His eyes were like fire, intense enough to melt me on the spot.
Some of the guys were already chanting about making the latecomers down three shots as punishment. Tiffany Evans caught my eye, and we shared a knowing look. We'd both been here before.
Whenever there were pretty women at the table, some men just couldn't help themselves—their first instinct was to get us drunk.
It's the same old story. Whether they stood a chance or not, liquor was always their opening move.
Tiffany didn't even flinch. She threw back three full glasses like it was nothing.
"Just drinking is boring," some guy I didn't know said, already shaking a dice cup. "Let's make it interesting. Loser drinks—or picks truth or dare."
Tiffany wiped a trickle of vodka from her chest and smirked. "You just want an excuse to get handsy, don't you? Fine. Dare."
Maybe it was just bad luck, but I lost three rounds straight.
The first time, I took the drink.
The second time, the whole table ganged up on me—no backing out. I had to pick a dare.
I agreed, and of course, I pulled the worst one: a striptease.
No way was I taking off my dress. I was wearing a tight bandage minidress—there was nothing underneath but trouble.
But rules were rules.
Not wanting to kill the vibe, I slipped a hand under my skirt, hooked my thumb into my thong, and pulled it off in one smooth move. Then I launched it straight at the loudest guy in the group.
The third dare was even worse: a two-minute French kiss with the man on my left.
And the man on my left was Ryan Lowell.
"Tongue! Tongue! Tongue!" Tiffany started chanting, and the whole table joined in.
Before I could even process it, Ryan's arm snaked around my waist, his other hand cradling the back of my head as he pulled me into a deep, claiming kiss.
Resistance was useless. The raw strength in his body completely overpowered me. His grip was firm, dominant—and something in me just… surrendered. My body went soft against his, skin damp, fingers tracing the hard lines of his abs. A quiet whimper escaped my lips before I could stop it.
And Ryan's hand, which had been resting on my waist, had already drifted lower—cupping my ass like he owned it.