One Last Shot (Pub Fiction #3) Read online

  “Perfect. Thanks, man. I appreciate all the effort. At first I thought Ryk was crazy, but the more I think about it, the more I’m ready to get my girl.”

  “Girl/Grail, same difference. Good luck tonight, buddy. It seems everyone but Claire realizes you two belong together. Now, go see your girl and get this show on the road. You shouldn’t have any interruptions during your reunion, so take your time.”

  “Fuck, I hope this works. It’s been a long time coming, man. I hope she’s happy to see me.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

  “You got this, Matty, just relax. Oh, and remember, she’s always been one of my favourite girls, so don’t go fucking it up,” he cautions before he heads off.

  Walking into Pub Fiction, my ears practically start bleeding as I hear Justin Bieber singing about being sorry, or some shit. Oh, the irony in that.

  I move at a turtle’s pace toward the main bar, not wanting to rush our reunion, but also because I’m not too sure what the fuck I was actually thinking when I decided showing up like this was such a stellar idea.

  As soon as I step past the threshold onto the dance floor, her scent fills my senses with the sweetness of honey, and the sexiness that is Claire takes over, flooding my brain and body with memories of us. Immediately my body relaxes, but my cock springs to life with recognition and longing. Fuck, I’ve missed that smell. No, I’ve missed her.

  I spot her immediately. She’s standing with her back to me, pressed up in front of the cherry-coloured bar, packaging something. Her slim hips sway sexily in perfect sync with the rhythm of the music coming from above, her toned legs on full display. I mutter a quick thanks to Mr Levi Strauss for inventing tight denim skirts.

  She’s lost in the music, and I’m entranced by her moves: moves I remember vividly, moves I hope to feel brushing against me, from her moving beneath as well as on top of me. Claire’s long blonde hair cascades down her back in bouncy loose curls. I always loved when she wore her hair like that—unruly and wild, just like her. Seeing her this way, rocking to the music, the dim lights above the bar highlighting her with a soft glow, only reaffirms what I’ve always known. Claire Knox is the most enchanting woman I’ve ever seen.

  Swallowing past the lump in my throat that has arisen from standing at the sidelines, I decide it’s time to let my presence be known, mainly because if I stand here gawking any longer I think I’m gonna shoot my load like some pervy teen.

  “You got Bieber Fever now?” I ask, moving out of the shadows to stand closer behind her. Our proximity causes my heart to race. I’m second-guessing this whole thing, but it’s too late now. She startles, looking into the mirror that covers the bar’s back wall, and her blue eyes meet mine. Recognition hits quickly and she spins to face me.

  Claire is silent, matching me stare for stare. The recognition is accompanied by surprise which flares across her face, but she’s quick to cover it up. Heaven forbid Claire Knox let anyone know they’ve gotten to her. The silence continues for a moment as we take each other in. Damn, the last two years have been good to her. Claire’s even more beautiful than I remember, if that’s even possible.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been hearing you’ve got beaver fever,” she says, “but you don’t hear me complaining now, do you?” My eyes follow as she crosses her arms over her full chest, giving me that devastatingly sexy smile of hers, knowing full well she’s affecting me already.

  “There’s only ever been one beaver that’s made me feverish, though. You know that, right?” I return her not-so-subtle jab. Sure, I’ve dated lots of women, but I’m positive that she hasn’t exactly been a nun either these past two years. It’s a tough job trying to get over a girl like Claire. Never did work, either.

  “You always did have good taste. My beaver is pretty magical,” she says, giving me a sexy little chin lift and taking me in from head to toe.

  And quick as a whip, Claire Knox is back in my life.

  “Is it, Claire? Is it still as good as I remember?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  “You want the truth?” I ask, unsure if she’s as committed to playing this game as I am.

  “Honesty is the best policy they say, right? So, yeah,” she replies, looking smug.

  “Huh, isn’t that an interesting statement coming from your lips,” I blurt, and realize I may have just ended our game of wits. Motherfucker-stupid-ass.

  She cocks her head to the side, my comment clearly making her confidence falter. “Matty…” She says my name with exasperation. “I’m so sor—”

  I step in closer. “No.”

  I place my finger over her lips, stopping her words from escaping. Her shoulders slump, her bravado slipping as she lowers her eyes to the floor attempting to avoid eye contact. No, don’t back down, baby. I need this. We need this.

  “Never mind all that shit for now,” I say, bending forward and touching my hand to her cheek, grazing my knuckles along her smooth skin, hoping she’ll meet my eyes again and finish what we started. “We’ll tackle it later.”

  You’re still you and I’m still me. Come on, play with me. Give me back my girl.

  “Ask me again. Come on, baby.” I kiss her cheek.

  Looking up at me, a tell of a smile begins to spread across her stunningly beautiful face. It’s the best one she’s got, too, it’s the mischievous one, and it accompanies the return of that majestic glint in her eyes, the one that makes her blue eyes shine like they’re always supposed to.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she says, her voice triumphant once again.

  That’s my girl.

  “Truth?” I ask again, cocking my head in jest.

  “Yeah, Matty, truth. Would you like to know if my pussy is still magical?” she grins, knowing she’s winning now. I’ve always loved her sassy little mouth.

  Fuck, she’s beautiful. They say you never really know what you’ve got until it’s gone, but I’ll tell you what. That’s a bunch of bullshit. Because this woman right here is all I ever wanted—both when I had her, and since she’s been gone.

  “More than you could ever fucking know, Claire.” I replace my hand with my lips, running my mouth gently along the side of her jaw to the juncture of her neck. “You smell the same, you smell so fucking familiar and good. Claire, you smell like home. My home. Fuck, I’ve missed you, Sugarshack.”

  I look into her eyes, which now shimmer with what I know to be desire.

  Chapter 12

  Claire

  Holy Jesus sittin’ on his rainbow, does Matt look delicious. He looks so fucking manly, incredibly sexy and completely all consuming like I remember. When he first called out my name, I swear my ovaries perked up like the mothership had arrived to bring us to planet Gonna Get My Rocks Off!

  Fuckity fuck fuck. He’s actually here, and I know I’m in trouble. My kryptonite is facing me, his light brown eyes laced with flecks of mahogany. They rake over me, taking in my now wired body inch-by-inch. His gaze is heavy and painstakingly slow, igniting my skin with a warmth I’ve not experienced in a long time. God, I hope he likes what he sees. Wait, no. No, I don’t.

  In mere seconds, this man is inciting a frenzy of emotions that prove exactly why I wasn’t ready to see him yet, proving that I needed more time before this reunion, confirming that he can easily annihilate all of my best-laid plans, the ones my brain has worked overtime convincing my heart to make. I need more time to make proper preparations, to ensure my bridge troll is ready for battle, that he is stable enough to keep the drawbridge strategically locked in place, ready to withstand the blunt force that is Matt Bishop.

  Most of all, I want more time to practise the apology and then the time to actually apologize—to explain. Time to just tell him I’m sorry. Looking at him, feeling him, I realize I can’t risk more than that or I will be lost again.

  Unfortunately, none of what my brain wants is happening right now. He’s here. And from the moment I set eyes on Matt, all I want is him, anyway I
can have him.

  Moving up from my neck, Matty whispers softly in my ear and my breath hitches: “Tell me, Claire, do you still taste sweet? Like sugar melting on my tongue, leaving that addicting-as-fuck strawberry ice cream taste running down my chin?” He tickles my memory, my throat forgetting how to swallow as he wets his tongue and moves it lightly over my earlobe, awakening the familiar pulse between my legs, the one that always builds with each of this man’s dirty words. “Christ, baby. You were so fucking good, my tongue licking up every single drop of juice that dripped from your hot tight cunt.” The timbre of his voice causes tingles to travel down my spine, the anticipation of where this is all going making my toes curl at the prospect. “I want to kiss you, Claire. Tell me it’s okay to kiss you.”

  “Jesus, Matt.” I want to sag against him. His filthy words make my knees weak.

  Matt squeezes my hips, pulling me flush to his strong body. Leaning in, he runs his mouth ever so softy along my neck before meeting my eyes again.

  I step out of his hold, needing to give myself a bit of distance. But instead, I find myself staring at him, unable to look beyond the man of my past, the one I can’t seem to let go. The same one for whom my heart thumps erratically in my chest, the same one I wish almost daily I’d kept, the same one I don’t know if I can keep.

  I can’t believe we’re back here.

  Matt’s beyond the man-pretty guy I remembered. His chiseled jaw is highlighted by more than a five o’clock shadow. His lush lips are full, with that pouty bottom one making me want to tug on it because it’s so tauntingly perfect. He’s fucking ripped, too—Adonic, if you will. His plain white-t-shirt strains over his incredible shoulders, his defined chest and toned biceps. The telltale marks of tight abs pull my gaze as I make my slow perusal, visibly eye-fucking the shit out of him. God, I like what I see. A lot.

  I want nothing more than to run my tongue along each dip and dive of this man’s body. Matty’s body was made for sin and I’d gladly volunteer as the sinner if it meant I’d get to repent at the shrine that is this man. I let out an almost audible moan as I stand lusting for all the things I want to do to him.

  Matt pulls me back in tight, holding me close against him, laughing against my ear. “Like what you see, Claire?”

  I’m busted. I’ve got drool stains all over the front of my shirt, no doubt.

  Hell, yes. “It’s all right,” I shrug, but can’t help the nervous giggle that escapes my dumb-ass self as I’m caught.

  “I think you do. Better yet, I know you fucking do and I know I affect you still, even now.”

  “Jesus, Matt. Okay, yes, I guess you’re still kinda hot and maybe you do affect me just a little bit.” I give him an impish grin.

  “Thank Christ for small miracles. And for the record, I can smell that it’s more than ‘a little’.”

  “Matt!” I shove at his chest, feigning embarrassment. If it were anyone else I might have been, but not with Matt. No, with him I’ve only ever been comfortable, been myself.

  Matt takes the remote off the bar, turning up Keith Sweat’s “Nobody”, the sound pumping through the speakers.

  “Dance with me.” It’s not a request, but a command. Holy shit. This is happening. Matt Bishop, my Matty, is standing here, holding me tight in his arms after two years. There’s so much I need to say, want to say. But in this moment it’s obvious that words aren’t required, that this is what we both need from each other. Matt’s lips hover over mine.

  “Can I kiss you now, Claire?”

  “Please. Yes.”

  Matt angles his head and slowly moves his face even closer to mine. He kisses each of my eyelids, making his way down my cheeks before extending his tongue to lick each side of my mouth ever so slightly before pressing a soft peck on my nose.

  I groan, my patience wearing thin. “Matt. Kiss me, already,” I beg breathlessly, and the asshole only laughs.

  “I’m getting there, babe. It’s been two fucking years. We need to do this right.” He smiles down at me.

  Bastard doesn’t play fair.

  Matt takes my face in his hands and places a soft rain of kisses everywhere around my mouth. Finally, he takes his tongue and runs it ever so slowly along my bottom lip, nibbling the swelling flesh. He looks into my eyes again, maybe to make sure that I’m still okay with this. Somehow, we are now standing in the middle of the dance floor swaying in time to the music, while I wait for him to kiss me, and I have no idea how we got here.

  “Fuck, it. I need your mouth,” he expels, before crashing his lips into mine. I lose my footing for a moment with his surprise change of pace. Matt moves his hand to my neck to steady and keep me in place as our mouths fuse together in what turns into a very languid kiss. Our tongues begin a slow investigation.

  Within moments, though, what started as smooth and exploratory soon turns frantic, resulting in a battle, an intermingling of twists, glides and swirls, our tongues slowly moving more deeply, passionately, in perfect sync. We embrace tightly, delving into each other, tasting as if starved for what we’ve both been missing. Each other.

  “Fuck, you always had the most exquisite taste. I need you, Claire. I need to feel you.” Matt pulls away, resting his forehead on mine, waiting for my permission, willing me to concede.

  “I need you too, so much,” I say, locking my arms behind his strong neck before making my way to what I know is his sweet spot. Taking his ear into my mouth, I nibble gently on his tender lobe, moaning his name as I trail my hand down his hard body, rubbing his familiar thick shaft through his jeans.

  “You’re so goddamned perfect.” He takes my lips again, hard. Next thing I know, Matt has me lifted. “Wrap those sweet thighs around me, baby,” he growls into my neck. “I need to be in you. I need to feel you, Claire.” He releases my mouth and I do as I’m told. I fucking jump him, immediately wrapping my legs around his muscular frame as he lifts me higher, securing me right where he wants me, his large hands gripping my ass, holding me in that perfect place. I begin grinding down, matching his cock to my core, and he growls again. His strong hands dig into my ass, forcing me to rub on him harder as we move across the dance floor to the VIP booths.

  “That feels so good. I need more, Matty. I need more. Oh, God,” I plead, as he licks my neck again, gliding the tip of his tongue along my overly-sensitized skin. My body reacts with a jerk at the sensations. Matty smiles into my neck, knowing exactly what he’s doing. My neck has always been a huge erogenous zone. He groans: “Smells so sweet…” then takes a nip at my collarbone, causing gooseflesh to spring to life all over my skin. Looking me in the eye, he swipes my hair to the side, then trails hot-breathed kisses down my neck to the top of my chest as he gently deposits me on the tabletop of the first booth.

  “Kiss me again, Matty.” It’s a demand; I need his mouth on me, I’m almost frantic with desire for this man.

  He presses my legs further apart, pushing between them before gripping my hips in his hands to pull me closer to the edge of the table to better fuse us together. He runs the outside of his hand along the exposed skin of my arms before cupping my face in his hands.

  He takes me in. Regards me. My blue eyes stare into his brown ones—a brief flash of uncertainty in his reflected by sudden fear in mine. I know there are things to be said, I know I should stop this, but in this moment with his eyes so intense with whatever this is, I can’t seem to think past how much I need this man. A wave of panic leaps into my heart, but I’ll deal with it later, because right now I have him in front of me and there is no way I can let either of us stop this now.

  I pull him down to me by a handful of his shirt, forcing his body against mine so we’re chest-to-chest. I meet his gaze, hold it, then I smile, because when I look at Matt Bishop I can’t not smile.

  “Matty. Please. Don’t stop, we—”

  He cuts me off with a kiss.

  “I’m not stopping, sweetheart. I’ll never stop again.” I gasp at his words. The sincerity in his voice guts
me.

  How can he still want me so fully after all this time, after what I did?

  “I’m just taking you in. You’re still sexy, Claire, sexy as fuck. I’ve missed this,” he whispers softly against my ear: “And now I’m gonna fuck you. I’m gonna sink my cock so deep inside that you won’t forget who you’ve come home to—me.”

  He kisses my forehead tenderly despite the underlying tension I hear in his voice.

  “I need to see all of you. Lift your arms up for me, Sugarshack.” He reaches for the hem of my tank, brushing his hands up my sides as he lifts it over my head, kissing the skin beneath as he exposes each bit. His eyes flare as they take in my purple-and-black Jolly Roger-themed Balconette bra, my heavy breasts practically spilling over its low neckline, now aching for his touch. Dipping his mouth to my nipples, he whispers his lips and tongue over each proud tip before reaching around for the clasp. “You make me so fucking hard, Claire. My cock is aching right now. Show me those perfect tits.”

  He inches back. “You take it off. I wanna watch ’em as they bounce free.” He drops his hands, giving me room to reach around to unclasp the hooks, freeing him to watch the show. I feel brazen and powerful, I feel like pushing my luck. I feel like pushing Matt like I used to. I miss our little games. It’s time to welcome myself home, too. And the sorries can definitely wait for another goddamned day.

  So instead of taking my bra off, I fasten it again. I move my hand to Matt’s chest, enjoying the confusion which crosses his face as I hop off the table.

  “I think I’d better stop this. I’ve got too much to get ready, I can’t waste any time.” I can’t keep a straight face as I stand in front of a very frustrated and horny Matty.