Chapter 25
PUBLIC INDECENCY PENDING
NOLAN
I’m buzzed.
No, scratch that—I’m Mirage’d
That stupid drink. All smoke and shimmer and sweet smoothness that sneaks up on you. It’s a cocktail dressed like a magic trick, and tastes like candy, but ends in jail time.
Basically, it’s contradiction in a glass. And speaking of contradictions…
Rorie’s been gone five minutes.
Maybe six.
Maya made her way over to our table after Rorie left and Shelby’s now giggling with her about god-knows-what, and I’ve officially reached the end of my patience, and the bottom of my glass.
Fuck this.
I slide out of my seat, mumble something half-hearted about needing the restroom, and walk off.
We all know that’s not why I’m leaving. I’m looking for Rorie. And for reasons I haven’t fully unpacked yet, her absence feels like a missing pulse—subtle, but wrong. Like something vital just went quiet, and I can’t make sense of the silence.
Of course she’s nowhere in sight. Probably still in the restroom. I head that way, push the door of the men’s room open and nearly walk straight into Jeremy.
He stumbles back a step, eyes wide. “Oh—hey. Oopsie. Sorry about that text, man.”
One brow arches.
“Yeah, so, Rorie fired off a whole bunch of rage messages to me right after. She’s like super pissed, but hey…” He shrugs, shameless. “Not my fault she left her phone where God and your erection could see it.”
I exhale through my nose. “Jeremy—”
“I’m glad you saw it,” he cuts in, holding up a finger. “Now she’ll fucking pounce already. I mean, the girl’s on a full-blown manhunt and I, for one, would like to see her aim that energy in your direction.”
My mind turns his words over. I plant my hands on my hips. “Manhunt?”
He winces. “Uh, oh. I’ve said too much again.”
I stare. Apparently silence is a cue for him to keep spilling. Which is fine by me.
“She’s in heat, okay?” He says it like a confession. “Came here specifically to find someone to fill her horny bucket. Her words, not mine.”
“Horny bucket?” I echo, blinking.
“Yeah. Like an emotional bucket, but for orgasms. Hers is apparently bone dry and on fire.” A pause. Then he adds, “She’s probably worn her vibrator out since meeting you. Poor thing’s out here running on fumes and false hope.”
“I—what?”
Jeremy pats my shoulder like I’m the idiot. “Go find her. Think of it as sexual hydration. You’re the Gatorade, babe.” He winks and then slips out the door as though he didn’t just shred every rational thought I had left.
I stand there too long. The image of Rorie, flushed and desperate, whispering about needing someone to fuck the sexual frustration out of her, wrapping around my brain like a noose.
Tight.
Merciless.
So wait, she’s here looking for someone?
Someone who isn’t me?
My blood turns molten, burning a lethal path through my veins. After the way she kissed me like she’d been starving for it, aching for it, and she’s out here hunting for someone?
No.
No fucking way.
The ground shifts under me. Ugly, bitter jealousy takes root.
I move.
Out the men’s room.
Across the hall.
Straight into the women’s.
The second I push open the door, her eyes snap to mine in the mirror, stunned. Glacial blue gaze pin me in place like a blade pressed beneath my skin, daring me to move.
“Jeremy tells me you’re on a manhunt.” Might as well be blunt about it.
Her mouth parts. There’s a slight rise of her chest.
“What were his words again…?” I pretend to search for it. “Oh. Right.” My fingers snap. “You’re looking for someone to fill your horny bucket.”
Embarrassment flashes in her eyes but she’s stalk-still, caught between fight and flight while music thrums against the walls, muffled by layers of concrete and the weight of whatever is about to happen next.
“Love him.” Rorie sneers. “But he needs to stay in his lane and out of my sex life.”
The pull between us sizzles, electric, raw, and ready to ignite. Heat coils low in my spine as I close the distance, each step fueled by liquid courage and a mix of burning hot rage and possessive jealousy. Which I know I have no right to feel.
Except…I fucking do.
“True, but let me get this straight.” My hands brace either side of the sink, boxing her in. “You kissed me like you were drowning, and I was the only breath left. And now you’re on a hunt?”
Those pretty eyes of hers flick away. Guilty.
My mouth leans in to her ear. “The idea of anyone else putting their hands on you makes me want to commit an actual felony, Rorie.”
Her head twists to face me. That twisty jasmine perfume winds its way into my bloodstream. It’s a scent I’d follow into war.
“You think just because we kissed I’m yours now?” Her voice is tight and trembling but there’s an edge of fear threading through it.
She wants me to say yes.
My tongue darts out over my bottom lip, and my teeth drag across it. “That kiss scared you, didn’t it.”
“Please, it meant nothing.”
I’m staring at her lips. “It meant too much.”
“You flatter yourself.”
“Kind of like how you bullshit yourself?”
Her chin tips up in that sharp, defiant tilt that drives me fucking insane. My cock goes hard so fast it’s painful. Every ounce of stubborn fire in her just begs to be tamed.
I want to grab her by that perfect jaw, shove my dick between those pouty lips, and fuck her mouth until she’s choking on it. Until every last shred of that beautiful resistance is broken under my hands and mine to own.
“You don’t want someone else, Rorie.”
“No?”
She’s baiting me. Testing how far I’ll go. How serious I am.
And right now, I’m pretty fucking serious.
“No,” I say, firm.
“You think you’re qualified for the position, huh?”
My eyes roam over the mouthwatering curve of her breasts, barely contained by that sinful neckline. Perfect. Full. Designed to ruin a man’s sanity.
Mark my words—whether it’s tonight or ten nights from now—I’m going to bury my face between her thighs, lick her until she’s dripping, bite those tight little nipples until she’s squirming, begging, and make her ride my tongue like her life depends on it.
By the time I’m done, she won’t just be saying my name—she’ll be crying it.
I lean in, my voice low and rough. “Oh, I’m more than qualified.”
“You’ll have to submit an application,” she says, still playing her little game. “References. Full background check. Possibly a physical. Competition’s brutal these days.”
I chuckle.
Her brow furrows. “Why are you laughing?”
“Because, Rorie…I’m done playing.”
One hand finds her waist, the other lands at the base of her spine, and I spin her quickly.
Her breath hitches. I kiss her. Hard. Deep. Like it’s the last thing I’ll ever get to feel.
And just like that, we’re no longer circling.
We’re colliding.
She tastes like challenge and longing. And one of those is a favorite of mine.
My hands slide into her hair as her fingers clutch my shirt, pulling me closer, securing us together. I hoist her up on the counter. A breathless, needy sound she couldn’t hold back if she tried, lights me up inside.
That noise? That’s not hesitation.
It’s surrender.
My palms roam up her inner thighs before coaxing them apart. She lets me, no protest, just a shivery inhale as I step between her legs and press in. My body slots against hers, every rock hard inch of me syncing perfectly.
I glance down at her spread legs and freeze for half a second because Rorie Adams isn’t wearing a damn thing under her skirt.
All logic disappears. Time, space, consequences, none of it exists anymore. Just her. Just us. Just this raw, reckless collision of need and want and more.
She must see the question in my eyes because she says, “I don’t like panties.”
“Ever?”
With a wicked glint in her eyes, she shakes her head slowly. “Nope. Especially when I know I’m going to misbehave.”
Her legs open a few more inches. An unspoken invitation. An unholy temptation.
A feral growl involuntarily rumbles in my chest.
“What do you want to do, Rhodes?”
“Loaded question, Adams. But if you must know…I want to drop to my knees, bury my mouth in your pussy and make you forget every name but mine.”My hand inches up over her mound.
“Oh, fuck,” she huffs out, those blue eyes darkening.
“All in good time…” My cock fights against the barrier of my pants as she arches into me seeking pressure. “Right now, I want you desperate for the kind of friction that makes clothes feel like punishment.”
Her eyes flash, wild and bare. Her lips part. All that comes out is a soft little sound that nearly undoes me.
My thumb teases the tender skin above the place she wants me most. I lean in and drag my mouth across the curve of her jaw. She’s salt and want, heat built over stolen glances and sharp-tongued banter. And she’s finally breaking.
I map every line, every shift, every intake of breath. She’s tense beneath my touch, wound tight as wire.
“Tell me to stop.” My lips brush the shell of her ear. “Say the word, and I’ll walk out that door.”
She doesn’t.
Instead, she palms the back of my neck, tugs me closer like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go, and kisses me again. It’s anything but gentle.
My thumb finds her wet, needy cunt and I slide it inside. Eyes fluttering shut, she sighs.
“You’re pussy is soaked, Rorie.” I replace my thumb with one finger. “You’ve been sitting there all night in this mess, haven’t you?” I ease deeper, letting her feel every inch, every slow push. “Answer me, Rorie.”
“Yes.” It’s barely audible. Her hips roll against my hand with unspoken urgency.
Her body tenses when I add a second finger. And when she gasps, it shoots straight to my cock. She looks so fucking good, grinding against my hand while my fingers explore, and stroke.
I draw back a bit just to torture her, but the look she’s giving me detonates in my bloodstream.
She knows it.
I know it.
We’re dangling on the edge of something irreversible here—and the next move we make won’t just ruin the rules. It’ll rewrite the whole damn game.