I’m speechless. I might actually be drooling at this point. He wasn’t supposed to begoodat this.
His big, capable hands reach for the hem of his shirt. Seconds later, it’s on the floor in front of me, and I’m staring up at a bare-chested Griffin Hayes in all his glory: soft belly, hairy chest, all that muscle hidden beneath. I’m distantly aware of the crowd cheering behind me, but all of my senses are zeroed in on my ex-fiancé’s best friend.
I still remember what it felt like to be held by Griffin all those years ago—to be cradled in his strong arms like something treasured.
He unbuckles his belt and tugs open his pants, exposingthe top of his black boxer briefs. My panties disintegrate on the spot. I feel lightheaded, like I’m floating on a cloud.
The dancers drop to the floor and grind their hips, and suddenly I’m thirty-one-year-old Angie again, being fucked into the mattress by the very same man.
The curtains part, and the fifth dancer sets a chair in the middle of the dance floor. Griffin walks slowly down the stairs and holds out his hand. My pulse picks up as I slide my palm into his.
He guides me into the chair, and leaning in next to my ear, he says, “You didn’t think you were going to have all the fun, did you?”
The music shifts to something slower and more sensual. We’re alone now—just me and Griffin beneath a single spotlight.
He takes both of my hands and drags them down his chest, and I’m trembling as he wraps my arms around him, pressing my palms into his lower back. I can feel his muscles tensing with each movement.
He straddles my lap and runs his deft fingers through my hair.
We lock eyes, and my breathing turns shallow. His lips ghost over my temple as he swivels his hips, grinding on me.
This was a terrible idea.
What the hell was I thinking?
I wasn’t. It was the fourth margarita talking.
I’m only vaguely aware of what’s happening around us, too locked in on Griffin to care that we have an audience. He might as well be fucking me on this stage for the way my body is responding to him.
Griffin backs away slowly and sinks to his knees.
Fuck it. I don’t care. I deserve this.
He crawls to me and runs his palms up the outside of my legs, burying his face in my lap. My fingers tangle in his long hair,scraping along his scalp. It’s not enough to just touch him; I want to consume him.
Desire scorches through me like wildfire, catching and spreading from the tips of my toes until every part of me burns for him.
I can still remember what it felt like to have his mouth on me, his beard scraping between my thighs, and the way his hands gripped my soft curves as I shattered beneath him over and over again.
Before I lose myself completely, he jerks his head up, his gaze brimming with fiery determination as he brings my left hand to his lips, sliding my ring finger into his hot, wet mouth.
I forget how to breathe.
His teeth rake over my skin, and each second that passes feels like an eternity.
When he pulls away, he grins with my engagement ring trapped between them. The crowd around us is eerily quiet. Or maybe I’ve just tuned them out. My senses are firing on overdrive as he drops the ring into his hand and slips it into his pocket.
He lifts off his knees, gripping the chair on either side of my hips as he leans forward. “His ring doesn’t belong on your finger. It never did.”
His deep baritone settles low in my belly, my skin prickling with awareness as his warm breath ghosts over the shell of my ear.
He helps me to stand on shaky legs and spins me around, wrapping me up in a cocoon of his arms and mine. His lips dip to my collarbone, and my eyes close on instinct.
The outline of his hard cock presses against my ass, telling me he’s not as unaffected by this as I thought he was.
I inhale a shaky breath, taking in his scent: whiskey and something deeply sensual. He sways us back and forth in amove that’s much more tender than I was expecting, then he spins me to face him.
Everything around us seems to evaporate.
