That one hit deeper than she probably knew.
I slid my thumb along the curve of her waist, slow, sure, claimin’ without takin’. “You’re not small, Lark. Not one damn part of you.”
Her lips parted on a breath—soft, surprised, like she wasn’t used to hearin’ it and didn’t know what to do with the way it landed.
I stepped in, my chest brushin’ hers, keepin’ my touch gentle even while every muscle in me vibrated with the urge to pull her hard against me.
“Chain…” she whispered.
“Yeah,” I murmured. “I feel it too.”
Her hand went under my cut, small fist, light hold, but it took the air right outta my lungs.
“What are we doing?” she asked, barely a breath.
“Somethin’ dangerous,” I said. “Somethin’ I should walk away from.”
“But you’re not.”
“Not a chance in hell.”
The music dipped low again, deep and warm, and she moved with it, slow as a heartbeat, her body brushin’ mine in the faintest rhythm. Wasn’t dancin’. Wasn’t even close. It was… answerin’. Her body answerin’ mine like it was the most natural thing in the damn world.
My forehead dipped toward hers—instinct, want, need all rolled into one.
“Chain,” she said again, softer.
“Tell me if I’m crossin’ a line.”
“You’re not.”
I exhaled long, shaky, muscles wound tight enough to snap. “Then you gotta stop lookin’ at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want me to ruin you right here.”
She smiled—slow, wicked, beautiful. “Maybe I do.”
Before I could drag her closer—before I could take that last inch that’d change everything—Spinner barreled into us, laughin’ too loud while Lucy hauled him through the crowd. Themoment rocked, but didn’t break; it just hung there between us, breathless, suspended.
She steadied herself by catchin’ my shoulder, fingers curlin’ there like they belonged.
I caught her hand, my voice droppin’. “Come upstairs with me.”
Her breath caught. “Chain…”
“Don’t you want too?”
“Oh, I want too,” she said, smilin’ slow, wicked, soft. “That’s the problem.”
I froze, breath trapped somewhere between relief and hunger.
“But I want it the right way,” she said. “My way.”
Her fingers trailed down my cut, barely touchin', leavin’ heat in their wake. “So if you really want me…”
“Lark,” I said, my voice breakin’ low.
