Page 14 of A Sin So Pure

Finishing the last dregs of my drink, my gaze is drawn back to the dance floor. The band sings a steady, sultry beat. A warmth simmers in my belly as I let the dancers’ intoxicating emotions flow through me.

“Dance with me?” I ask.

“Don’t I always?”

The air between us crackles with frenetic energy.

A beaming smile lights my face, and I launch us forward, gripping her gloved hand. We move deeper through the sea of sweaty, drunk, high-on-the-prospect-of-sex fae.

When we reach the center, I twirl, lifting our hands in the air, swaying to the music. As we turn and touch, my skin becomes flushed with desire. And even with our hands intertwined, there’s far too much distance between us. The leather gloves rub my skin the wrong way, despite them being worn down and softened by time.

I know why she wears them; how many times have I felt, firsthand, the fear that lingers around others when she walks past? It lessens when her hands are covered.

But I’m not afraid. I don’t think I ever have been.

As if she can read my mind, she slips them off.

Finally.

The burn of her skin on mine sets my nerves alight, and I want nothing more in this moment than to catch flame. I can see it in her half-lidded gaze too, the hunger. The soft pads ofher fingertips glide across my spine, the touch featherlight as she pulls me close. Our breath mingles, but neither of us closes the distance. She traces the edge of my dress; the drape hangs from the thin straps at my shoulders and scoops low on my back.

I hum, a near purr rumbling from my throat, as I look up at her. She’s not that much taller than me, but the difference still has my head tilting back.

A slight frown slants Nora’s lips as she fingers the silken fabric at my waist.

“Do you not like my dress? I picked it out just for you,” I tease.

I let my own hands wander. Gliding up her shoulders and to the back of her neck, my fingers mindlessly tangle in her hair.

Nora’s frown flips into a smirk.

“It’ll look better bunched around your waist later.”

Giving into temptation, I lean forward to take what I want. But Nora pulls back, twirling me. One of her arms bands around my waist, pulling my back to her front, while the other traces senseless patterns up my hip as we sway together.

“Don’t tell me you’re not wearing any underwear, Imogen.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

We both know you can’t wear any with this kind of dress. Tights, sure. But where’s the fun in that?

Nora groans; the vibration rumbles through her chest and right to my core. She drops a kiss to my racing pulse.

“You’re trouble,” she murmurs against my skin before releasing me.

We go back to dancing with our hands intertwined. The band’s tempo rises to match the beating of my heart and, like before, the distance between our bodies is a punishment. But it’s one I’ll gladly endure if it means her coming back to my bed tonight.

We’ve always teased each other. It’s a give and take, this addicting little game. One where we draw out the tension until it snaps under the pressure of our hunger. It’s soft touches stolen at midnight, starved kisses in dark hallways, roaming hands, and whispered promises.

So, we dance. And we order second, third, and fourth rounds of drinks. And we giggle as we people-watch until last call rings. We join Leo and Josie and their other friends from House Pride in their booth, and our asses stay firmly planted in our seats as each one of them leaves.

Then it’s just us at the deserted bar together, taking turns drinking straight from a bottle of wine. And when I try to sneak a kiss again, she denies me, whispering that we should go upstairs instead.

4

IMOGEN

6 YEARS AGO

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