Page 84 of Forsaken Oath

He says it like that explains everything, which I guess, maybe it does. I sigh, tipping my head back and closing my eyes for a second. Rolling my head along his arm, I open my eyes to find his gaze already on me.

“I literally ran in here to avoid the cops.” My lips quirk into a smirk.

“One day we’re going to look back on this and laugh,” he murmurs, his fingers tangling in the ends of my hair.

“Maybe. But not today,” I murmur.

He grins, his dimple flashing. “You saying you’re not having fun, Peach?”

I snort softly. “Sure, if your idea of fun is being chased by the cops and hiding out in a strip club in some random town.”

Beau chuckles, his fingers moving from my hair to tracing idle patterns on my bare shoulder. “I’ll admit, it’s not how I pictured my night going. But I’m not about to complain about being stuck in a dark corner with you.”

Heat blooms in my cheeks at his words. Something about Beau makes me feel reckless, like I can let myself be bold without fear.

His gaze drops to my mouth, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. Desire, hot and urgent, unfurls low in my belly. Suddenly, I’ve found gratitude for my little impromptu car chase earlier. Because now I’ve got Beau all to myself in a darkened booth for the next couple of hours.

My breath hitches as Beau’s thumb traces the curve of my lower lip, his touch feather-light and maddeningly teasing. His eyes, dark and intense, flick up to meet mine. There’s a heat in his gaze that sends liquid fire rushing through my veins.

“Beau,” I breathe, my voice barely audible over the pulsing music.

“Peach,” he murmurs in the same tone. The corner of his mouth ticks up in a devastating half-smile. His hand slides around to cup the nape of my neck, fingers tangling in the fine hairs there. He leans in slowly, his breath ghosting across my lips. My eyes flutter shut in anticipation, my heart hammering against my ribs.

And then his mouth is on mine, firm and insistent. I melt into him, a soft moan escaping me as his tongue traces the seam ofmy lips. I open for him eagerly, the kiss deepening as he explores my mouth with sensual strokes.

His other hand finds my waist, his long fingers splaying across my ribs. He tugs me closer until I’m nearly in his lap, our chests pressed together. I loop my arms around his neck and tilt my head for a better angle.

The kiss turns heated, desire thrumming through my veins as Beau's fingers tighten on my waist. His tongue tangles with mine, teasing and tasting, stoking the flames of need building inside me. I thread my fingers into his hair, tugging gently, and he groans into my mouth. The sound vibrates through me, making my toes curl in my shoes.

Lost in his kiss, everything else falls away. There’s no Gauntlet, no challenges looming over us, no risks or consequences. There’s only Beau—the heat of his body, the slide of his lips on mine, the way he makes me feel wild and reckless and utterly alive. His hand drifts down to my thigh, his fingers tracing maddening patterns on my skin just below the hem of my dress. I shiver, pressing closer, silently begging for more of his touch.

The air between us crackles with electricity, the bass of the music pulsing in time with my racing heart. Beau nips at my bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue.

A commotion pierces the lust bubble I’m in, and I pull back at the same time Beau curses, “Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” I look around, but the fog machine kicked on in the last couple of minutes. Combined with the strobe lights, it’s almost impossible to see across the club.

“C’mon, baby, time to move.” Beau grabs my hand and shuffles me out of the booth.

“Why? What’s going on?” I look around, and through a break in the bodies and fog, I see them.

Two cops stand on the inside of the club, and I just fucking know they’re here for us.

“Fuck. Should we go out the back?” I roll my shoulders back, my legs tensing like we’re just waiting for the cue to run.

“Nah, I’ve got a better idea. Follow me.” He leads me by the hand down a hallway to the left of the side stage.

Beau pulls me down the dimly lit hallway, the pulsing music fading to a dull throb as we move deeper into the bowels of the club. The walls are painted a deep, sultry red, the plush carpet muffling our hurried footsteps. Doors line the corridor on either side, each one adorned with a small brass plaque bearing a number.

He doesn’t pause as he leads us into the first open door about halfway down the hallway.

“We’re in a private room.”

“Yeah, Peach, we are,” he says, but he’s a little distracted. He closes the door behind us, flicking the privacy switch.

I spin around in a circle, taking in the room. A black leather quilted chaise lounge sits in the middle of the room, a side table to the right. Deep red velvet tapestries cover three of the walls, a giant mirror on the fourth. I’m not sure if it’s a mirror for people inside this room or a two-way mirror for people outside this room.

A tendril of lust winds its way around me, pulling tighter at the idea of being observed like that. It feels illicit and daring.

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