Friction(35)

He laughs. "All right, love—I'll play this game with you. Michaela worked for me. We fucked. She and I never became an actual thing, and neither of us wanted it. She was fired because she thought the NDA didn’t apply to her because of my appreciation for her cunt.”

“Jace,” I gasp, but he continues.

“We’ve worked it out since then, but she's a touch testy tonight since there's a goddamn beautiful woman right beside me."

I don't know what weighs on my mind more: the fact Jace is so talented in the sack that his ex-employee and former bang buddy is furious at him or that he had just called me beautiful. No, goddamn beautiful. Averting my stare to the sprigs of mint poking out of my drink, I struggle to catch my breath. I hear my phone go off in my purse. There's a ninety-five percent chance it's Tom since Jamie won't message until tomorrow morning with a demand for every single detail of tonight. And then, maybe--just maybe—I'll tell her that Jace Exley called me beautiful. That, though the cockiness is still present in his slate blue gaze, there's something else there too and it's not mockery.

Cupping my mojito between my hands, I bring it to my mouth and take a sip, hoping the rum will take away some of the nerves. The sugar from the rim ends up on my lips, so I dart my tongue out to lick it off.

"Don't," Jace growls. The crisp roughness of that final letter is like friction against my nerve endings, and I feel a familiar pressure building between my thighs.

"Don't what?" I whisper.

"That thing with that little tongue of yours. It makes me want to taste your lips, too." I know how struck I must look when I stiffly twist around to stare at him, our knees touching. Nervously, I fluff my fingers through my black hair. Before I can fully comprehend what’s happening, his hand replaces mine, and I shiver beneath the rough fingertips that splay against my scalp and ravel in my hair.

“Ah, Williams.” He bends his head until his beard scratches my ear. The sweet and spicy aroma of his cologne fills my head, dropping a heavy, cloudy weight on my thoughts.

“Exley,” I breathe, my tone holding none of the warnings I want to convey.

He pulls away slowly, but not before drawing in a breath of the amber-scented perfume that drifts his way. For a moment, I’m sure he’s going to release my hair, but then he shakes his head and presses his forehead to mine. A pained smile lingers on his beautiful features. “Do you’ve any fucking clue what hell it will be to let you go and not taste you when you smell like this? When you keep licking your lips?”

"No." Oh, god, my voice sounds so far away—like it's on an entirely different planet rather than right next to him, in this little bar. “So, what’s stopping you?”

"Because if I tasted you here—” He drops my hair and traces his thumb diagonally over the side of my face until it skims the center of my lips, and my heart bangs violently into the wall of my chest. “I wouldn't stop until I've tasted everywhere—and everything—else." I’m on fire when he sits upright, and I cross my arms over my chest to hide the sudden tightness in my breasts. "And I'm trying really fucking hard not to mix business with pleasure, love."





Twelve





Lucy





After I finish that one drink, I decide it's time to go home.

When I announce my intentions a mere five minutes after Jace purposely cock-blocks himself, and I return to our table dazed and more than a little confused, Ashton’s dark brows tug together. He's gotten chattier since we excused ourselves to the bar, and my plan to leave so early seems to catch him off-guard, temporarily drawing his attention from the story he was sharing about his evil, game console-stealing ex. Gwendolyn almost looks relieved for my interruption, but she offers to drive me wherever—should I decide to stay and get drunk off my ass.

For a moment, I consider her proposition. If I were lucky, a few drinks might melt away the cold lump that’s lodged in my windpipe. It’s been there ever since the man who took me to a sex party my first day of work caught my lip between his rough fingers, told me he wants to taste me, and then pointed out the importance of staying professional.

I’m still not sure whether to laugh at the irony or rock in a corner from the sting of rejection.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Jace’s blue gaze. His expression is unreadable, infuriating, as he rubs his long fingers over his mouth and beard. No matter how hard I’ll try, I won’t be able to forget the way that hand had felt in my hair and against my lips. And I won’t be able to stop the bittersweet pressure from forming between my legs whenever that memory haunts me.

Which is yet another reason I need to go.

Pursing my lips together, I shake my head at Gwendolyn. “Maybe another time?”

“Are you sure?” she asks, and when Jace mutters that I’ve told her I am “twenty fucking times already,” I can’t resist glancing at him. He’s leaned back in his chair, and if it weren’t for his clenched jaw and stiff posture, his mood would be unreadable. He lifts his eyes to mine, and I flinch when he narrows them.

Because, apparently, he has every reason in the world to be irritated.

“I promise I’ll get you home in one piece,” the blonde is saying when I tune back in.