She laughs softly, setting her glass down, a hint of warmth coloring her cheeks.
“You’re all ridiculous.”
“Yeah, but we’re allyourridiculous now,”
I think that makes sense, right? Shit. Too many beers.
Before I let my over analysis ruin my buzz, I double down, pull a little face, and leave it as what it was meant, a light tease, letting my hand slide along the back of the booth until my fingers find hers. I tug gently, leaning close so my lips are near her ear. “Dance with me.”
Her head snaps up, startled.
“Now?
“No time like the present, baby.”
I stand, holding out a hand. She looks from it to the dance floor, where bodies twist under the strobes, a living, breathing sea of rhythm. Then, slowly, she slips her hand into mine.
The music swells as I lead her down the steps, lights flashing in rapid bursts—violet, white, red. Her pulse races beneath my fingers. I can feel it. The beat in her wrist syncing with the bass rolling through the floor. Out on the floor, the sound swallows us whole.
Her body fits against mine like she was made for this—made for me. I press a hand to the small of her back, pulling her in closer, guiding her hips to move with mine.
“Just feel it,” I murmur against her ear. “Don’t think. Let go.”
She exhales, eyes fluttering shut, and for a moment, I swear the whole world slows down. Her hair brushes my jaw, the scent of her skin cutting through the haze of smoke and perfume. Every time she moves, the lights catch her like a dream. She’s fire wrapped in silk. She’s innocence, and intimacy. As the song builds, she opens her eyes, smiling up at me—unafraid, alive, completely free. God help me, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
We move together through the music, bodies pressed close as the bass vibrates through my chest. Song one hits, slow and sultry, and I guide her with a gentle pressure at her back, letting her follow the rhythm. Her hands graze my shoulders, lingering, teasing, and I feel it—every nerve ending alive, screaming. Song two picks up faster, a pulse that mirrors the racing in her eyes. She laughs into my ear, breath warm, and I press a kiss to her temple.
“You feel that?” I murmur. “That’s us.” Song three, and her hips match mine with precision, subtle yet deliberate.
I am very aware of my pierced cock right now. Down boy.
I run a hand down her side, fingers brushing over the curve of her waist. The world narrows until it’s just her and me—the swirl of lights, the thrum of the bass, the chaotic pulse of the club fading into the background. Song four, the final track in our little set, and I pull her closer, cheek to cheek, whispering,
“Baby, you keep surprising me. My cock’s fucking aching to be inside you right now.” She shivers, fingers curling into my hair. Finally, I tilt her chin toward mine, pressing a hard, heated kiss to her lips. “Let’s get you back to our booth,” I groan, trailing a hand along her jaw, down her back, and over the curve of her ass. “I need to see you, not just feel you in the crowd.”
We walk back through the dance floor, her hand slipping into mine, fingers entwining.
Back at the booth, I pull her onto my lap, letting her settle against me, her back to my chest, as the world falls into place again.
Chapter thirty-two
Seraphina
you should see me in a crown – Billie Eilish
The bass still thrums through me, echoing in places I didn’t know sound could reach. My pulse hasn’t slowed since Trey pulled me out onto that dance floor—if you could even call it dancing. It felt more like surrender. His hands had a mind of their own, sliding up my legs, fingers brushing higher and higher until they disappeared beneath the hem of my dress. Every time he found my skin, the world dissolved—just us, the beat, and the heat that built between us.
Now I’m on his lap in the booth, the music still pounding through the floor, through my bones. His arms are a cage I don’t want to escape from. One is draped lazily around my waist, the other, using his hand to trace slow, idle circles against my thigh. I sip the champagne, bubbles bursting against my tongue, light and dizzying. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s him—but the room tilts, soft and golden, and I feel more alive than I ever have.
Across from us, Logan and Mac are tucked close together, laughing at something Sam said. Chace, ever the showman,leans back as two women approach—tiny dresses, glossy lips. The kind of girls I would shy away from, but with Trey’s constant affection and attention on me, I don’t mind them. Sam gets his share too, he’s actually really sweet, which I didn’t expect from his shaved head and large muscular build. The women flirt back, but every few seconds, their gazes flicker toward Trey.
Trey doesn’t even notice. His head is buried where my shoulder meets my neck, his breath warm against my skin. The faint scrape of his teeth sends a shiver down my spine, and then his mouth is there—kissing, nipping, sucking just enough to leave me breathless. I can feel his smile when I tremble. It’s a constant barrage that has me craving more.
“Trey,” I whisper, though it barely makes it past my lips.
He hums, low and rough, like he’s answering a question I haven’t asked. My hand slips into his hair, tangling in the soft strands as his tongue sweeps against my skin. The room fades. The noise, the crowd, the laughter—it all blurs into a haze of light and sound. All I can feel is him.
The champagne glass trembles slightly in my hand, bubbles catching the light. I take another sip, hoping it steadies me, but it doesn’t. If anything, it only amplifies everything—his scent, his touch, the sinful rhythm of his breath against my throat.
