His gaze dropped down to my lips, lingered there for a few moments, and then flashed back up to my eyes. “It’s not just your legs. I wish it were—then it would be so much easier to get you out of my head.”
I slid my drink back on the bar counter. Behind me the bartender cleared his throat loudly and knocked his knuckles against the glass. “Would you like another?”
I shifted on my feet, feeling a bit awkward and warm. I wanted to dance with Dean. I didn’t want to stay at the bar drinking and talking. I wanted his arms around me, his hands on me, no serious discussions, just him touching me.
“Would you like another drink?” Dean asked low. His eyebrows knitted together as he picked up my glass and looked at it. “What were you drinking?”
Leaning closer to him, I lifted up onto my tippy toes. “A Sloe Comfortable Screw,” I whispered into his ear. The bartender seemed to get the hint to leave us alone and swinging a rag over his shoulder, he backed away without another word.
For a few breathless moments, Dean’s eyes darted back and forth between mine, but then he dropped his head, his smile fading slightly, “God, Liv.”
Without thinking, I grabbed onto the cuffs of his sleeves and pulled him toward me. The one strong drink I had suddenly hit me with a strange confidence I’d never felt before. “Dance with me,” I whispered.
A lifetime of hidden thoughts and looks passed between us, yet neither of us moved. For a second, I feared he would run away, leaving me all alone with this horrible ache swelling in my chest.
A new song started playing, and Shane Maxton’s raspy voice purred through the crowd. Dean reached out his hand, and the crowd and noise and everything, but him, blurred out around me.
His fingers threaded slowly through mine. Warmth flooded through my body, and the temperature in the room instantly rose. Dean led me to the dance floor, and a sexy soul-wrenching song fell over us. My face was to his throat. His hands wrapped tightly around my waist as his fingertips pressed hard into my skin. The smell of his cologne gave me an instant high.
Colorful lights flashed rhythmically over us. The music pumped slow and steady in my veins, but my pulse raced from his touch. I pressed my hands flat against his chest. Beneath his soft cotton shirt, the muscles of his chest tightened, and I groaned low, praying he didn’t hear me.
I felt him smile against my temple, his mouth opening and exhaling out a heavy warm breath against my skin. His hands tensed and slid low over my hips. They gripped and twisted at the fabric of my shirt. Strong solid arms encased me—the swell of a bicep, the dip of his elbow, the rough pads of his fingertips—all burst with sparks along my skin. Slick sweat glided down his neck as our bodies moved together, sliding over each other in breathless fluid motions.
One song melted into another and another, our bodies liquefying with the music, and seeping into each other.
In the hazy silhouettes around us, there was a flash of Brooke’s smiling face, her hands high above her head, a drink clasped in her fingers. Ryan circled her, grinding into her bottom, hands grasping over her shoulders.
The dark scents of sweat and alcohol mixed and whirled around us.
Dean pulled me in closer, the long length of his body pressed tightly over mine, his mouth soft against my ear, breathing my name.
Then suddenly, as if waking from a dream, the music ended, and the room brightened. Dean was a foot away, cool empty air taking the place of his heat. I stared back at him in surprise, wanting desperately to grab on to him and yank him back over me. The absence of him was staggering—as if he were somehow a physical part of me. His eyes searched mine, maybe for some clue, some help as to what just happened between us, or what the next move would be.
Did he feel it?
Did he feel this resounding need that I did? This out of control thirst? This hunger for him? Whatever was building between us, between our bodies, he wouldn’t be able to deny it. It was mind-blowing. His hands on me felt like brands. If he walked away from me just then, I’d crumble to dust. I’d cry and beg for him. Didn’t he feel it too? He stared back, breathing hard.
My knees were rubbery, my body just melted flesh over bendy bones surrounded my wildly drumming heart. “Dean?” I whispered, only to be drowned out by other voices, shouting, calling out his name louder than I did.
“Fury!” the voices called. “Is that you? Holy shit! It’s Dean!” Howls and hoots rushed around us, maddeningly. Reluctantly, Dean drew his eyes away to see who was calling him.
A group of people—men in button up shirts, women in bountiful stuffed halter-tops, sweaty and hot—filled in the space between us. They rushed ahead, faces tilted back, full of laughter and smiles.
Immediately, my gaze dropped down to the floor. A rush of humiliation washed over me. I felt naked, on instant display in the middle of the dance floor, yet not an inch of clothing had ever been removed from my body.Perfect.I had become the most pathetic person ever born.
The crowd swelled, jostling me, moving me further away.
Then from behind me, huge tattooed arms grabbed me in a bear hug. “Livie! Are you sober enough for zippers tonight?”
Brayden’s familiar voice untangled the tense knots in my muscles. I whirled around in his arms and crushed myself against his chest, wanting more than anything in the world to just be held.
He smelled like sweat.
“Ew, you stink.” The words blurted thoughtlessly from my lips.
He held me out at arm’s length and smiled. “Sorry, gorgeous. It was a crazy night.” Next to him, the lead singer of the band leaned into me and kissed the top of my head. “How have you been?”
I smiled at the both of them, trying desperately not to burst into tears.
