Page 11 of Gilded Princess

Chapter Four

MADDIE

Flashes of colorful fabrics pulse around me in tune with the strobe lighting, the brightness sharp in contrast to the dimmed lighting. The air is thick and humid as the steady beat thumps through the air, settling in my veins and infusing me with the familiar need to move to the music.

My hair sticks to the back of my neck and I raise my hands in the air, letting my body sway to the pulsing beat. I look beneath half-open lids at Blaire grinding on Wes Rockford a foot in front of me. A few guys have danced with me in the last hour, but thankfully nothing more than that. I’m not in the mood to deal with anyone who gets too handsy.

Sweat slides down the back of my neck, and I twirl my hair around my fist and hold it out to the side, willing the hot breeze from the open patio doors to cool me down, if only for a moment.

Blaire winks at me as she shimmies her hips, her arms wrapping around Wes’s neck. The DJ spins Calvin Harris, and when the beat drops, the air shifts into something darker, deeper. The change is tangible, weighing heavy on my body and forcing my hips to roll from side to side slowly.

A fog of awareness swirls around my head a second before I feel a warm body behind mine, hands sliding to rest on my hips. My movements stutter for a moment as my heart thumps wildly in my chest.

He steps closer, but not quite touching, and I just barely feel the brush of his suit against my back. My lip curls up on one side when he doesn’t step into me like I thought he would. I’ve never known Matteo to not take what he wants, and there’s no doubt in my mind that he wouldn’t be out here on the dance floor if he didn’t want something from me.

I’m not sure if it’s the champagne or the music or the dress or something else, but I’m feeling reckless tonight. Bold enough to let Matteo have what he wants—or better yet, take what I want from him.

Emboldened, I step back so I’m flush against his front and slide my fingers in between his, anchoring his hold on my hips. He doesn’t miss a beat, and his hands tighten against me, the hot press of his fingertips branding themselves against my skin even through all the layers of satin.

I arch my back, my ass swiveling and rubbing against him. His fingers flex against my hips, and I imagine the marks they’d leave on my bare skin if this dress wasn’t in the way.

I close my eyes, shutting off my senses and giving myself permission to let go just for a little while. To lessen the tight reins I hold myself to.

I shed my stale bitterness from how our relationship ended years ago, and allow myself to take what I want from him without guilt. What I’ve never been able to get from anyone else.

Smoke from the DJ’s table curls through the bodies, highlighted in orange and yellow every time the strobe light flashes. One song bleeds into two, and two into three, and before long, I lose track. I never turn around, and he never spins me to face him. We stay locked in this dance, him and I, and somewhere along the way it feels like a whole lot more than just dancing. We feel in sync, connected on a level far more intimate than an evening on the dance floor.

Our steps never falter, our rhythm never falls out of sync. It’s as if our bodies already know something we don’t and our minds are left to play catch-up.

He pulls my hair to the side and replaces it with his face on my shoulder. His breath warms my neck, and I silently beg him to press his lips against my feverish skin. To glide them along that sensitive spot behind my ear.

I don’t know if I should be embarrassed by how quickly it turns me on, but I’m not. Thoughts of him consume my mind.

I hold off for as long as I can, but I don’t think I can go another second without the feel of his lips against mine. I’m panting, my skin flushed and coated in a light sheen of sweat. Lust courses through my veins, begging me to take what I need from him.

I can feel him against my ass, hard and long and thick. A small kernel of satisfaction warms my blood at the evidence that he wants me too.

I bite my lip and tip my head back against his shoulder while I have an internal debate. Part of me wants to go there with him—to fuck him in one of the abandoned rooms that we all know are here just for those types of situations. But the other part of me, the more sensible part, knows I’ve never had a one-night stand for a reason. And I don’t know if choosing my ex-boyfriend to check that particular box off my bucket list is the right choice.

I’m catapulted out of my swirling thoughts when warm lips trail up the side of my neck, nipping my skin softly. His hands slide up my ribs, his touch hot. His fingers flex around my ribcage, his thumb slipping underneath the fabric that just barely touches my back.

I roll my hips in a slow, deliberate move and he surprises me by smoothing one hand down to rest on my lower stomach, holding me against him. He grazes his teeth against the bottom of my earlobe and grinds his hips against mine. It’s the first move he’s initiated, letting me lead the entire time.

Like a match to a flame, that small dominant move lights me up. Faster than he can stop me, I spin in his hold, grab onto the lapels of his suit jacket, and push up onto my toes. Intense dark-brown eyes flash, but it’s the last thing I see before I close my eyes and crush my mouth to his.

Our masks hit with an audible crack, but I don’t stop. He slides his hand into my hair as he opens his mouth against my kiss. His thumb slides along my jawbone to control the angle of my head, and I’m more than happy to follow his lead.

He kisses me like he’s running out of air. Like tomorrow isn’t guaranteed—like the next minute isn’t guaranteed—and this is how he wants to spend it.

I run my hands up his chest and curl them around his neck, tugging on his hair. He groans into my mouth, the sound almost painful and like a light switch, something flips. If I thought he was intense earlier, that’s nothing compared to the way he kisses me now.

He tastes like spearmint and whiskey. Like dark promises and unfulfilled fantasies.

With a hand on my lower back, he hauls my body against his and maneuvers us so we’re at the edge of the dance floor, shrouded in darkness. My back hits one of the stone pillars, the coarse stone dragging across my sensitive skin. I slip my leg through the high slit and hitch it up around his hip. He takes it for the invitation it is and slides his palm up to wrap around my outer thigh and steps into me.

My head feels foggy and heavy with lust, and I know I need to slow this down before I do something foolish in such a public space.

But when I feel the hard length of him press right where I need him, something short-circuits in my brain. A whimpering noise I didn’t even know I could make falls from my lips on a gasp.

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