Free One Last Shot (Pub Fiction #3) by Gillian Jones

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.
    “This isn’t the time to fuck with me, Claire. We’re not ready for games like this yet. Take off your fucking bra, sit back on that table and let me suck those sweet tits of yours.” He steps back to me, his intent as clear as his command.
    “What if I wanna play a bit more? This isn’t all about you, Matty. I have needs, too.”
    “Fuck that. All you need is right here.” He grabs his straining cock through the denim, and like the shit I am, I lick my lips.
    “Tease,” he says.
    “Take off your shirt, Matt. I’ve missed what’s under here. It’s time for some dip-diving tongue-sliding fun.” I quickly nip each of his nipples (’cause isn’t that what they’re there for?) through his t-shirt, eliciting a sharp intake of breath. “Now