“How about a dance then?”
“No one’s dancing,” I say without looking away from her.
“Does it matter?” Her head tilts to the side the slightest bit, a smile teasing her lips as I’m forced to lick mine.
“I, uh, don’t know.”
“Good enough,” she says with a laugh as she loops her arms around my neck. Her body presses against mine, and I have to fight awkwardly to pull my hands from my pockets to settle themon her hips. The movement forces her closer until we’re pressed together from chest to thigh as blood roars in my ears.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.”
She rolls her eyes and it’s so juvenile, but dammit if I don’t love that about her. “It’s just a dance. Besides, I wanted to know what you thought about me singing.”
It takes me a minute to process her question, her nails gently scraping the back of my neck and playing with the hair there and driving me out of my mind.
“You were phenomenal,” I finally manage. The words are honest—maybe too honest—if the way her eyes flair wide is any indication.
“That’s quite the compliment, thank you.” Her eyes drop to my mouth before meeting my gaze, and her back arches delicately, pushing her tits harder against me.
It’s not just a dance when all I want to do is fuck you senseless.
“I didn’t know you sing,” I rasp as we sway back and forth, her hips rolling enough to slide over my dick, making my reaction impossible to hide.
But still I can’t move.
Can’t stop her.
And dammit all to hell, I don’t want to.
“There’s a lot about me you don’t know.” She grins. “That’s the question though, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Do youwantto get to know me?” She pushes up on her toes, the movement erasing any space between us and bringing her mouth dangerously close to mine.
As if sensing my hesitation, Aspen grabs the back of my head with her hand and crashes her lips over mine. It’s hot and messy, and I can’t stop the way my hands move to grip her ass, digginginto her flesh and grinding her against my erection until she’s whimpering and panting into my mouth.
“Take me home, Phoenix. Please.”
Somewhere between the implication of whathomeandpleasemeans, my brain comes back online—the ramifications of the last fifteen minutes slamming into me like taking a plunge into an ice bath.
A string of curses roars in my head as the silence stretches between us. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“We can’t do this again,” I force out, taking a step back and willing myself not to take it back when I see the light in her eyes dim. “I gotta go.”
She stares at me, not saying anything, and the part that gets me the most is the fact that under her disappointment, she doesn’t seem surprised.
And I don’t know if it’s men in general or me that has her expecting to be disappointed rather than swept off her feet.
I want to be angry for her, for the injustice of it all. But I’m part of the problem, and even though I want to fix it for her, do better for her, I can’t.
Because I need to get out of here or else I will take her home and ruin us both.
Pushing my way through the crowd, I nearly stumble into the street, the air no less humid than it was inside packed with bodies.
I hate that I gave in.
