Page 131

Blaire leaned in to whisper, “He never dresses like this for the club. Always T-shirt and jeans.”

Charlotte wondered if he had the same idea as her when he planned his outfit.

He approached her, his eyes heated with a promise of all the things she wanted him to do to her. She could still feel the marks on her skin, even though they were long gone.

“You look amazing,” he said, voice gruff.

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” She smiled up at him and then turned. He settled his hand on the bare skin of her lower back. She shivered.

“Dom, this is Charlotte,” Riley said, hopping up, her layered tulle skirt almost swallowing her. “Charlotte, this is Dom.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Dominic said, lifting his glass in a toast. “Cheers.”

She turned to Lukas. “Happy birthday.”

He shook his head and sat back in the seat, pulling Blaire down on his lap. The corner of his mouth twitched, but he tucked his face into Blaire’s hair before anyone could see the embarrassed smile.

He didn’t like birthdays and wasn’t used to attention. They’d had the conversation once before. But he never went against Blaire’s desire to celebrate with him because of how she felt about it. They compromised with smaller celebrations or celebrating multiple birthdays together, so he wasn’t the sole focus of attention.

Aiden guided Charlotte over to the empty side of the booth, letting her slide in first, moving to sit close to her, his thigh pressed alongside hers.

She hadn’t told Blaire or Riley about the development in their relationship. Hadn’t told them about how they slept together again or how Aiden seemed to openly acknowledge there was more between them than friendship now. She wondered if Aiden wanted anyone to know—besides Noah.

His arm went over the back of the booth and his fingers grazed the back of her neck, making her shiver.

After several drinks, she felt good. Sitting with Aiden touching her, even if only through hidden brushes of his skin against hers, made her body feel hot. No longer did she feel sick, she felt needy.

The mood in the club shifted, and the lights lowered as the fog increased on the dance floor. The heavy bass cut through the air followed by a sensual beat.

“Dance with me,” Aiden whispered in her ear, making her skin pebble as his breath caressed her ear. He slid out without waiting for her to answer, and she followed, glancing once over her shoulder. No one paid them any attention, lost in conversation with each other.

Once he led her to the dance floor, not too deep into the mass of writhing bodies, he pulled her close to him. She gasped when his hard length pressed against her lower stomach, straining against his slacks. Her eyes met his, and he slowly turned her to face away from him so he could wrap his arms around her from behind.

Hands splayed across her stomach, bunching the fabric of her slinky top as they swayed with the music. His lips trailed over the side of her neck, moving over her shoulder where he scraped his teeth across her skin, making her moan. She didn’t have to worry about anyone hearing her, the music was too loud.

“You were made for me,” he whispered into her ear. His breath fanned over the back of her neck as his lips ghosted over her skin.

The line would sound cliché and overdone coming from anyone else. It sounded like something a dudebro might say to sweep an unsuspecting girl into a one-night-stand. From Aiden, it sounded like he believed those words with every fiber of his being. Maybe he did.

She was starting to believe he didn’t see her as beneath him, even though their social status was leagues apart.

He bent forward, and his hands moved down over her hips and back up, sliding beneath the slinky material of her top. His fingers brushed along her ribcage until he took the weight of her breasts in his firm hold. He massaged the sensitive skin, making her moan. She laid her head back against his shoulder.

Her skin prickled with awareness of their surroundings. Heat made her skin tingle in response to the bodies close to them. To anyone around them, unless they looked hard enough, they’d never know what he was doing. Her top gave easy access, but the dark fabric hid any of his movements.

“Did you wear this for me, Kitten?”

The nickname murmured with reverence in her ear made her shudder with desire.

She pretended to hate it. Fought him on using it. But since he didn’t waver when he discovered she enjoyed hearing it—wanted to be his kitten—she didn’t protest anymore.

It wasn’t like she was into pet play. This was different. She wanted to belong to him, to be taken care of by him. To give him what he needed. She wanted him to praise and lavish her with attention. She loved being his kitten.

“Tell me,” he rasped, nipping her earlobe.

“Yes.” Her voice sounded breathy, and she squeezed her thighs together against the pulsing sensation in her core.