The One Who Got Away (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) by Ava Claire Page B

the ability to speak and I could look into those electric gray eyes and see that he was struggling to behave and keep it PG-13, because we were surrounded by onlookers who wouldn’t approve if he grabbed my ass. Or gripped my breasts and told me all the ways he wanted to fuck me.
    There were no such public concerns here and his hands glided down the side of my body, his touch soft and fierce at the same time as he rounded my hips and rested on my ass, pulling my body closer still. Drawing me closer, to the point where I could make out every swollen inch of him. Where I could barely sway because I was trembling, lust whipping between my thighs. My pussy had already given up the ghost. The flickers of lust that were inevitable when we were in the same general vicinity were now flames and that ache down there, the ache only he could satiate, was going to do me in. I wasn’t liable for my actions because I was reaching around and grabbing his ass too, grinding against him. This dance was too indecent for the presence of Bach or Mozart or whatever high-class composer had crafted the song that hummed around us.
    There was another sound that joined the violins and percussion. Deeper and coming from him. I paused mid dry hump and cocked my head at him. His grin deepened as he ducked his head and his lips grazed my ear.
    He was singing “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” The song that had been playing the first time we kissed in his truck in the student lot back in Rhoades. But instead of guitar and Cobain’s voice filling me with angst and the thrill of knowing he was about to kiss me, Lincoln’s voice was deep and sultry, turning the song into something overtly sexual as his lips wrapped around every word.
    Some form of shock and awe captured me and my fingers flew to his mouth at the bridge. I traced the curve of his lips and the music vibrated through my fingertips. Lincoln Carraway didn’t sing for anyone but me. No one except me knew that he wanted to do chorus and musicals in high school. His father put an end to that as soon as the interest reared its head. Before, it was like pulling teeth to get him to do more than whisper a note or two and here he was, breathing the lyrics into me.
    I didn’t know if it was Nirvana, three glasses of wine, or just being high off his body being so deliciously close to mine, but I raced my fingers through his hair and I found bliss. Our lips met and the song was forgotten. This room was forgotten. The past was forgotten. There was nothing and no one but him and me. I devoured him with a hunger that had me reeling, his moans echoing in me, through me. Our teeth clashed, but it just intensified my hunger. My need to taste him. To kiss him. I didn’t know what came next and I didn’t give a damn.
    I didn’t catch the moment his hands migrated from my behind to my cheeks, but when I opened my eyes, he was holding my face in his hands like someone that thought all hope was lost and somewhere, somehow, a light flickered at the end of the tunnel.
    His eyes darted behind me.
    The waitress!
    I spun around, clasping my arms across my body like she’d walked in on us mid sex, tangled up in each other. She looked as embarrassed as I felt and started stammering apologies.
    “I didn’t want to interrupt, but your first course...” She trailed off, dropping her chin to her chest like we were the queen and king and the next thing out of my mouth would be ‘Off with her head!’
    It was enough to sober me up, and I dashed over to the table like I was starving. “No problem at all.” I knew I was dialing it up to the level of being pretty obvious, but I ignored Lincoln’s gaze, coupled with hers. I dropped into my seat with a toothy grin and shimmied closer, tearing up the plate with my eyes and inhaling deep. Cheese and garlic took the place of Lincoln’s cologne. When he joined me, not vocalizing how delicious his soup was, I gave the waitress a thumbs up before I shook my utensils loose and