Donna’s laugh rings out again. “God, no. That’s not my thing. I just stay here, in the lounge. But Athena… She’s a regular on that side of the club.”
I watch as Athena moves through the room, stopping to chat with various groups. She touches women casually—a hand on a shoulder, fingers brushing an arm.
The belly dancer from last week is performing again, her hips moving in hypnotic circles. Two tipsy women have joined her on the small stage, matching her movements withvarying degrees of success. Their laughter floats across the room, uninhibited and free.
“It’s strange,” I say. “I’ve spent two years building walls, and somehow she just…walked right through them.”
“Walls don’t work here,” Mari says, gesturing around the room. “That’s the whole point. Look at Angela over there—runs the biggest tech company in Silicon Valley. Going on what the tabloids write about her, she’s a loner. A workaholic with no social life. Yet she’s here every week, dancing badly and having fun.”
“How did you start?” I ask Mari. “How did you end up here?”
She exchanges a look with Donna. “Someone recommended me. I was skeptical but also too curious not to meet with Athena.” She grins. “I’m glad I did. The whiskey is excellent.”
A burst of laughter draws my attention back to Athena. She’s said something that has her group in stitches, and the sound of her laughter carries across the room. As if sensing my gaze, she looks up and our eyes meet. The intensity of her stare, even from a distance, makes me freeze. She excuses herself from her group and starts making her way toward us.
“And that’s our cue to give you some privacy,” Donna says, standing. She squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Mari follows her, leaving me alone just as Athena reaches the sofa. She slides into the space they’ve vacated and places a hand on my thigh.
“Enjoying yourself?” she asks.
“Yes,” I admit. “Very much.” My gaze drifts to her hand on my leg. Her touch is deliberate, like she’s creating excuses for contact rather than justfinding a comfortable position. The chemistry between us is soaring—I’m not sure when it started, but I feel it in every look and touch.
“Good.” She squeezes my leg and lifts my chin with her other hand, forcing me to meet her gaze. The gesture is pure dominance, and my body responds instinctively. There’s no denying I’m physically drawn to her dominant side. “Tell me, Ruby, do I make you feel uncomfortable?”
I swallow hard, caught in her eyes. “No,” I lie. “Well, maybe a little, but not in a bad way. It’s more like…” I trail off, struggling to articulate the mix of attraction and nervousness she stirs in me.
She saves me from my fumbling attempt to explain by standing and extending her hand. “Dance with me?”
“I don’t dance,” I say, but she pulls me to my feet.
“Tonight, you do.”
The music has shifted to something slower, more sensual. Athena guides me to a quiet corner of the dance floor, one hand settling on my waist while the other keeps hold of mine.
“Relax,” she murmurs against my ear. “No one’s watching. No one cares. Just feel. It’s nice, isn’t it?”
We move together, and suddenly dancing feels natural. I let her lead, my body gradually softening against hers. The whiskey has loosened my limbs, making it easier to follow her movements.
“See?” Her breath is warm against my neck. “You can dance after all.”
I want to say something clever, but words fail me. I press closer, letting my head rest against her shoulder, and her hand tightens on my waist in response. She smells incredible.
“Do you dance with all the women here?” I ask.
“No. I don’t usually dance at all.” Her voice holds a hint of amusement. “Why do you ask? Are you jealous?”
“No,” I say too quickly. “There’s nothing to be jealous about.”
“Hmm,” she hums, the sound vibrating through her chest where I’m pressed against her. “If you say so.”
I lift my head to look at her, finding her face inches from mine. The urge to kiss her is overwhelming. It would be so easy to close that small distance, to finally taste those lips. But something in her expression stops me—a mix of desire and restraint that mirrors my own confusion.
She pulls me closer and a soft moan escapes me. I can’t help it; her thigh has slipped between mine, and the pressure is exquisite. My hand slides from her shoulder to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair. Her grip tightens on my hip, either steadying me or warning me—I’m not sure which.
“Careful,” she whispers. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Maybe I want to burn.” The words don’t sound like my own—I blame the whiskey, the music, the way she makes me feel untethered from my usual self.
