She raised her arms above her head and closed her eyes in abandon, her body moving with the beat of the music. She was exquisite and erotic in the same breath, and I was hypnotized.
Her eyes opened at the same moment she brought her arms down and put her hands on my chest. Her eyes lifted in open challenge, which I blatantly ignored until she grasped both my hands and put them on her hips.
Okay. I could do this. I fought the impulse to grasp her curves and pull her to me, and I succeeded…until she brought her body against me.
“Fuck,” I hissed as she slipped one of her legs between mine, straddling my thigh.
“That’s better,” she purred.
I gave in and moved with her, careful not to let my hands slip to that delectable curve of her ass that I’d been drooling over all night. Like she’d read my mind and decided to test my resolve, she turned abruptly, giving me her back, and pushed into me. Her hands roved up and down my thighs, then reached behind her to stroke the sides of my abs. Did she just— Yep. She lifted my shirt and ran her hands over my bare skin.
Her touch burned me, the heat spearing through my body and concentrating in the one area I couldn’t exactly hide while she was grinding against me. Damn it, in less time than it took the song to change, I was hard as the poles holding up the bar.
Paisley finally figured it out, gasping and stilling her movements. My fingers flexed on her hips, waiting for her to react. One breath. Two. She turned her head toward me and met my eyes. Her pupils were blown, covering most of the green in her eyes. I knew it was the alcohol, but she was blurring my judgment, especially when her lips parted and she dipped a few inches and then rose, rubbing against my dick.
I groaned, and she picked up the beat. Sweat broke out on both of us as the song changed. The tiny drops along her skin reflected the colors from the lights.
She brought her arms up, bending at the elbows to stroke the slick skin on the back of my neck and raising her breasts. I looked away, knowing there was a line, and she may have been dancing right across it, but I couldn’t. Not while she was drunk.
Her watch beeped, close to my ear. She didn’t seem to hear it, so I brought her wrist in front of her face, rubbing my thumb into her palm. She stilled long enough to turn off the beeping and then turned in my arms and pressed against me.
“You’re killing me, Paisley,” I growled into her ear.
She giggled, dragging me farther over the edge. “Tell me something. Do friends kiss?” Then she took my earlobe in her mouth and set her teeth lightly to the skin.
Holy. Shit. “Depends on the kind of kiss.” I tried to keep my brains in my head and not my pants.
She pulled back a couple inches and her gaze dropped to my lips, her tongue slipping out to wet her own. “What about this?” She balanced on her toes and kissed me. The pressure of her lips was sweet against mine, despite the groping going on around us. She dragged my lower lip in a soft bite as she withdrew slowly.
“Don’t I get a birthday kiss?” she slurred.
Her half-lidded eyes locked with mine, and yeah, the alarm blared in my head that she was acting on alcohol, but I was intoxicated simply by her. I met her halfway, gripping her hip in one hand and cupping her face in the other. My mouth slanted over hers, and she opened for me as my tongue slipped beyond the barrier of her teeth to caress hers.
She tasted like pineapple from her drinks, and I couldn’t help but kiss her deeper, longer. She pushed against me, and I barely suppressed a groan. I hadn’t imagined it in the library; kissing Paisley was better than sex with any other girl I’d ever been with. Her grip tightened on my neck, and my hand shifted to her ass—to support her, I justified. She went all soft and pliant, ready for whatever I wanted. That moment of her absolute surrender—the moment I’d usually declare victory and head to the car to get laid—it jarred me more than any slap could have.
This was Paisley, the same girl I’d pulled from the water. The same girl I knew didn’t give kisses lightly, let alone initiate them on a very public dance floor. This was the alcohol acting, and while I could pull the douche move and argue that I’d been drinking, too, it just wasn’t good enough for me, and was far less than what she deserved.
There weren’t enough curse words for how hard it was, but I managed to break away. “That is most definitely not a friend kiss.”
“But it’s fun.” Her smile slipped past tipsy and into the realm of drunk.
I kissed her forehead, lingering in the scent of her hair and tinge of salt in her skin. “Let’s get you home, Little Bird.”
Someone behind me pulled Paisley’s arm from around my neck, and I nearly punched them before I realized it was Morgan. She flashed Paisley’s watch in her face. “Twice, Lee. I know it’s your birthday, but let’s not overdo it.”
My forehead puckered as Paisley glared at her best friend. “Are you my mother?”
Morgan sighed. “You’re so fun when you’re drunk.”
Paisley giggled. “I am not”—she snorted—“drunk.”
“She’s a lightweight.” I laughed.
“Other than the beer Will fed her the summer we were fifteen, this is the first time she’s had alcohol.” She fought it, but a smile grew from a quirked lip to a full-blown grin. “Ah, my Lee.” She cupped her face. “It’s not often that I’m the responsible one, but you’re drunker than Cooter Brown.”
“What?”