She did mean something, which was why she was down in that prison. If she meant nothing, I wouldn’t have wanted her in the first place. The musky scent of her sex lingered on my skin, and I sucked a finger into my mouth, unable to resist tasting her. I couldn’t wait to spread those thighs, thumbs biting into soft skin, and bury my tongue in her heat. Before she sent me away, I’d done my damnedest to do the honorable thing by keeping my distance, though there’d been times I’d slipped up. Like the time she baited me into a game of pool by implying she was unbeatable. We’d played a fiercely competitive game, all the while bantering about horror movies and alternative rock music. She loved the horror and loathed the rock. Not surprising, since she adored the piano. I’d smoked her the first game. During the second, she conceded and asked for my help in positioning her for the end shot. That was the first time I acknowledged the familiar tingle rushing through me as I bent over her, my hand sliding along hers and guiding her to set up the shot that would win her the game.
