“It takes a lot to pull something like that off,” Fitz says. “How long’s it been?”

“One year. Before then, I was merely a bartender. But this is something of my own.”

“Hell yeah,” Fitz says. “A man in charge of his own destiny.”

When we’re done, several shouts rise from the pool tables in the back. The group that’s been playing there makes their way out, snaking through the bar.

Fitz brushes one palm against the other. “All right, I believe you said you’d kick my ass at pool. Show me how great you are with that stick.”

I can’t resist. “Isn’t that what you’re going to show me later?”

He shakes his head in admiration. “I am. I absolutely am. But first, this—I challenge you to a game. And I think you’ll like the stakes.”

“And why do you think that?”

With a lift of his brow, he licks the corner of his lips, staring at me with a wicked intent in his gaze. “Winner picks the position.”

A myriad of favorite ones flashes before me. “Well, then, when you put it that way, I better win.”

I proceed to run the table, smacking ball after ball into the pocket, and destroy him. When I’ve annihilated the American athlete, I put the cue away, slide a hand around his neck, and preen. “Told you I’d win.”

He bands his arm around my waist. “I’m pretty sure we both win here.”

“Yes. I’d bet it all on that.”

He brings his lips to mine, but he doesn’t kiss me. He whispers, all hoarse and smoky, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Yes.” I give him a salacious wink. “Because I know exactly how I plan to use my winnings.”



I let the door of my room fall shut, the sound of it closing so damn satisfying. It signifies the shift into the rest of the evening—the thing I’ve wanted since I first set eyes on this guy two nights ago.

Forty-eight hours.

But in libido time, it’s eons. I’ve been wanting him every second of every day, wound up from the tension and rabid desire.

I want him even more now after having dinner with him, getting to know him better. Talking with Dean is one of the easiest things I’ve ever done. And that ease only fuels my lust.

I want to grab him, pin him down, have my way with him. But I also know we have all night, and I plan to make it last.

Inside the room, I kick off my shoes. He does the same.

We look at each other, poised, knowing what’s coming. This is the calm before the storm, the moment of anticipation before the buzzer rings.

We aren’t frenzied like we were earlier today. There isn’t that crazy collision like when we slammed into each other. But I can feel it in the air: a pulsing, a need.

It’s palpable.

Like the low beat of a song. Some sexy, dirty number that gets you in the mood.

I’m already in the mood. Haven’t left the mood in forty-eight hours. Still, I grab my phone and click on a playlist, something I figure Dean will like—the kind of smoky, sexy music from artists he told me were among his favorites the night we met. Sam Smith, Daley, Leon Bridges. Sex music—plain and simple.

“Good thing you have some music handy. Wasn’t sure I’d be able to get turned on otherwise,” he says, glancing at the bulge in his jeans, then to the matching one in mine.

“Yeah, same here.”

“Good tunes though.” His smoldering eyes lock onto mine.

“Yeah, I thought you might like.” I’m not talking about the music.

“I do like. I like it all.” Dean’s not talking about the music either.

He’s standing a few feet away from me, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, giving me a little hint, a preview of those abs. I lean against the bureau, cross my arms, and rake my eyes over the man I’m going to fuck.

I’m already an inferno just from looking at him. His jawline, his eyes, his lips. His body. “Take your shirt off,” I tell him, my voice a raw husk already.

Grabbing the bottom, he tugs it up, revealing those cut abs, those firm pecs.

I breathe out hard.

Then harder still when the shirt goes up over his chest, his shoulders, then his head.

My God, he’s so fucking gorgeous. All my resolve to take it slow flies out the window, and I close the distance to Dean in a heartbeat. I can’t not have my hands on him.

I grab his face and taste his lips. “All night. I want you all night,” I say, my breath coming in a rush.

“So have me, Fitz.”

I swear my body is on fire. There is no corner of me not burning up for him. I angle my face, kissing his neck in the way that drives him crazy. He stretches, offering me more access.

I take my time, giving him soft, tender kisses, coupled with scratches of my beard, till his murmurs turn to groans, the sounds so erotic that my cock strains against my fly. “You like that?”

Tags: Lauren Blakely Romance
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