Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
I watch as Scooby Doo’s sidekick says something to his friend. They laugh, and something ugly bubbles inside me.
“You should’ve picked someone else if your intention was to make me jealous.”
“Why would I want to make you jealous?” Her tone is breezy as she sets her glass down. She leans back in the booth, shoulders back, tits out.
Yeah, why would you do that, princess?
For the same reason I find myself wanting to choke some fucker out, I expect. Because there’s something between us. Something inexplicable yet real. She’s not even my type—and I’m sure as shit not hers, I decide as my attention returns to the bar and the beer bros. But here we find ourselves, desire dancing between us like iron filings on a magnet.
How in the name of God did I find myself here? Was it when I kissed her mouth? Her pussy? Or was it the satisfaction that washed through me when the registrar announced us as man and wife?
As powerful as that felt, I think I can trace this need, this demand, to way before then. Back in the Chelsea house as I’d pulled her body against mine, her dress moving between us like a bedsheet, her tiny gasp sounding in my ear.
My intention had been to unsettle her, to knock her from her uppity perch.
My actions should’ve frightened her, not encouraged her.
But her body molded to mine like she was built for that purpose. As she’d lifted the glass from my hand, I think I was done for. Yep, it was then.
Lavender Whittington-Deveraux, what the fuck have you done to me?
“Yes! God, I love this song!” she says, jumping up, only stopping as I curl my hand around her wrist. She glances down, her lashes fluttering rapidly.
The moment passes in several long, loaded beats.
“Don’t be long.” My fingers unfurl as I let her go.
11
RAIF
“You want me to go make him take a walk?”
I almost smile as I glance up into Antonio’s face, his expression carefully neutral. Antonio has a strange turn of phrase at times. Like he’s watched one too many Godfather movies.
“Make him sleep with the fishes?”
“No, but I can take him to the ocean if you prefer.”
This time, my mouth does curl. Until my attention slides back to Lavender and her dance partner, and something unpleasant curls in my gut.
“No,” I answer without looking up this time. She’s just making a point.
The light flashes over her face, and I see the truth in that. She’s not into the asshole she’s dancing with. She looks bored. Maybe slightly embarrassed. But he is a terrible dancer. He isn’t touching her, just doing a terrible two-step shuffle. In closer proximity than I appreciate, but at least he gets to keep his fingers. For now. But it doesn’t matter how awful his moves are, Lavender won’t leave the dance floor because this is all part of the narrative.
You don’t own me.
Except when she wants me to. When I’m sucking on her clit and slow fucking her with my fingers, when she begs and pouts and promises the world…
I realize Antonio still hovers over me. I lift my hand an inch from the table, and he fades away.
Fuck this. Before I can talk myself out of this ridiculousness, I’m on my feet and heading in her direction.
Down two steps and through the crush of bodies. Her dance partner sees me before she does—before she turns in response to my hands folding around her hips. Her fingers grip over mine, her dark hair swatting my face, her expression fierce… until she realizes. I watch her face soften before she turns, her body relaxing into mine.
Fucking woman. I press my smile into her hair because this tells me all I need to know. The whole buildup to this moment was just to piss me off.
“You dance.” In profile, I see her lips shape the words since the music is too loud to really hear her.
“Only for you.” I press my answer into the soft skin below her ear, her shiver like a reverb between us. Lifting her hand, I slide it to the back of my neck as I move in time with the music. Move in time with her.
When I look across, her partner has slunk away, up by the throng.
Something is inherently intimate about dancing. The focus, the proximity. Touching fingers and swaying hips. The almost hypnotic element, a call and response; one leading, one following. And I’m definitely following the heat and sway of her body. The scent of her skin. The taste of salt on the back of her neck as I press my lips there.
The music changes, the song maybe a remix as a woman’s voice begins to croon in Arabic. Lavender takes my hands, pressing them to her stomach, her movements matching the sultry beat. She knows what she’s doing—knows what she’s doing to me. If nothing else, she can undoubtably feel the hard line of my cock against her.