“Oh…” That smirk is back in full force. He leans across the bar and into my space, the sudden proximity of his mouth to mine pushing the air out of my lungs in a rush. “I think you’ve misunderstood my intentions.”

“Intentions?” I say it like I have no command over the English language, whatsoever. Like I have no idea what the word means. “You have intentions? Toward me?”

“I do.” He gives me a nod, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “I have a lot of them actually—would you like to hear them?”

“Yes…” I breathe the word softly like I’m not sure what it means while he reaches for me—past me—to pull my ponytail over my shoulder. “Yes, please.”

“Excellent.” His fingers tighten around my hair to tug me closer, shooting tingles across my scalp. “I intend to take you home with me, Ellenore,” he whispers it, his lips brushing against mine with every word. “I intend to get you naked.” His blue eyes go dark, and his mouth curves in the kind of smile that would lay me out flat if I weren’t already sitting. “And I intend to make you come so goddamned hard, you forget your own name.”

Holy.

Jesus.

“I’m dressed like a soccer mom.” What am I doing? Am I actively trying to repel him?

He leans away just enough to look at me. The smile holds. “Hopefully not for long.”

- MR. WRONG