Page 8 of Praised
FLYNN
I followedthe direction Frankie pointed, scoffing at his selection. “I’ve kissed him before, and if you’re trying to prove that I’m not good at it, he’s not the one to try.”
“Him then.” Frankie pointed at Val’s old roommate, who was dancing away without a care in the world on the middle of the dance floor.
“I’ve done a lot more than kiss him,” I said, leaning in close. “I can tell you all about it if you want.”
“What about her?” Frankie was getting exasperated, clearly trying to change tactics by switching genders. While it was a fair guess I’d spent less time in bed with the female patrons of Rapture, there were always exceptions to the rules.
“Women are much easier to please than men,” I said with a shrug. “I’m happy to illustrate the point if she’s your final answer.”
“No, wait.” Frankie stopped me with a tight squeeze around my bicep.
I hid my grin before throwing a look over my shoulder at him.
“Him, then.”
That time, he didn’t point. He jerked his head toward a man who leaned against the wall by the fire exit, an almost empty drink clutched loosely in his hand. On the top of his head sat a shock of yellow-blond curls weighed down by the warmth and humidity of the air in the club. He had a round face with a wide mouth and bright blue eyes that sparkled like tumbled aquamarine even through the dark of the dance floor. He was short and he looked delicate, with long fingers and a curious tongue that darted out to lick at the corner of his mouth. He was scanning the room, looking for someone, but he found me instead, those unmistakable blue eyes locking onto me and holding steady.
“Alright,” I agreed, but I was already on my way across the room.
The man, who was definitely younger and considerably smaller than me, held my stare with rapt focus as I closed the space between us, and when I came to stand in front of him, almost toe to toe, he tipped his head back and grinned up at me like he was looking for trouble.
“You look like a man on a mission,” he said, his voice as soft as the rest of him.
“My friend over there…” I pointed over my shoulder toward the table I’d left Frankie at, not bothering to look away from my pending challenge. “He thinks I’m a bad kisser.”
“That’s not as strong of an opening as you think it is.”
“Well, it’s stronger than you think, because he’s wrong.”
The man beneath me arched a well-shaped brow in doubt. Raising his glass to his mouth, he sucked the last of his drink out until the straw rattled around the ice.
“Am I meant to be the judge?” he asked, handing me his empty glass.
I took it.
I didn’t have anywhere to put it, but I took it because he offered it to me, and although I’d never been one to cater to another person outside of the bedroom, it had almost felt like second nature. We both looked down at the glass in my hand and his shock at me taking it seemed to match my own for the same act.
“You’re meant to prove me right,” I said.
He let out a little laugh that sounded like a song.
“I thinkyou’remeant to prove yourself right,” he wagered. “I don’t have anyone in this room doubting my kissing skills.”
“Can I, then?”
His luscious mouth twitched up in the corner and he cocked his head from one side to the other. “You’re asking?”
“I always ask,” I rasped.
“Ask me in detail.”
I bit back a groan, swallowing down the supreme amounts of enjoyment the back and forth with this gorgeous—and still nameless—man was bringing me. After the rough jabs with Frankie, it was nice to be engaged by someone who had a sense of humor and an interest in having a little fun.
“I’m not the one who takes instructions…” I trailed off, tipping the word up at the end in question, hoping he’d pick up the ask.
“Ambrose,” he answered. “You can call me Rose.”
