Page 58 of Deliverance

He guessed I was seconds away from ditching him tonight.

“You said you were a shitty dancer.” Zander removes his hand from my hip and drags his fingers through my hair. Slowly.

“I suppose that with the right amount of alcohol and the right partner, miracles do happen.” I grin up at him, feeling stupid and jubilant at the same time. And reluctant to untangle myself from his rock-solid body.

Luckily, the intro to the next track is starting to rattle the club and we’re once again sucked into the madness. It’s an old Lady Gaga and Christina Aguilera song and the floor goes berserk. Hands shake and feet stomp. The music is too loud and the lyrics are too distracting for us to carry on with the conversation.

Instead, Zander begins to move, setting the pace. My hands slip to his chest and stay there a little while as I allow him to guide me. The choreography enclosing us is a beautiful chaos of spinning forms and entwined limbs. Or at least, that’s what my eyes catch when they’re not staring at Zander. Sweat trickles down his temples, wetting the sides of his face and the neck of the T-shirt he’s wearing. I don’t know what happened to his jacket. I remember him having one when we got to the club, but I don’t recall the exact moment he lost it.

His heartbeats beneath my palms are hard and fast. Like a drum. He tightens his hold on my waist and pulls me against him.

Our breaths clash, his scruffy cheek sweeping mine.

I’m feeling all sorts of wicked and out of control. My body is so alive and so aware of his fluid solidity that I’m not certain I’ve ever experienced anything this wonderful while being with the man before.

Then memories of my first date with Rhys rush in like an unwelcome guest crashing the party. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing and I was a naive, grief-stricken college freshman. I fell for his lies instantly.

Don’t think about him, Drew. Not right now.

As if sensing the sudden shift in my emotions, Zander cups my face and turns my head to look at him. His yes lock on mine, his palm pleasantly rough on my skin.

The song reaches the chorus and a dozen shivers rake me from head to toe. I’m drowning in a sea of teasing sounds and visuals. My hand wanders to Zander’s abs and around his back, touching, exploring, savoring every flex of his muscles. An invisible string tugs low in my stomach, my legs become wobbly and weak, and I arch back and let the music take over my body.

Zander grabs at my waist and spins me, pressing his chest to my back. His hips cradle my ass, his breath scorching my shoulder. I’ve never danced with a man like this before. There’s something primal about the way his hands feel as they run down my thighs and grab a fistful of my dress. It's the surge of sensations between my legs—the red-hot burn—that overwhelms me to the point where I can’t think of anything else but the fact that I’m turned on.

In the middle of a dance floor.

Well, that’s a first.

Zander’s chin settles into the crook of my neck and his fingers trace the hem of my dress. His hips roll to the beat and I follow the smooth movements on instinct. Instinct I didn’t know I even had.

My mind is scrambled.

And irrevocably hopeless and positively drunk.

My lungs are struggling, my heart galloping. I’m riding a strange high that reminds me of those I usually ride when I’m in the zone, when the idea first hits me, when it pours out of me in bunches of messy images.

Eyes squeezed shut, I arch and push harder into the warm, sinewy body behind me. Zander’s breaths have become loud and shuddered against the side of my face and it feels like we’re racing now. He snakes one arm around me just beneath my breasts and draws me even closer. I wouldn’t have thought it was possible but it is, and we’re molded into one pulsing being. No holds barred.

When the song ends, we’re drenched and winded.

The DJ announces that he’s taking a short break from spinning and introduces his co-host.

I turn around and meet Zander’s gaze. My hands run up his pecs and slink into his wet hair. “I want to paint you,” I say on a gasp, nervous flutters filling my chest.

He takes a moment to consider my words.

“I need to,” I mouth soundlessly, mostly to myself, but his eyes are still on me and he’s reading me like a book. He knows why. He’s not that different from me.

“Right now?”

I nod. “If you don’t have to be anywhere else.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t.”

11 Drew

Gettingout of the club is an adventure. It takes us a good minute to find Santiago. The fact that I can’t text him because I gave him my phone for safekeeping makes matters even worse, and by the time Zander’s car finally pulls into the small parking lot flanking the building where my studio is located, it’s already ten past midnight.

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