Free Up to Me by M. Leighton

pouring the tequila into her navel, which only works for people with a fairly deep one. 
    Oh boy!  Some guy is gonna love sucking that out!
    I look into the drooling crowd for salivating idiot number one.  He’s easy to spot.  He’s all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at the thought of licking something off this girl’s body.  All his friends are clapping him on the back and he’s actually rubbing his hands together in anticipation. 
    Try to hold it together there, quick shooter.
    I giggle at my thoughts.  He’s not so bad, but some of his friends look like they could be poster children for premature ejaculation.  My bet is that a couple of them run off to the restrooms after they watch this little show.
      Ack!
    Since my customers are otherwise occupied, I use the time to wipe down my station, doing anything and everything I can to keep my mind on work.  Periodically, I glance down at the commotion on Taryn’s end.  The crowd goes wild when the guy starts licking the salt off the girl’s stomach. I shake my head and smile.  It really doesn’t take much to get this group fired up.
    Just as my eyes are moving back to the task at hand, I see a shadow move in the sliver of light coming from Cash’s office.  My senses are attuned to that corner of the room, no matter what I’m doing or how hard I try to ignore it.
    Cash is leaning up against the door jamb, watching me.  Even across the distance, I see the heat in his eyes. I feel it.  He doesn’t have to tell me what he’s thinking. I know it as certainly as I can see it in the back of my mind.  He’s remembering the night this music played for us.
    Like instant replay, the scene—the smells, the sights, the sounds, the feelings—unfolds in my mind with perfect clarity.  A slow burn starts low in my belly as I think of Cash draped over me.  It spreads like fire as I relive his lips and tongue traveling over my stomach, dipping into my navel and teasing the edge of my shirt. 
    I feel my pulse pick up when I remember the look in his eyes when he took the lime from my mouth.  It’s the same look I’ve seen there more than a dozen times since then.  That’s the way they look when he watches me come. It’s the way they look when he’s watching me undress.  It’s the way they look now.  It’s a hungry look that says he wants me.  Right this minute, with nothing between us but hot breath and damp skin, he wants me.  Now.
    And there’s no denying that I want him, too. Just as badly. 
    The crowd between us cheers, but I don’t look to see what’s happening. I can’t tear my eyes away from Cash.  He’s like the sun that my world revolves around—no matter how much I try to gravitate away from him, to set my heart and my body free of him, he draws me.  Compellingly.  Inexplicably.  Undeniably.
    He arches one brow and I feel desire shoot through me.  It almost takes my breath. 
    Oh God how I want him!
    I’ve never wanted someone this way. So deeply.  So completely.  So desperately.
    But that’s the part that gets me into trouble. It’s the part that scares me.
    A group of guys moves away from the action, coming between us and breaking Cash’s very disconcerting eye contact. 
    The moment is gone. 
    But not the effects. 
    Every day, every hour, every minute I spend in his presence, Cash is getting further and further, deeper and deeper under my skin.
    “You must be Olivia,” a lightly accented voice says, drawing my attention away from the door.
    When my eyes make their way to the owner of the voice, I know my mouth drops open.  If the earth holds anyone that ranks anywhere close to Cash in good looks, it would have to be this guy.
    Holy furry crap balls!  He’s gorgeous!
    A thick patch of jet black hair—cut close and styled like Tom Cruise’s hair in Top Gun— sits above a very tan face that is the picture of classic good looks.  Wide brow, high cheekbones, straight nose, chiseled mouth, strong jaw—he’s just a