“You weren’t too bad yourself,” she muses, her voice going soft and low.
“I’ve had plenty of practice.”
“I saw that. You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”
“Every last fucking second of it,” I confess wholeheartedly.
She swallows hard, her eyes dropping to my throat as my Adam’s apple starts to bob away under the weight of her stare.
“What other types of dance moves do you have, I wonder?”
“Come here,” I say, patting my lap. “And I’ll show you.”
It’s another dare—one I’m not entirely sure she’ll rise to, and one I shouldn’t be making.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I’m positive it’s not.” I lick my lips as I slide my seat back to give her room.
Stella’s eyes grow hooded as she slowly rises from her seat and moves over to mine, straddling me. Our chests heave in unison as I grip her by the waist with both hands, helping her find the perfect spot to sit on. I try to keep my composure when she plants her hands on my chest, then slowly slips them under my shirt just long enough to push it up, exposing most of my ink.She traces a single line of the intricate web with the pad of her finger, careful and deliberate.
“That was some quick thinking with the cops,” I rasp, trying to engage her in conversation just so I can ease my mind away from how tender her touch feels.
“Thanks.”
“Your father is an idiot for not inducting you. You’re a natural.”
Stella’s gaze softens, the praise hitting her harder than she wants me to see.
“You really think so?”
“Is that insecurity I hear in your voice?”
“No,” she answers far too quickly. “Just curiosity.”
I run my finger over her plump bottom lip and hiss when she bites at the sensitive skin.
“If you wereBratva, I wouldn’t think twice in inducting you myself.”
“So I can work under you?” she taunts, with a flirtatious smile.
“Under. Over. Any way you want.”
“You almost sound sincere.”
“Almost?” I arch a brow.
“With you, I never know what to believe.”
“I can say the same thing about you.”
“Oh, you can, can you?” she pushes.
“Yes,” I nod, my finger trailing down Stella’s throat. She tilts her head back just enough for me to appreciate the silky feel of her skin. “My gut tells me that you’ve been working me since the day you met me. And my gut is never wrong.”
“And you’re not working me?” She pushes herself forward, leaning in closer to me.
“Not right now, no,” I admit.
