“I want to taste you,” she murmurs against my lips, her hand finding the length of me and stroking it. I push into her hand, and a growl escapes my throat. I drop my forehead to her shoulder as she continues to move her warm hand up and down. “Upstairs,” I say, pulling her off the bar. She wraps her legs around my waist and kisses me as I blindly try to find my way to the stairs that lead to my apartment above the bar. “I feel like now is a bad time to ask you if you’re a serial killer,” she says, a little laugh coming from that sweet mouth. “Definitely should’ve asked that earlier,” I tell
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