I’m so close to that blissful edge. My hips rock, my breath stutters, my pulse jumps, heat races over my chest and up my neck. I call out his name, a broken cry, louder than I intended. He slows his movements and drags his fingers out, stopping to readjust my underwear. He tickles and traces little patterns on my inner thighs and strokes me through my underwear, each soft touch bringing me gently back to Earth.

Desire still simmers in his eyes when I look up.

I slide off the stool and take his hand.

As we turn to sneak down the hallway to our room, Hustler stops us.

“That was fucking hot, Prez.”

Heat sears my cheeks. Yes, I knew there was a possibility someone might see us, but knowing it could happen and knowing it did happen are two different things.

Z glares at him. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

He throws his arms wide. “You’re at the bar, not invisible.”

“I don’t care if I’m on your dining room table, avert your eyes, motherfucker.”

“Z.” I tug on his hand. “We have more pressing concerns at the moment.” I graze my fingers over his erection straining the zipper of his jeans in case he doesn’t know what concern I’m referring to.

He growls at Hustler one last time before tugging me along. Hustler winks as I go by. Not the creepy, makes-my-skin-crawl wink of a predator. More like a friendly go-fuck-your-man wink.

Z stalks down the hallway so fast, I have trouble keeping up in my heels. Inside our room, he pulls my dress up and over my head, tossing it on the chair.

“Stand by the bed and wait for me,” he rasps.

I go to kick off my heels and he stops me. “Leave ‘em.”

Curious, I move to the bed, running my hand over the comforter. Z unlaces his boots without taking his eyes off me. With a twitch of my hips, I turn and press my palms against the mattress, arch my back and glance over my shoulder.

“How’d you know that’s what I wanted?” He clutches the edges of his cut and pulls it wide, drawing attention to his broad chest, sturdy shoulders, and inked arms. He places it over the chair, then drags his T-shirt up.

I lick my lips as he exposes every delicious inch. All his naked chest, hard muscles and beautiful ink. His hands move to his belt and my desire ratchets up another notch. I don’t know what it is about his big hands working that thick strap of black leather loose, but it gets me every time.

He flicks the button loose and lowers the zipper. The jeans end up on the floor, kicked to the side. He stalks over, cock in hand.

“What do you want?” he asks.

“You.”

“How?”

I twitch my hips. “Do you need me to draw you a map?”