1. LYRA #3
My hands roll down my body, emphasizing my curves, my hips swaying before dropping down low. Heat ravages my body, thick with desire and need, but I keep on dancing, holding his stare as though it physically pains him to look away, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Fuck me,” he mutters under his breath as a wild grin stretches across my lips.
He drags his hand down his face as I drop to my knees right before him on my bar, my long golden hair whipping around in front of him. “See something you like?” I murmur as I continue dancing.
Hunger pulses in his dark stare, and as the end of the song approaches and my hips roll, I reach for the pitcher of water just inside the bar before tipping it over right down the front of my thin white tank, letting cold water cascade down my body.
My customers whoop and cheer as the other girls grab the water spouts and shoot them out over the crazed customers, soaking everybody in the room, and despite everything, my gaze remains locked on my latest obsession.
Water rushes off my body, and as he takes me in, I know exactly what he’s seeing: my soaked tank sticking to my toned body, my black bra visible through the thin fabric, and my cold, wet nipples hardening beneath it all.
My chest heaves as though I’d just endured a fuck-fest marathon as I reach for the half-filled, no-ice glass of water I was in the middle of filling, and get right back to filling it up, all while still braced on my knees before him. “Is that enough water for you?”
His big hands grasp my thighs, and as he leans in, his dark eyes burning with fire, I suck in a breath.
His head dips between my thighs, but he doesn’t take his eyes off mine as his tongue rolls out of his mouth and hits my burning skin.
He trails his tongue right up to my inner thigh, lapping up the droplets of water lingering on my body.
Holy fucking shit. And here I thought I had the upper hand.
While I’ve been playing checkers, this motherfucker has been playing chess and has already managed to capture my queen.
Check-fucking-mate.
My mouth goes dry, and when he lifts his head and rolls his wet tongue over his lips, I swear I die right here on my soaking bar.
His warm, calloused hands tighten on my thighs.
“Fucking parched, Savage,” he grumbles, making something wicked stir deep inside me.
“I need to be inside of you. Blow off work and let me fuck you.”
My brow arches, and a wild need pulses through me, threatening to take me. “You’re a crazed psychopath and a serial killer, remember? I don’t know if blowing off work is such a great idea. Blowing you on the other hand . . .”
He grins, and as his grasp on my thighs tightens further, he slides me over the wet bar, dragging me closer toward him. “What if I’m only a serial killer on Wednesdays?”
A breathy scoff leaves my lips. “We all know statistically, serial killers do their thing on a Sunday.” He just stares at me, and I quickly realize that perhaps I’m taking this serial killer thing a bit too far.
I want him to think I’m edgy, but not crazy.
“I, uhhhh . . . watch true crime documentaries.”
He nods as though suddenly understanding me better than I ever could. “What’s your name?”
I take a breath and really consider him. He’s a heartbreaker through and through. But let’s be honest, I don’t want a relationship with this guy. Men like this, they’re only good for one thing, and that one thing is generally exceptional. It would be a terrible waste not to go for it.
Holding out my hand in offering, I smile. “I’m Lyra.”
He takes my hand in his big one and pulls me in even closer until my lips are barely a breath away. His other hand releases my thigh and finds the base of my throat, circling it and making everything tremble within me. “Go out with me, Lyra. I’m not asking again.”
Ooooh, bossy.
Just how I like it.
My gaze collides with his, and despite still being on my knees, soaking wet on my bar with his hand around my throat and a couple of hundred customers surrounding us, I can’t seem to look anywhere else.
I’m completely mesmerized as the words fall from my lips. “You’re going to fuck me up.”
He nods. “Probably.”
Shit.
As if sensing the hesitation swirling through my mind, he continues. “Either way, I take you home and fuck you until you scream. Whether something more comes from that, I don’t know, but from where I’m standing, we both win tonight.”
Damn it. He just had to go and say the magic words. But there’s no denying that he’s right. Tonight, we both get exactly what we want, and I see no problem with that.
Letting out a sigh, I pull back from his hand necklace. “What’s your name?”
“Hunter.”
I scoff. Of course it is. Perfect serial killer name right there.
“Just Hunter?”
“Hunter Cole.”
“Okay, Hunter Cole,” I say, knowing deep in my gut that this is probably the worst idea I’ve ever had, despite the guaranteed screaming orgasm I’ll likely have tonight. “I get off at two, and I’m warning you, don’t make me regret this.”
“I won’t,” he says with a confidence that makes me uneasy. “The regret usually comes after.”
I laugh. “I don’t doubt that for one second.”