeve takes my hand and leads me into the lobby. I have no clue where the bathrooms are, but apparently Reeve does, because he moves with purpose. He nods his head at a few people who appear to be leaving, but doesn’t stop to chat.

No, this man is on a mission to finish me off.

Leading me back past the elevators, he turns right down a short hall, and I see a recessed alcove that houses men’s and women’s restrooms.

Reeve walks straight to the men’s room, pulling me along. He pushes the swinging door open and sticks his head in, listening carefully. Satisfied it’s empty, he walks in and I have no choice but to follow.

It’s the first time I’ve ever been in a men’s bathroom, and I look around curiously—marble double sink, dark navy-blue walls with copper sconces, and two urinals on the wall.

“Bingo,” Reeve says, and my attention turns to the three stalls on the back wall. They’re encased floor to ceiling in dark stained-wood carpentry, the front doors inset with thick louvers that are angled so you can’t see in but most assuredly can see out. They afford the person—or persons, as may be the case—inside complete privacy from prying eyes.

Prying ears, probably not so much, but it’s a risk that Reeve is apparently willing to take as he pulls me toward the stalls. He gives a brief rap of his knuckles on each door, and when no one answers, he chooses the stall on the end, farthest away from the sink and urinals.

Before I know it, he has me pushed inside, the door slammed shut behind us and locked, and his hands on my face to pull me in for a brutal kiss. I sink into it immediately, my own hands grasping his wrists for support, tasting the mellowness of Kentucky bourbon on his lips. Our tongues duel as he pushes me up against the side wall. He nudges one strong thigh in between my legs and then leans into me so hard I can barely breathe.

I’ve always felt oxygen was overrated, though, so I continue to kiss him with a rising fever within me.

Abruptly, Reeve pulls away from me, and I actually moan at the loss of his mouth on mine. I reach for him, but he bats my hands away, his breathing harsh and strained. He drops to his knees, his ass bumping into the opposite border of the stall as his hands dive under my skirt.

In one fluid motion, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties and drags them down my legs. He’s efficient, grasping an ankle to pull the panties free; then his hands go back between my thighs to push my legs apart.

“What are you doing?” I gasp, because all of this happened in about five seconds flat, and my lips are still tingling just from our kiss.

“Gotta taste you,” he says in a guttural voice I recognize as fueled by lust.

“Oh God,” I moan as his hands peel me apart and his mouth closes over me. His chest rumbles in appreciation over my taste. He runs his tongue up my center, puts his lips around my clit, and nips me with his teeth. My hips shoot off the back wall, straight into his face, and he groans in approval. He dips his chin, shoves his tongue inside me, and pumps it in and out.

And never have I ever felt something like this before. So primal, hard-edged, completely wild, and uninhibited, with no thoughts to consequences or regrets. I’ve never had a man move his mouth over me like this, as if his very life depended on possessing this part of me.

My head falls back, cracks loudly on the wall, and I bite my tongue to stop from screaming in pleasure.

CHAPTER 6

REEVE

Holy fucking Christ, she tastes good.

Her soft, bare pussy presses against my face, and her inner muscles contract around my tongue. Her hips gyrate, urging me on.

I feel like my lungs are constricted from the pleasure of this hard-core mouth fucking I’m giving Leary, and I’m possessed with the need to make her come harder than she ever has in her life.

I need to do that to show her that I’m in charge of her.

At least for the moment, until she manages to one-up me again.

Leary’s hands come to my head, her fingers sliding through my hair and then gripping it hard. She pulls against me, shoving my face deeper into her. I pull my tongue back, lick upward slowly, and then concentrate on that clit of hers. It’s swollen, stiff, and in much need of release.