There were few things in the world Jack liked better than dancing.
Rye and coke.
The press of lips against his neck.
A good, hard nap in the middle of the afternoon.
The sway of a woman's hips when
she danced.
He was a hedonist through and through; voracious to the core, could not help noticing the way that Mercy moved on the dance floor anymore than he could temper his body's response to her. It was a raw, guttural thing. Something that started in the pit of his belly and spread to the rest of his extremities. He swallowed, and had to take a sip of his drink, though that did little to quench his new thirst. His pulse got
jacked up.
She was adorable, in a way, booty popping with a generosity that drew more eyes than just his.
He bit his lip, considering, and then tripped an unsuspecting passerby with a quick swipe of his foot. The man was thick in the chest, but not nearly as tall as Jack. He tumbled gracelessly-- stretched out an arm to catch himself, fingers curling in her jacket. He spun on his heel, liquid flying from his red solo cup, and narrowed his eyes at Jack.
"What the ********," Jack drawled, pretending as though he'd only just seen the man for the first time.
"You did that on purpose!"
"Did what?" Jack scowled and arched a brow. He glanced at Mercy, apologetic. Shrugged his shoulders in an innocent sort of way.
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