DARING AND DANGEROUS

TATTOOS AND BAD DECISIONS

The door clicked shut behind Matt and Blair, and suddenly, the air in the apartment shifted.

It was just TJ and me now.

He was still sitting at the table, eyes burning into me, and I was desperately pretending to be very interested in the way my beer bottle was sweating.

Then I felt it, his fingers tracing lazy circles around the watercolor lily tattoo on my forearm. My breath caught in my throat. He didn’t say a word, just kept touching me like he already knew what I needed before I did.

Nope. I wasn’t imagining it.

I was about to f**k this man I’d known for approximately four hours. And I was disturbingly okay with that.

I stood, pulled my arm from his hand, and—without looking back—sashayed over to the sink, turning the water on and washing my hands because… I don’t know, trauma and nerves and maybe trying to buy myself another five seconds of sanity.

Behind me, I heard the scrape of the chair. Then his slow, heavy steps. Each one sent a pulse of heat straight between my legs.

Suddenly, his breath was on my neck.

“I hope I didn’t read this wrong,” he murmured, his voice gravel and sin, “and you’re going to let me f**k the hell out of you.”

My knees wobbled. I didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. I let the tension thicken.

“Because,” he continued, his lips brushing my ear now, “that ass in those yoga pants had me hard the second you walked back in the room. And if you’re not ready yet... I’ll wait. But if you are?”

His hand slid around my waist, pulling me back into the hard length of him.

“Then I’m not stopping until you forget your own name.”

I swallowed hard.

Game on.

I turned slowly, locking eyes with him. “Bedroom,” I said, voice low, eyes challenging.

He smirked, gripped my hips, and lifted me onto the kitchen counter like I weighed nothing.

But he didn’t dive in—not yet.

Instead, he stepped back and peeled his shirt off first, revealing a body carved by bad decisions and protein shakes. Tattoos inked across his shoulder and down one side of his torso, sexy and dangerous.

“You just gonna stare, or are you gonna take yours off too?” he asked, raising a brow.

So I did. Slowly.

I tugged my T-shirt over my head, revealing my black lace bra. His eyes darkened.

“You trying to kill me?” he whispered, closing the space between us.

Then his lips were on mine—rough, hungry, but with that teasing edge that had me arching into him. His hands slid under my bra, thumbs brushing over my n*****s, making me moan into his mouth.

But still, he didn’t rush.

He kissed down my neck, taking his sweet time, licking, sucking, nibbling. One hand slid down to the waistband of my leggings, tugging them down achingly slow.

“No panties?” he murmured against my skin. “f**k, Rory. Are you trying to ruin me?”

“I’m trying to get laid,” I shot back, breathless.

He chuckled, low and dark, like he already knew he was winning. “Oh, you’ll get that, baby. But you’re gonna beg for it first.”

His fingers found my c**t and circled it expertly, drawing out gasps I didn’t mean to make. Then he dropped to his knees in front of me—on my kitchen floor—and spread my thighs wider.

When his mouth met my p***y, I nearly screamed.

Tongue and fingers working together, he drove me wild. I tangled my fingers in his hair, moaning, hips rolling against his face.

“TJ—f**k—I’m close…”

He pulled back just enough to growl, “Not yet.”

Asshole.

But then he was kissing his way back up my body, lifting me off the counter and walking me straight into my bedroom.

He laid me down like something precious.

And then?

He kissed me as he laid me back, my legs still trembling from the tease of his tongue, and the smirk on his face said he knew.

“Tell me what you want, Rory.”

I hated that he asked.

I hated that I loved it.

“I want your c**k,” I hissed, pulling at his waistband. “Now.”

He growled like I’d flipped some invisible switch and yanked off his gym shorts in one move. And holy hell, the man did not disappoint.

He was thick, long, veiny, and perfect in that “I should’ve stretched first” kind of way.

“Condom?” I breathed.

He nodded, digging into his wallet and tearing the foil open with his teeth rude and illegal levels of sexythe n slid it on, eyes never leaving mine.

I started to reach down to guide him in, but he grabbed my wrist and pinned both arms above my head.

“Ah, ah,” he said, low and delicious.

He lined himself up and barely pushed in. Just the tip. A whisper of him. Just enough to make me whimper.

“God, you’re tight,” he groaned, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “And so f*****g wet for me. Look at you.”

He pulled back out—tease—and then pushed in an inch deeper.

My back arched, craving more. But the man was patient. Evil. Experienced.

He moved in slow, savoring the moment like a meal he’d been waiting all day to eat. Every inch of him filled me until I was gasping, gripping the sheets, biting my lip to keep from screaming.

Then—finally—he started to thrust.

Deep. Controlled. Devastating.

My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as his pace quickened, one hand slipping between us to circle my c**t again.

I cried out, the pleasure spiraling faster now. He was everywhere—inside me, on top of me, under my skin.

“Come for me, Rory,” he growled into my ear. “I want to feel this p***y squeeze my c**k. Come now.”

And holy mother of all orgasms—

I shattered.

My entire body convulsed around him, wave after wave, pleasure crashing over me like a damn tsunami. I screamed his name, nails dragging down his back, legs tightening around him like I’d never let go.

He followed seconds later, groaning low in my ear as he thrust hard one last time, holding still while he emptied into the condom. His whole body trembled above me.

We were both wrecked.



He collapsed beside me, one arm draped over my waist, both of us panting like we’d just run a marathon barefoot and naked through hell.

For a moment, there was only silence… Awkward silence… not being able to stand it anymore I hopped out of bed and to the bathroom. He took the hint then and I heard him getting cleaned up while I cleaned myself up.

Casual. No big deal. Just two consenting adults, one steamy encounter, and zero emotional strings... right?

When I walked out of the bathroom, thong in hand and damp sweaty s*x hair hanging down my back, TJ was just standing there, shirt half-on, eyes doing that slow, heated crawl over me again.

I raised an eyebrow, still holding my thong. “You just gonna stand there like a creeper?”

He grinned without shame. “Just admiring that fine ass. Again.”

I rolled my eyes, tugging on my bra. “Well,” I said, yanking a t-shirt over my head, “Now that I’ve fed you and f****d you, you can earn your damn keep.”

He laughed, low and delicious, like s*x in a sound bite. “Bossy,” he muttered.

I threw him a smirk as I grabbed my keys. “Let’s go help Blair before she burns the building down trying to hang a picture frame.”