4

The tone of his voice made me shiver. A deep, honeyed purr.

I inclined my head just enough to see the side of his face, and even that small portion had me wanting to mount the man.

“I don’t know…am I?” I challenged.

Of course I’d been looking for him. That man’s lap deserved a woman sitting in it, and I’d be damned if I was going to let some other bitch get there before me. The disappointment I’d felt after I found the booth empty just now shouldn’t have been so strong, but it was. I thought that me being a responsible friend and taking Emmy her drink had run me into hot water, because I’d lost him.

But here he was, stalking me like a lion to prey. I was more than happy to be a defenseless antelope for the night if it meant he’d touch me.

I couldn’t see much of his face, but I’m sure I saw his mouth twitch. “Certainly looks that way to me, gorgeous.”

I was heavily conscious of the way his finger trailed up and down my arm in a hypnotising manner. That, and the way his free hand hovered over my hip but never made contact.

“I was looking at someone. And then I had an errand to run but I made it quick. Because I really, desperately, wanted to be looking at that someone some more.”

A ghost of a kiss caressed my neck and I nearly moaned. The loud music swallowed any sounds I could be making in response to this man, when what I really wanted was to let him hear them.

“Would your errand mind if I stole you away for the night?”

That errant finger of his teased under the strap of my dress, and my head grew fuzzy. It took a monumental effort to form an answer. I thought back to Emmy and the guy she’d been dancing with. I didn’t think she’d give two shits if I didn’t come home tonight, given they were practically fucking on the dance floor anyway.

“Not even a little bit,” I said, my face turned towards him.

“Good,” he replied evenly, as though the choice wasn’t really mine to begin with. “Can I touch you?”

“You already are.”

“This?” he tugged the flimsy strap on my shoulder again. “This is nothing. But I’m not about putting hands on women unless they expressly tell me they want me to. So I’ll ask again, gorgeous: can I touch you?”

The fact that a man required consent before he ravished me shouldn’t be such a turn on, but here we are. This was, after all, the day and age of bare minimum. “Yes. Please.”

He let out a satisfied groan, and I waited for an immediate ravishing.

But it never came. Instead, he placed his hands on my hips and tugged me back into him. My backside met his crotch, and the semi he was sporting rubbed against me deliciously. I reached behind me with one hand, sinking my fingers in his hair, and started moving my hips in time to the slow trance music playing in this room.

He groaned again, his grip tightening. His lips met my neck, sucking and nipping away. I laid my hand on top of one of his and guided him to where I wanted it, which was to say, all fucking over me. But he was a fast learner, and the pressure of his hand paired with the silkiness of my satin dress made me feel electric.

“You know what you want, hm?” he hummed in my ear.

“Always.”

He chuckled, all husky and rough. “So do I.”

One of his big hands travelled upwards, putting pressure on my stomach and cupping my breast, before settling with a grasp on my chin. He manoeuvred me like a doll, turning my face up to his, all for the purpose of claiming my mouth.

His kiss was deep and thorough, like he didn’t know of any other way to get the job done. He used his tongue expertly and his teeth carefully, regularly tugging on my bottom lip like the taste of it was addictive.

He tasted like whiskey and smelled clean and woodsy. An aphrodisiac that had my mouth watering.

We remained that way, mouths glued to one another, while we danced to the next countless number of songs. His semi grew into a full blown hard on and every rub against it got me hotter and wetter.

“You might be the most delicious thing I’ve ever seen,” he said with a thick throat.

I couldn’t help it—I spun around in his hold to face him finally, and nearly had the wind knocked out of me. “Likewise,” I breathed.

He was tall, over six foot easily, with broad shoulders and big arms. He had a strong sharp face, a soft dimple in his chin, and a prominent brow. His eyes were a deep denim shade of blue. His hair was dark and neat, and while it looked like it had been styled earlier in the day, it was now in total disarray thanks to my efforts. He wore a crisp white shirt, the top two buttons undone, and the sleeves rolled up twice. Like he’d come straight from an office.

From afar, this man was beautiful. Up close, he was breathtaking.

“Would you like another drink?” he offered, eyes scanning all the features of my face, while his hands danced over my back and ass.

I swear, when one big hand travelled lower and slipped up the skirt of my dress to squeeze a cheek, my knees gave out.

“No,” I told him, with as much confidence I could muster, “I want you to take me to your bed.”