Grind
Clothes on. Legs shaking. No dignity spared. My laugh was short, sharp, my fingers curling tighter around the dark glass of my beer bottle. “You’re serious?” He smiled, slow and lazy, like he knew something I didn’t. He leaned back against the barstool, broad, smug and impossible to ignore. “Dead serious.” I returned his smile with a snarky one of my own. “You think you can make me come without even getting me naked?” “I don’t think,” he said, voice low—like honey p...
