Page 9 of Prized Possession

It may only be temporary, but I’m going to make the most of it while I can.

With this mindset firm, I stand in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by lots of hot, sweaty bodies who are all losing themselves in the music, and I let go of everything that makes me behave the way people expect.

I turn off the voices in my head, and I let the music infuse through my veins. The bass thrums in time with my beating heart, like they’re one in the same. I sway my hips and throw my hands in the air, getting lost in the music.

I’m aware of the bodies around me, but I’m so deep in my own bubble, I couldn’t even pick out faces or features. It doesn’t matter who they are…I’m dancing for me.

When I feel a firm pair of hands grab onto my hips, the heat of a body crowding my back, I freeze for just a moment. Alarm bells ring in my head at the proximity, and the fact someone is touching me without my permission. I try to take some calming breaths, to push away the not-so irrational fear that is threatening to ruin my buzz.

I turn my head slightly to find a young blonde guy standing behind me, swaying his hips in time with the music as he holds on to mine. Although he has hold of me, and is standing closer than I’d like, he’s not pulling me into him the way some guys do.

I take a moment to look him over, his seemingly nice smile being the thing that prompts me to give him a chance. He’s a couple of inches taller than me—nowhere near as tall as Marcus,I think to myself, before pushing all comparisons to him from my mind.

He looks to be about my age, with floppy dirty-blonde hair that curls slightly on the ends, and green eyes that are a little dull looking. His white shirt is tight around his biceps, showing he has some large muscles on his biceps, but he’s bigger across his arms and chest than anywhere else.

He looks like he lifts weights, but focuses more on his upper body, which gives him an asymmetrical look. His top half is bigger than his bottom, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.

Objectively, he’s not bad looking. He’s got a cute face and a nice smile, and when he moves his hips, it’s clear he’s got rhythm. I’m also a little impressed he’s dancing at all, as not a lot of men like to dance, unless they think it’ll get awoman into bed—which could be why this guy is doing it, but there’s something in the way he moves that suggests he might enjoy it.

“I’m Sam.” He opts to shout at me rather than leaning in, so that I can hear him clearer. I’m pleased he’s not leaning more into my personal space.

“Chloe,” I reply, before pointedly looking down at where his hands are on my hips.

His eyes follow the direction of mine, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, his lips twist into a bigger smile. “I was watching you dance and couldn’t help myself. I was wondering if you’d dance with me.”

I already am, given you put your hands on my hips without my permission,I shout in my head.

Luckily, the connection between my mouth and brain is severely delayed thanks to the alcohol, and I decide not to say that aloud, since I’m trying to have fun, and be in control of my own decisions. Maybe I want to dance with him.

“I think we can have one dance,” I reply, giving him my best flirty smile, hoping like hell it doesn’t look as awkward as it feels.

I’m fucking awful at flirting.

His smile widens as his eyes darken hungrily. His grip on my hips tightens and he pulls me against him, my back pressed into his chest. I do my best to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach that I always get when someone gets a little too close.

I allow the alcohol and the loud thrumming bass to flow through me, loosening my tight limbs as I try to block out everything around me.

I’ve always loved to dance. There’s something completely freeing about closing off your mind, feeling the music consume you, as you move your body without thought. My hips sway in a way I normally don’t have the confidence to move them, and my whole body is looser.

As Sam’s hands glide from my hips down to my thighs and across my lower abdomen, I squeeze my eyes closed and bite the inside of my cheek to stop the intrusive thoughts from returning.

I call on the deepest parts of my imagination, trying to imagine that the hands on me belong to someone else. The first image that flashes into my head isn’t one I want to think about, but he’s been the subject of my dreams for as long as I can remember.

No matter how much of an arsehole he is to me, and how often I’m reminded that I’m not supposed to like him, or want him, I can’t help myself. There’s just something about Marcus that has always drawn me to him, even when I try not to.

I’m not completely delusional. I know the attraction is totally one-sided. I’d even go as far as to say that he hates me.

At the very least, he sees me as nothing more than his best friend’s annoying little sister, who he’s forced to look out for, even though that’s the last thing he wants to do.

He’s just too fucking gorgeous for his own good.

Thinking about Marcus seems to work, and the antsy feeling I was getting with Sam’s hands on me starts to dissipate slightly, reducing my tension just a tad.

Sam must take this change as encouragement as presses his hard length against my arse. He rolls his hips, thrusting against me in a way that’s totally inappropriate for where we are. I try desperately not to care.

Moving one of his hands from my hips, he glides it up my body, over my ribs, before reaching my breasts. Clearly not caring that we’re in the middle of a very public dance floor, he takes my breast in his hand and starts to squeeze.

I wince slightly at the firm grip. It reminds me of a clown honking a horn, and I have to bite my lip again to stop the laugh that threatens to break free.

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