I clamp down on my molars, while he’s practically snarling, gritting down on his own teeth. We’re hip to hip, forehead to forehead, nostrils flaring with heaving breaths.

“Feel better?” I manage tightly.

“No,” he all but spits before trying to shove me again.

It would bother me. Hurt even...

If the fingers curling over my collar, holding me in place, didn’t tell a different story.

My shoe catches on some of the wetness coating the floor, and I start to slip. Knees buckling as I try to regain my balance. Releasing one of his hands, I grab the edge of the bar to brace myself, just as the fists knotted in my shirt tighten. Steadying me.

“No,” he repeats viciously.

And then he’s yanking me to his mouth, fusing our lips together before I can even register what’s happening.

I reach around him and clutch the back of his skull, fingers forking roughly though his dark hair. Tethering his face to mine as I spear my tongue into the warm, wet cavern of his mouth.

He opens for me on instinct. The warm metal ball of his piercing scraping deliciously over my teeth. Our tongues twist and glide over one another’s messily. Hungrily. Desperately.

I move back, just enough to bite down on his full bottom lip at the same time I drop my hands to his ass, pulling him up against me. A gasp punches out of him, and I swallow it down my throat.

Fingers scramble at my shirt like he wants to tear it. Rip it right off my body. Through his jeans, I can feel his cock digging into my thigh, hard as steel. My shirt rides up from the force with which he grabs and pulls at my shirt.

My hair.

Nails biting into my skin.

The button on his jeans digs almost painfully into my stomach, right next to my belly button, as he arches up into me. I claw at his cheeks, holding him to me so fiercely, I fear our teeth might shatter from the force. Our red-raw need.

He bites out a curse against my lips. A hand grips my waist, squeezing. We’re grinding up against one another, slipping and stumbling as we try not to fall, the pressure overwhelming our senses. So. Much. Pressu—

Someone starts banging on the door. Loudly.

Nononono—

Waylon tears his mouth away from mine, whirling away from my hold so fast, so sudden, I have to brace my hand on the bar so I don’t fucking face plant.

The knocking only grows more insistent. Louder. Almost deafening in contrast to the music still playing from the speakers.

I rub my hands down my face. Waylon’s back is to me, his shoulders practically hunched around his ears as his hands open and close against his thighs. His back moves rapidly up and down with his heaving breaths.