juices, briefly closing his eyes to savor this first taste of her.
Before he completely pulled his fingers free, London was right there. Licking his fingers, tasting herself on him, sucking on his tongue. The kiss could’ve soared past the combustible stage, then neither of them would’ve been able to stop. But something made him hold back, turn the kiss into a promise of more to come as he dialed down the urgency. Easing back, he let his hands wander, wanting all of her but willing to wait until he could have her the way he needed.
London sensed the shift too. She fastened her jeans and fixed her belt. Her gaze finally hooked his, but he couldn’t read her.
He traced the edge of her jaw. “What?”
“You pack a powerful punch, Sutton Grant.”
“Same could be said about you, Miz Gradsky.” Knowing they needed a break from the intensity, he reached down and grabbed his hat and settled it on his head. “You still wanna hit the party?”
“Of course. Now we’ve got a really good excuse for being fashionably late.”
“So if someone asks where we’ve been?”
“I’ll say we were messing around and lost track of time.” She smoothed her hands over her hair and straightened her clothes. “It’s the truth.”
They returned to tent city hand in hand. The party wasn’t hard to find.
Several guys stopped London to chat, and he had a surge of jealousy even when she introduced him right away. But they both discovered it wasn’t necessary since he knew a lot of the people hanging around. Except the kids in line for the keg all looked younger than eighteen. Seemed like so long ago that he’d been the new kid on the circuit. Back then, seeing guys who were the age he was now had seemed so ancient.
Finally, they reached the spot by the fire where the couple hosting the party held court.
Sutton had only seen the pair last week from a distance. Stitch was a substantial guy—although Sutton had him by a couple inches—and he appeared to be four or five years younger than London, which is why Sutton didn’t do a double take at seeing his baby-faced girlfriend. She was cute, miniature in stature. But her blonde hair, as big as the state of Texas—a phrase his friend Tanna used to say—added some height. He wondered if someone had warned the young thang about the perils of standing too close to the fire doused with that much hairspray. Or about the fuse-like dangers of the synthetic beauty queen sash she wore loosely draped across her chest.
Besides, Sutton was way more interested in this Stitch guy, the douche-nozzle dumb enough to dump long, lean London for pint-sized Paige.
Like most bulldoggers, Stitch was solid, but he’d gone a step further, bulking up to the point he’d lost his neck. Nothing else about him seemed remarkable, save for the fact the guy was bow-legged. Probably made Sutton an ass to wish the dude was cross-eyed, with buck teeth and nearly bald beneath his cowboy hat too, but there it was. Sometimes he wasn’t a nice guy.
London’s hand tightened in his. “Sutton.”
“What?”
“Stop growling.”
“Sorry.” Not at fucking all. “Just feeling a little territorial, darlin’.”
“I can see that. So can everyone else.”
“Good.”
Lelo elbowed Stitch and his entire body stiffened.
Then Stitch dropped his arm from Paige’s shoulder and skirted the fire pit, heading toward them. He offered his hand first and Sutton automatically followed suit. “I can’t believe the Sutton Grant is here at my campsite. I can’t believe I’m meeting you. Man, I’m such a huge fan! Your run in Vegas was legendary. It was a dream to get to watch history being made.”
“I appreciate you saying so.”
“When Lelo said you were here, I thought he was pulling my leg. He’s such a prankster.”
“Maybe his name oughta be Stitch,” Sutton deadpanned.
Stitch’s eyes clouded for a second. He didn’t get the joke.
Sutton kept his expression cool. As much as he appreciated
Before he completely pulled his fingers free, London was right there. Licking his fingers, tasting herself on him, sucking on his tongue. The kiss could’ve soared past the combustible stage, then neither of them would’ve been able to stop. But something made him hold back, turn the kiss into a promise of more to come as he dialed down the urgency. Easing back, he let his hands wander, wanting all of her but willing to wait until he could have her the way he needed.
London sensed the shift too. She fastened her jeans and fixed her belt. Her gaze finally hooked his, but he couldn’t read her.
He traced the edge of her jaw. “What?”
“You pack a powerful punch, Sutton Grant.”
“Same could be said about you, Miz Gradsky.” Knowing they needed a break from the intensity, he reached down and grabbed his hat and settled it on his head. “You still wanna hit the party?”
“Of course. Now we’ve got a really good excuse for being fashionably late.”
“So if someone asks where we’ve been?”
“I’ll say we were messing around and lost track of time.” She smoothed her hands over her hair and straightened her clothes. “It’s the truth.”
They returned to tent city hand in hand. The party wasn’t hard to find.
Several guys stopped London to chat, and he had a surge of jealousy even when she introduced him right away. But they both discovered it wasn’t necessary since he knew a lot of the people hanging around. Except the kids in line for the keg all looked younger than eighteen. Seemed like so long ago that he’d been the new kid on the circuit. Back then, seeing guys who were the age he was now had seemed so ancient.
Finally, they reached the spot by the fire where the couple hosting the party held court.
Sutton had only seen the pair last week from a distance. Stitch was a substantial guy—although Sutton had him by a couple inches—and he appeared to be four or five years younger than London, which is why Sutton didn’t do a double take at seeing his baby-faced girlfriend. She was cute, miniature in stature. But her blonde hair, as big as the state of Texas—a phrase his friend Tanna used to say—added some height. He wondered if someone had warned the young thang about the perils of standing too close to the fire doused with that much hairspray. Or about the fuse-like dangers of the synthetic beauty queen sash she wore loosely draped across her chest.
Besides, Sutton was way more interested in this Stitch guy, the douche-nozzle dumb enough to dump long, lean London for pint-sized Paige.
Like most bulldoggers, Stitch was solid, but he’d gone a step further, bulking up to the point he’d lost his neck. Nothing else about him seemed remarkable, save for the fact the guy was bow-legged. Probably made Sutton an ass to wish the dude was cross-eyed, with buck teeth and nearly bald beneath his cowboy hat too, but there it was. Sometimes he wasn’t a nice guy.
London’s hand tightened in his. “Sutton.”
“What?”
“Stop growling.”
“Sorry.” Not at fucking all. “Just feeling a little territorial, darlin’.”
“I can see that. So can everyone else.”
“Good.”
Lelo elbowed Stitch and his entire body stiffened.
Then Stitch dropped his arm from Paige’s shoulder and skirted the fire pit, heading toward them. He offered his hand first and Sutton automatically followed suit. “I can’t believe the Sutton Grant is here at my campsite. I can’t believe I’m meeting you. Man, I’m such a huge fan! Your run in Vegas was legendary. It was a dream to get to watch history being made.”
“I appreciate you saying so.”
“When Lelo said you were here, I thought he was pulling my leg. He’s such a prankster.”
“Maybe his name oughta be Stitch,” Sutton deadpanned.
Stitch’s eyes clouded for a second. He didn’t get the joke.
Sutton kept his expression cool. As much as he appreciated
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