Nothing Underneath

Cherish’s POV

I should have walked away.

That would have been the smart thing to do.

Smile, shrug, tell Lila the dare was impossible, and go find someone easier. Someone my age. Someone who looked at me like I was already half-naked in his mind.

Instead, I stayed.

He still hadn't moved from his seat. One elbow rested on the bar, glass untouched, dark eyes steady on my face like he was waiting to see how far I was willing to go.

The club lights painted purple streaks across his sharp cheekbones. Up close he was even more unfair—tall, broad, and cold in a way that made my skin feel too warm.

I stepped forward until I stood between his parted knees. The position forced me closer than I planned.

My thighs brushed the inside of his. The music was loud enough to hide a gunshot, but somehow the space between us still felt quiet.

"You said I haven't seduced you yet," I said.

He tilted his head slightly. "You haven't."

I leaned in just enough that only he could hear me. "Then let's fix that."

My fingers found the hem of my crop top. I didn't lift it. I just held the fabric and looked at him.

"Guess what I'm wearing underneath."

His gaze dropped to my chest for half a second, then returned to my eyes. "Nothing."

I almost smiled. "Wrong."

I took his wrist.

His skin was warm, pulse steady under my fingers. I guided his hand beneath the soft cotton of my shirt, pressing his palm flat against my bare breast.

No bra.

No lace.

Just skin.

His eyes darkened, but his face stayed calm. That control was somehow worse than if he had groaned.

I felt the exact moment his fingers spread, testing the weight of me, the soft curve, the way my nipple had already tightened against his palm.

"Nothing," he said again, voice lower now. "I don't feel anything under here except you."

I moved closer, trapping his hand between us so no one walking past could see. My mouth almost touched his ear.

"That's the point," I whispered. "Makes it easier for you to touch."

His thumb dragged slowly across my nipple.

Once. Twice.

A deliberate, unhurried circle that sent a sharp pull straight down my stomach. My breath caught before I could stop it.

He noticed.

He did it again, firmer this time, rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers while his other hand stayed loose on his thigh.

He wasn't in a rush. He touched me like he had all night and nowhere else to be.

"Why are you letting me?" he asked.

I swallowed. "Why not? It's just a dare."

"Is it?"

His fingers tightened, pinching just hard enough to make my hips twitch. Heat flooded between my legs so fast it almost embarrassed me. I bit the inside of my cheek and forced my voice to stay steady.

"You're good at this."

"I know." He sounded almost bored, but his eyes were anything but. "My ex-wife used to say I was the best at it."

The words landed strangely. I filed them away for later. Right now I couldn't think past the slow, expert way he kept teasing me.

He switched to the other breast without asking, giving it the same focused attention until both nipples were stiff and aching under his hands.

I was gripping his shoulder now. I didn't remember putting my hand there.

"You could come like this," he said quietly, almost conversational. "Just from this."

I hated how true it felt. My thighs were pressed together, trying to relieve the pressure, but it only made it worse.

Every brush of his thumb sent another pulse lower. The club around us had disappeared.

There was only the heat of his palm, the faint scent of his cologne, and the humiliating knowledge that I was getting wet standing up in a crowded bar.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked.

I shook my head immediately. "Don't you dare."

A small, dark smile touched his mouth. It was the first real expression I'd seen on him all night.

"I can already imagine how you sound when you break," he murmured. "I wonder if you're quiet... or if you get filthy."

My eyes fluttered shut for a second. "Fuck... you're actually dangerous."

"Name," he said.

I blinked. "What?"

"Yours."

"Cherish." The word came out softer than I wanted. "Cherish Langford."

"Dalton." He gave my nipple one last slow tug that made my knees weak. "Dalton Crowe."

I needed air. Or maybe I needed him to keep going. I couldn't tell anymore.

My body had stopped listening to the part of me that was supposed to stay in control.

I leaned in until my lips brushed the sharp line of his jaw.

"Meet me in the back bathroom," I whispered. "Knock twice and say my name."

Then I kissed his cheek—quick, deliberate—and stepped back before I did something even more reckless.

His hand slid out from under my shirt. The sudden absence of his touch made me bite back a sound.

I didn't look at him again. I walked straight to Lila, who was watching me with wide, delighted eyes.

"Well?" she demanded.

"I think it's going to be a long night," I said, already turning away. "Don't wait up."

The hallway to the bathrooms was darker and cooler. I locked myself in the largest stall at the end, leaned against the wall, and tried to calm down.

My nipples were still hard, sensitive against the soft fabric of my shirt every time I breathed. I could still feel the exact shape of his fingers.

I checked my phone.

Two minutes. Five. Eight.

I fixed my hair in the mirror above the sink, reapplied gloss I didn't need, and pretended I wasn't listening for footsteps.

Ten minutes.

A soft knock-knock finally came.

My heart slammed once, hard. I smoothed my shirt, unlocked the door, and pulled it open with a smile already forming.

Lila stood there, arms crossed, looking apologetic and a little smug at the same time.

"He's gone," she said. "Paid his tab and walked out about two minutes after you left. Didn't even look back."

The smile died on my face.

I stared at her. The thumping bass from the club felt suddenly far away.

All I could hear was the quiet hum of the fluorescent light above us and the sound of my own pulse in my ears.

Lila tilted her head. "You good?"

No.

I was the opposite of good.

I was still turned on, still aching, and completely left behind like the dare had been a joke only I wasn't in on.

Heat climbed up my neck—part arousal that had nowhere to go, part sharp embarrassment.

I let out a short, humorless laugh and dragged a hand through my hair.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm fine."

I wasn't.

I turned back to the mirror. My reflection looked flushed and restless. My nipples were still visible against the thin crop top, shameless little reminders of exactly how easily he had gotten under my skin.

Dalton Crowe had touched me like he already knew my body, whispered filth in a voice like dark velvet, and then left without a second glance.

I pressed my thighs together and exhaled slowly.

Fine.

Two could play that game.

I fixed my shirt, checked my reflection one last time, and walked out of the bathroom with my chin high.

The night air outside the club felt colder than it should have. Every step made the fabric of my top drag against skin that was still too sensitive.

I told myself it didn't matter.

It was only a dare.

He was only a stranger.

But the ghost of his hands stayed with me the entire ride home, and for the first time in two years, fun didn't feel quite as easy as it used to.