CHAPTER 2: FINGER-f****d AT THE BAR
SIENNA’S POV
He turned fully on his stool, his knee brushing mine deliberately. A jolt of pure, undiluted electricity shot straight to my core, making me bite back a gasp.
“Or,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that dripped s*x and scorn, “you could stop pretending you don’t want my c**k buried so deep in that smart mouth of yours you forget how to form a sentence, or how to cite a source without moaning my name.”
That was it. The final straw, the spark to the powder keg.
I threw back the scotch, the burn a pale imitation of the fire in my veins, the hate boiling over into something feral.
Then I fisted my hand in his ridiculously expensive tie and yanked him so close our noses almost touched, our breaths mingling hot and ragged.
