My confidence swells, sending pulse-beats of energy through me.
“My body too bootylicious!” I yelp, no longer worried that I can’t carry a tune. I’ve got Dax’s full attention, and that’s all I care about. Shaking my ass, I strut across the stage with more bravado than I feel. Just for fun, I turn and do a slow, sexy hip swivel that sends a ripple of applause through the room.
I spin back around, facing the crowd of leather-clad bikers. A few of them leer, but most men stare men down with a look of approval. Even the women share glances of pride.
I’m doing this for the sisterhood, dammit.
But mostly for Dax. The heat in his eyes has me dying to reach the end of the song. The sooner I finish, the sooner I’ll have his hands all over my body.
The last notes have barely faded when he’s out of his seat and tossing a wad of cash onto the table. He catches my arm amid a smattering of applause, but I barely hear it. My heart thuds in my ears, along with Dax’s voice as he steers me toward a dark hallway in the corner of the room.
“Outside,” he growls. “Now.”
“But—”
“Yes,” he says as he pushes through a door and into the cool night air. “You have the most amazing butt I’ve ever seen, and if I don’t get my hands on it in the next ten seconds, I’m going to fucking explode.”
We tumble into the alley together, breathless in the crisp night air with the pounding of bass fading as the door clangs shut behind us. We face each other across darkened asphalt, the spicy scent of hot wing sauce clinging to us like pheromones.
The heat between us is palpable, and I lick my lips as I look up at Dax. “You liked the song?”
He gives a soft growl and closes the space between us, his body huge and predatory. “That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
I resist the urge to giggle, knowing it wasn’t my singing prowess that got him. It was something else, something almost chemical between us. We’re burning up with it, and my flesh feels fiery despite the chill in the air.
“Touch me,” I murmur, but I don’t need to ask. He’s already there.
Dax presses me up against the brick wall of the building, and I glance left to make sure we’re alone. The alley dead-ends on the other side of us, but there could be a parade of clowns closing in on us and I wouldn’t know.
I probably wouldn’t care, either. That’s how desperate I am to feel Dax’s hands on me. I would drop my panties on the fifty-yard line at the Super Bowl.
Speaking of panties?—
“Give me your hand,” I whisper, then grab it anyway. I slide it under my skirt and watch his eyes widen as his fingers graze bare flesh.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You’re not wearing panties.”
I nod as a shiver ripples through me. It’s not a chill from my lack of underwear. It’s the thrill of knowing I did this with Dax in mind. I left those perfect La Perla skivvies lying on my duvet at home, knowing full well this is how the night would end.
Well, not exactly like this. I guess I didn’t see myself getting banged in an alley, but I have no objections.
“I wasn’t brave enough to go braless like you asked,” I whisper. “But with a longer skirt, I thought this might be okay.”
“Oh, baby.” His voice is a growl as his knuckles graze the softness between my legs before sliding around to the back. “This is better than okay. It’s fucking fantastic.”
I let my head rest on the brick building as Dax kisses his way down my throat and into the V of my shirt. Both hands are under my skirt, and his grip on my ass reminds me of the song.
“Bootylicious,” Dax murmurs, reading my thoughts as he kneads my bare ass. “Tell me something.”
“Mmm?” It’s the closest thing to actual words I can manage. His fingers grip and squeeze and leave my ass cheeks feeling like they’re on fire.
“Why’d you pick that song?”
I groan as he nips my earlobe, and my fingers find their way under the hem of his shirt. His back is broad and hard, and it takes me a second to remember he asked a question.
“It’s a good song,” I manage, gasping as Dax grips my ass tighter.
“That wasn’t the question,” he chides. “I wanted to know why you chose it.”
