As he revved the engine, raced along stretches of barren streets, and to some of my favorite songs, which told me he was using my playlists against me, I could feel my own blood stirring in delight at a side of the man I’d never witnessed before.
By the time he pulled up outside a nightclub, I pouted at our personal party coming to an end.
“Liunissa,” he crooned, throwing a glare at the valet who dared to try and open the passenger door for me.
One hand held out for mine, he used the other to toss the keys at the poor guy who was only doing his job.
When I stood beside him, he stared down at me and shook his head. “I must have been mad to let you out in this.”
Smirking, I pressed a hand to his chest. “It’s for you, Custanzu.”
“Keep talking like that and I’ll be fucking you in the VIP lounge before I let you on the dance floor,” he growled.
I stepped deeper into his personal space. “That sounds like a promise.”
“You’ll purr for me by the end of the night,” he vowed, liquid madness in his eyes.
My breathing hitched in response.
A memory stirred into being as I leaned up and, instead of biting it, I pressed a kiss to his chin. “Don’t I always?”
His hand glued itself to my hip as he dragged me closer then steered me away from the car and toward the club.
Russu.
Dumb of me to not figure out that was our end destination considering his mood.
I had to admit I was curious about the club. Entry cost a lot, and I’d only managed to get in once or twice over the years—the last time Lara had still been in town—and I’d never imagined that I’d be back on one of the owners’ arms.
Stan guided me past a seemingly endless line of clubbers awaiting entry. He moved his hand to cup my butt, making me feel more of a boss-ass bitch in my overlay sheath dress that only provided shadow coverage for the more intimate areas.
Neev had spotted the dress during one of the many shopping trips we’d gone on together—spending Stan’s money on outfits he’d enjoy stripping me out of seemed like a win-win—and while her ideas were usually invariably out there, his reaction = priceless.
“You must have timed this!” I yelled at him as one of my favorite songs blared on the second I stepped into the club.
He grinned and guided me to the dance floor.
It surprised me to realize that my man had rhythm.
His size should have shown some hindrance. Sheer bulk alone didn’t create the best dancers, but he didn’t need to be—he just shadowed me. Literally tracked my body’s movements as I danced, hands glued to my hips unless they traced my arms while I shifted them to the beat of the music.
He stalked me.
And I loved it.
He focused on me.
And I reveled in it.
No one else existed to him—only me.
And I blossomed.
My skin turned dewy with perspiration as he slid his fingers over me. My dress clung in all the right places, providing less coverage, and he noticed—just as I noticed his erection.
My lips chased his when he slowly bent me over his arm, dipping me low in a space that existed only because of who he was—humanity packed the rest of the dance floor. Except around us.
When, finally, his lips caught mine, I fell into him with a whimper.
