Page 64 of Intense

“I should’ve known you had a therapist. Makes total sense. Even sociopaths need someone to talk to,” she says.

It was a complete lie. There is no way in hell I could let a shrink dive into my subconscious. My brothers are right, I would end up in a padded cell and have to kill everyone in there to escape. Although, that does actually sound quite entertaining.

“You want his number?” I ask. “You could use a session. Or twelve.”

She holds up two fingers and signals for more shots.

I raise a brow. “You trying to impress me, Stephanie?”

“I’m trying to forget I’ve been professionally humiliated by a man who wears rings like a mob boss.”

I chuckle. “Don’t knock the rings. They have more personality than half our department.”

The shots arrive. She pushes one toward me but then picks mine up, with a naughty glint in her eye.

“Have you ever done body shots before, Dr. Quinn?” She wiggles her eyebrows.

I chuckle.

“Stephanie, I don’t have the energy to fight every guy in here if you strip and lie on that table,” I tell her.

She shivers at my words and then, without breaking eye contact, places the shot glass between her breasts. I swear to fuckin’ god, I’m salivating looking.

I shouldn’t even be admiring her tits like this. But, fuck, I can’t help it.

Grabbing the salt, I lean forward, reveling in the fact her breath hitches the second my tongue connects with her shoulder. I lick slowly before pulling away and shaking some salt. As I sit back, my cock twitches.

Picking up the lime slice, I place it in front of her mouth. Her pillowy lips open, and she bites down on the skin.

“Atta girl,” I wink.

With one hand on her thigh, I lick up the salt and then put my lips around the shot glass. But I don’t move; I stay, just for a few seconds.

Knocking my head back, the tequila burns its way down my throat, but that ain’t nothing in comparison to the heat radiating from Stephanie.

Our eyes lock, and the fire blazes as I lean in and retrieve the lime from her mouth, sucking it dry.

Without a word, I pick up her shot and hand it to her. Her fingers are trembling, and I can’t help but smile.

“To Vegas,” she says, taking the shot without the salt or the lime.

As if she’s desperate to calm the inferno within her.

She wipes her mouth and leans back in the booth, eyes half-lidded, legs tangled with mine beneath the table.

“You know what we should do?” she slurs.

I tilt my head. “Can’t wait to hear this.”

“We should get married.”

I choke on my drink.

She grins wide. Drunk yet still deadly to me. “Come on, Finn. Let’s do it. It’s Vegas. Isn’t this what people do? Get married on tequila and bad decisions?”

“You think marrying me would be a bad decision?”

“I think it’d be the worst decision I’ve ever made. Which is why it fits perfectly with tonight’s theme.”