When I pivot back around, I catch a glimpse of Ava on the dance floor. She’s still sandwiched between Ford and Wes, their hands all over her, but her eyes are tracking me across the room. There’s a split second where noise and bodies blur, and it’s just the two of us, locked in tight. She holds my gaze a second longer than necessary before she looks away and resumes dancing, breaking the spell.
The crowd peels back as I move through it, bodies shifting out of my path without being asked. Nobody wants to get shoulder-checked by the King with a tendency for violence, especially when I’m on a fucking mission. By the time I make itto the center of the dance floor, I’ve forgotten all about Chelsea’s tantrum. She doesn’t matter. Never did.
“There he is!” Ford calls out, grinning as he throws a fist out for me to bump.
I ignore it, my focus landing on Ava instead.
She turns toward me, her expression open in a way I haven’t seen it before. Unguarded, almost…fuck, almosthappy.
“You’re late,” she teases, wiggling her fingers at me.
“Had some shit to handle,” I mutter.
Wes grabs Ava by the hips and pulls her closer, pinning her back to his chest. She lets it happen, her arms going up around his neck as she rocks in time to the beat of the music. Her skirt shifts with the movement, riding higher on her thighs, and the urge to slide my hand up underneath it nearly floors me.
Ford catches my look and smirks as he looks between us. “Don’t let the big bad wolf scare you, Ava baby,” he drawls, voice loud enough to carry. “He only gets growly when he’s jealous.”
“Jealous of what?” I ask, my tone cooling as I meet his gaze. “Not like either of you can satisfy her.”
Ava snorts, shaking her head like we’re both idiots. “You’re all talk, Raf.”
“Prove it,” Ford cuts in, sliding his hand down her side until it settles on her ass. He squeezes, just hard enough to make her wince.
She laughs it off, turning her head to look at me over her shoulder. “Gonna let him get away with that?” she asks, eyes bright with challenge.
I reach for her, one hand curling around her hip, yanking her out of Wes’ grip and flush against me. She goes boneless, arms sliding around my neck, eyes wide but not scared.
“You want a demonstration?” I murmur, dipping my head so the words are for her alone, my mouth just brushing the shell of her ear.
She grins, turning so her lips are inches from mine. “I want you to stop being a coward.”
I bark a laugh, and then I’m done holding back. My hand catches her jaw, tilting her face to mine as I close the distance.
The kiss isn’t gentle. It’s deliberate, possessive. A fucking claim. My teeth nip at her lower lip, and her tongue meets mine with equal force. There’s nothing tentative about the way she responds, no hesitation. Just heat and hunger and the unmistakable shift of her body molding closer, like she’s been waiting for this.
For me.
The noise of the room dulls at the edges, the press of bodies around us fading into something distant as her fingers tighten at the back of my neck.
When I pull back, it’s slow, controlled, even though every part of me wants to go further.
Her lipstick is smudged, her lips swollen, eyes heavy-lidded as she gazes up at me.
“Later,” I promise, and she actually pouts.
Just for a second.
Then it’s gone, replaced with that same playful edge as before as she twists out of my hold and turns straight into Wes, rising on her toes to kiss him.
His hands come up immediately to grip her waist, pulling her in close. Their kiss is different– slow, almost tender, like he’s trying to anchor her instead of consume her.
Ford doesn’t let it last long. He cuts in with a laugh, hooking her arm and spinning her out of Wes’ grip, dipping her low with a maniacal grin. She clutches at his shirt to steady herself, and when he kisses her, it’s sharp and reckless, all teeth and savagery.
The music swells around us, the bass vibrating up through the floor. The air is humid, sweat-slicked bodies movingcloser and people giving up any pretense of restraint. It’s almost midnight, and the energy in here is turning feral, co-eds shamelessly grinding or making out in corners, not even pretending to care if anyone’s watching.
I catch Ava by the wrist, pulling her cleanly out of Ford’s hold and back into mine. She’s flushed, a little wild-eyed, the glitter from her shirt now smeared onto her chest.
She presses up against me, breathing hard. “What’s next?”
