Page 72 of Gym With Benefits

“The very same. Brock and Hunter told me to ignore it. They went on this whole speech about how I'm perfect as I am, how I'm way better than her, and that trying to one-up her is a waste of energy. The greatest love story in the history of ever, right?”

“That's terrible advice,” Dane said. “Screw that skank. You wear the best dress in the city. You spend a fortune on hair, makeup, and jewelry. Do whatever it takes to make her sorry she ever fucked with you.”

A loud, sharp clap echoed right next to my ear.

“Silence!” Sandy stood two feet away, his golf shirt straining against his stomach, his face a picture of absolute professional outrage. “You two! Stop talking during my class! Stop laughing during my class! This is the waltz, not a cocktail lounge! Pay attention or get out!”

The pure, concentrated malice coming from a man who barely reached Dane’s chest was too much to handle. Dane bit his lower lip so hard it turned white. The sheer absurdity of getting scolded by a rotund ballroom dancer in front of eight strangers broke something inside us. We stumbled through the next threesteps in a state of absolute hysteria, shoulders shaking with silent, painful laughter that made it impossible to breathe. Every time Dane caught my eye, the giggles returned, leaving us in stitches until the final chords of the track faded out.

The cool evening on the sidewalk felt incredible after the stifling atmosphere of the studio. The pink neon sign buzzed merrily above us as we walked toward the parking lot, the tension of the previous twenty-four hours evaporated.

“Well,” Dane said, pulling his keys from his pocket as we reached the side of his Bronco. He leaned back against the driver's side door, his thumbs looping through his belt loops. He looked down at me, the playfulness in his face shifting into something more calculating. “Now that I survived Sandy’s boot camp, I have a burning question. Are you going to this wedding by yourself, or...?”

“Actually,” a slow smile curved my lips as I leaned my weight against the front fender, enjoying the upper hand. “I've been running a specific test between you, Hunter, and Brock. The one who performs the best over the next few weeks becomes my official date.”

Dane’s posture locked. His jaw dropped slightly, his eyes widening in total disbelief. “You're testing us? A comparative analysis? I didn't know I was actively competing for a position.”

“The best candidates always face rigorous screening.”

“I demand a rematch. Or an immediate performance review,” he insisted, taking a step toward me, his bulk cutting off the light from the streetlamp. “Where do I stand on the leaderboard?”

“You passed tonight with flying colors,” my hand reached up to adjust the collar of his shirt, my fingers brushing the warm skin beneath. "Almost."

"Almost?" Dane’s hand came up, his fingers wrapping around my wrist, holding my hand against his chest where the steady thud of his pulse felt strong beneath the cotton. "What do I need to do to nail it, Jess? Give me the metrics."

"I'm hungry," I admitted, my stomach letting out a timely growl. "Specifically for those grease-soaked street tacos from the food truck near the avenue. If you buy me dinner, you might secure the lead."

Dane looked at me in a way that made a delicious ache bloom in my lower abdomen.

"I'm hungry too. But not for tacos." The Bronco’s door clicked open. "Get in the truck. We're going back to my place."

29

Jess

The heavy oak front door slammed shut, and the last shred of civilized composure went right along with it. Teeth clacked against teeth as Dane’s mouth crashed into mine, his hands bunching the fabric of my short jersey knit dress upward until it clustered around my waist. Glimpses of his private fortress flashed in my peripheral vision—polished charcoal concrete floors, industrial steel framing, a floor-to-ceiling fireplace mantel of rough, board-formed cement—but he occupied every available inch of my perception. The guy did not navigate space; he dominated it.

A firm, downward shove on my shoulders sent me sprawling chest-first over the wide, flat backrest of an incredibly expensive tobacco-colored Italian leather sofa. The smooth hide felt cool against my bare stomach, but the drop to his knees behind me signaled an immediate spike in temperature.

Dane shoved his torso right between my thighs, forcing my legs apart into a wide, uncompromising V. His palms clamped onto the tops of my thighs, his fingers digging deep into the muscle as he pulled my hips back, lifting my ass high into the air.

"Still want to run your little focus group, Jess?" his voice rasped out, a tight, breathless growl that vibrated against the skin of my cheeks.

"You're lacking points for presentation," I panted, my fingers digging into the stitched seams of the leather cushion to ground myself. "A real fixer bides his time."

"I’ve been biding since the first second you stepped onto that elliptical," he muttered.

His face buried straight into the crotch of my gray cotton underwear. The thin fabric offered zero protection. Dane sucked the damp center of the cotton into his mouth, his tongue licking through the breathable weave with a broad, flat pressure that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to my clit. I let out a choked gasp, my spine arching as the damp cotton became saturated with my own juices. He bit down gently on the sensitive outer lips, the precise friction making my lower abdomen ache for something solid.

"Dane," the word broke from my throat, a ragged plea I immediately regretted.

"Yes?" His finger slid inward to stretch the fabric tight against my soaking slit, rubbing the friction right over my nub. "Tell me how the metrics look from down there."

"Screw you."

He laughed, a short, cocky sound against my skin. His fingers hooked into the waistband of the panties, a firm, ruthless yank tearing the cotton right off my ankles and tossing them onto the concrete floor.

Dane dove back in without the barrier, his tongue flicking directly onto my exposed clit, painting it with a thick, soaking wetness. The sheer focus of it knocked the breath out of my lungs. Then his hands moved lower, his thumbs on either side ofmy ass cheeks, spreading the fleshy mounds wide to expose the tight, unmapped pucker of my tight hole. His warm breath sent a jolt of anticipation through me.