Rook. A fight with him wouldn’t be easily won.
He had a head full of dark hair and, though his was on the short side, it looked tousled, as though some chick had just finished ruffling it up after a fantastic kiss. The man laughed. Rook’s gaze took in his exposed neck, the Adam’s apple, his wide shoulders and lean body.
“A fight would take too long,” Rook mused aloud.
“Then don’t fight him,” Fronfuckingasskisser said.
“If I make ninth leave, my beer is on you three for the next month,” Rook said.
“Deal,” Gedry agreed. “I hate that DEA guy. I’m working a case right now with his office written all over it. I sure as fuck don’t need his smug ass at my home base.”
“Okay,” Rook said, shrugging. Just as well, hanging out with the guys every Friday night was starting to take a toll on his wallet.
The ninth’s big dude intrigued him. It was territorial, Rook assured himself. Two top dogs facing off, marking territory, peeing on things to prove to their packs just how dangerous they were—or some Darwinistic shit like that.
Rook rolled his shoulders. He wasn’t going to give the boys a fight. Not exactly. He strode to the table, big dude in his sights. The intruders shifted from disinterest to wary suspicion.
Big dude looked comfortable in his own skin, relaxed, and confident. He turned and facing him, Rook felt like a silly, over- testosteronedteenager standing down a rock star. His charisma drew Rook. It gave him the strange sensation of floor shifting unsteadily beneath his feet. He didn’t like this feeling. Felt a fuckofalot like fear and lust. Rook didn’t do fear, and he didn’t do lust in his own jurisdiction.
Big dude’s jaw was square and fully capable of taking a hit. His large hands and long fingers bracketed his hips. They were lean and agile looking, much like the man. Rook didn’t see a weakness as he took in the breadth of his chest and the way the other man’s expression sobered intently at Rook. He seemed to know he’d been singled out for mischief.
Slashing a glance at the other four men before determining they weren’t a threat, Rook reached his target. He mirrored the other man’s posture, looked him square in the eyes. He couldn’t make out their colour, but they were clear. Maybe green or grey or silver. The lighting had nothing to do with not being able to discern it. The colour encompassed all three without settling on one.
“I think it wants something,” the man said, addressing his pals.
Suddenly, Rook knew what he had to do. The man had brought it on himself, the asshole. There were rules among alpha dogs. You pissed on the property, not the other dog. He needed to be taken down a peg, sent through the doors with his charismatic tail tucked between his legs and yelping. Rook needed to strip the other guys’ alpha. Make him a bitch. Besides, he had the undeniable urge to taste those sarcastically twisting lips.
He caught the man behind the neck with lightning speed, cradled his nape with laced fingers, and drew him in. The man looked surprised. He should be. It kind of surprised Rook with how easy it was to suck face with the enemy.
Rook’s lips made contact, claiming the other man’s mouth with firm pressure. The man’s bottom lip felt fuller than the top, soft, unexpectedly so. He grabbed Rook’s forearms and pulled, but Rook held fast, stroking his tongue in and deep when the man grimaced. Rook held him as his tongue explored. Fingers bit the insides of Rook’s wrists. He ignored the pain.
Free fucking beer for a month. He’s gonna give in soon. Any minute.
Hoots sounded around them. There was a cheer, some chanting. Rook heard Fronfuckingasskisser above the bunch shouting something lame. The digging fingers hurt a little less, the grimace relaxed, and in another second the tables turned.
Aggressive dominance was stolen from Rook as the man responded, tangling his tongue with his instead of pulling away. Rook’s stomach spiralled
He had a head full of dark hair and, though his was on the short side, it looked tousled, as though some chick had just finished ruffling it up after a fantastic kiss. The man laughed. Rook’s gaze took in his exposed neck, the Adam’s apple, his wide shoulders and lean body.
“A fight would take too long,” Rook mused aloud.
“Then don’t fight him,” Fronfuckingasskisser said.
“If I make ninth leave, my beer is on you three for the next month,” Rook said.
“Deal,” Gedry agreed. “I hate that DEA guy. I’m working a case right now with his office written all over it. I sure as fuck don’t need his smug ass at my home base.”
“Okay,” Rook said, shrugging. Just as well, hanging out with the guys every Friday night was starting to take a toll on his wallet.
The ninth’s big dude intrigued him. It was territorial, Rook assured himself. Two top dogs facing off, marking territory, peeing on things to prove to their packs just how dangerous they were—or some Darwinistic shit like that.
Rook rolled his shoulders. He wasn’t going to give the boys a fight. Not exactly. He strode to the table, big dude in his sights. The intruders shifted from disinterest to wary suspicion.
Big dude looked comfortable in his own skin, relaxed, and confident. He turned and facing him, Rook felt like a silly, over- testosteronedteenager standing down a rock star. His charisma drew Rook. It gave him the strange sensation of floor shifting unsteadily beneath his feet. He didn’t like this feeling. Felt a fuckofalot like fear and lust. Rook didn’t do fear, and he didn’t do lust in his own jurisdiction.
Big dude’s jaw was square and fully capable of taking a hit. His large hands and long fingers bracketed his hips. They were lean and agile looking, much like the man. Rook didn’t see a weakness as he took in the breadth of his chest and the way the other man’s expression sobered intently at Rook. He seemed to know he’d been singled out for mischief.
Slashing a glance at the other four men before determining they weren’t a threat, Rook reached his target. He mirrored the other man’s posture, looked him square in the eyes. He couldn’t make out their colour, but they were clear. Maybe green or grey or silver. The lighting had nothing to do with not being able to discern it. The colour encompassed all three without settling on one.
“I think it wants something,” the man said, addressing his pals.
Suddenly, Rook knew what he had to do. The man had brought it on himself, the asshole. There were rules among alpha dogs. You pissed on the property, not the other dog. He needed to be taken down a peg, sent through the doors with his charismatic tail tucked between his legs and yelping. Rook needed to strip the other guys’ alpha. Make him a bitch. Besides, he had the undeniable urge to taste those sarcastically twisting lips.
He caught the man behind the neck with lightning speed, cradled his nape with laced fingers, and drew him in. The man looked surprised. He should be. It kind of surprised Rook with how easy it was to suck face with the enemy.
Rook’s lips made contact, claiming the other man’s mouth with firm pressure. The man’s bottom lip felt fuller than the top, soft, unexpectedly so. He grabbed Rook’s forearms and pulled, but Rook held fast, stroking his tongue in and deep when the man grimaced. Rook held him as his tongue explored. Fingers bit the insides of Rook’s wrists. He ignored the pain.
Free fucking beer for a month. He’s gonna give in soon. Any minute.
Hoots sounded around them. There was a cheer, some chanting. Rook heard Fronfuckingasskisser above the bunch shouting something lame. The digging fingers hurt a little less, the grimace relaxed, and in another second the tables turned.
Aggressive dominance was stolen from Rook as the man responded, tangling his tongue with his instead of pulling away. Rook’s stomach spiralled
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