By the time he reaches me, my date has already blurred into background noise.
Poor Jared.
He never stood a chance.
Oliver’s gaze flicks over the man at my side before slicing back to me. “What are you doing with this guy?”
I arch a brow, lifting my glass with practiced calm. “It’s called a date, Oliver.”
“First and last,” he growls, low enough that only I can hear.
A reckless heat curls at the bottom of my belly. It’s the only explanation for why I don’t end this right here. “Excuse me?”
“Ditch him.” His hand finds my hip, fingers pressing just enough to steal my composure. He tugs me closer until his body brushes mine, the contact sparking through me like fire catching dry tinder. Every reason I should tell him no goes up in smoke.
The laugh that slips from my lips comes out quieter than I intend, edged with nerves. “You can’t just?—”
“Sure I can.” There’s a rough, taunting edge in the way he speaks. “Come dance with me.”
Maybe it’s the alcohol. Or the way the bass vibrates through my chest. Or maybe it’s just Oliver with that infuriating grin and the promise in his eyes that he could make every fantasy I’ve ever tried to forget a reality.
Whatever the reason, I let him pull me onto the dance floor.
The moment he does, the music swallows us whole.
He draws me against him, close enough to feel the heat radiating through the thin fabric of my dress. His hands find my hips, palms guiding me through the rhythm until every sway of his body feels like a dare I’m too far gone to refuse.
The air pulses with motion and sound until I can’t tell where the music ends and he begins. The bass thrums beneath my skin, and the steady drag of his breath against my neck syncs with it.
The crowd fades to a blur of color. Bodies grind, glasses catch the light, laughter spills and dissolves into darkness. Silver and blue lights wash over us in lazy waves, catching the sharpness of his jaw and the dark promise in his eyes.
I feel him everywhere from the slide of his hands tracing my hips, the rough scrape of stubble when his mouth finds the curve of my jaw, and the faint brush of lips that doesn’t quite become a kiss but steals my composure anyway.
Every shift of his body against mine sends another shiver racing through me. The scent of him wraps around me until I’m dizzy with it.
“This is insane,” I whisper, my words nearly lost to the bass.
“More like inevitable,” he murmurs against my ear.
The heat between us intensifies, coiling tight until I can’t stand another second of restraint. I spin in his arms, hands finding his shoulders, fingers sinking into the hard muscle beneath them. His gaze drops to my lips, and the look in his eyes turns molten.
The lights fade, the music dulls, and it’s just him with his forehead pressed to mine, his breath unsteady, as if he’s fighting the same impossible pull. He whispers my name right before his lips find mine. His mouth is hard and hungry, tasting of whiskey and want, like he’s been waiting years to do this.
The world dissolves.
My date.
The crowd.
The pounding music.
All gone.
There’s only him, the press of his lips, and the grip of his hands.
We keep dancing long after the song changes. Long after sweat beads my skin and the room tilts with motion. The music slows, the crowd thickens, but he doesn’t release me. His hands roam my waist, then trace the bare skin along my arms before drifting down my thighs. Each touch is a silent promise. Each brush of his fingers stokes a fire I didn’t know could burn this hot.
Beneath it all, a thought flickers through me.
