Page 12 of All Twerk, No Play

“Hands were involved …”

“—or was there a contract?”

I bit back a laugh. “You expect me to have a sex contract?”

“I expect you not to judge her behavior when the terms weren’t clear. Now instead of honesty, you’re dodging her. Very mature. Then again, you’re what, 19?” Her lips pursed and she looked away, gaze scanning over the crowded dance floor to the bar.

“I’m 26,” I said, curious how she’d misjudged it but knowing better than to ask a woman her age. “So you recommend I ask women to sign a pre-sex contract? Is that what you do?”

“No, I don’t engage in such short-term pursuits.”

I took in her pearls, her coiffed hair, her steely gaze. “Aaah, you’re a girl who needs to be wined and dined before you—”

“I’m awomanwho doesn’t waste time,” she said, gaze traveling to Alex.

I held back my groan of frustration, that she was planning years into the future when I didn’t know what I wanted for breakfast. Meanwhile, Joanna watched over the rim of a fresh appletini, ready to swoop in if Red brushed me off.

“I get it. You’re not interested, but people are watching. Let’s get your man's attention, get my hookup to back off, then you can go your own way.”

Her eyes lingered on my mouth, reading my lips. She gave an almost imperceptible nod. I positioned her within his eyeline, then spoke into her ear, “He’s looking. Pretend to laugh.”

“That’s unrealistic.”

My lips quirked at her deadpan delivery. “What’s unrealistic?”

“You don’t strike me as funny.”

“You’re always this serious? Even when a man has his hand here?” My hand slid lower, gently squeezing her ass cheek. When I angled our bodies to shift my leg between her thighs, she let out a soft gasp. “You’re doing great,Cobrita. Is Joanna watching?”

Her eyes flicked over my shoulder, then she nodded.

“Do you trust me?” It’s a question I asked to put my training clients at ease.

For the first time, I felt the full weight of her intense gaze, her cool eyes acting as a mirror to dispassionately cast away the flickering club lights.

I wanted to lace up, grab her reluctant hand and glide onto her skating rink eyes. If I could melt the icy exterior, I’d toss her in fully clothed, jump in head first after her, and backstroke in her glacial stare.

I would risk frostbite for a night with her.

“No,” she took a sharp breath. “I don’t trust you.”

I touched her hand, still stiff on my shoulder, and slid her palm to my chest. “You don’t trust me? That’s ok, baby. Then you’re in control.”

She made a valiant effort to keep her expression reserved, but her pupils dilated, black overtaking silver. She liked being in control.

Good, because the idea of her bossing me around turned me on.

A cheer rose when the song changed. Over the pulse of a thumping beat, Ariana Grande sang about being so into her guy that she could barely breathe, and how the crowd was watching so he should stop talking and make a move.

“Touch me wherever and however you want,” I murmured, feeling her shiver when my mouth grazed her earlobe. My body was my business, so I kept it in prime physical shape, which often led to objectification—people assuming that since I was hoping to strengthen their bodies they had access to mine—so it wasn’t an invitation I gave lightly.

On the rare chance I made this offer, I expected hands to trail south from my chest to my abs, and in a perfect world, my dick. A preview of the invitation back to her place.

But she surprised me, her head tilting a fraction like a curious dog. Her fingertip ran past my collarbone and up my neck, lingering where a tattoo peeked out from my collar. With focused precision, her fingernail skimmed into my beard, like a forensics team collecting a trail of fingerprints.

As her palm lingered on my jaw, my attention channeled into my hands on her ass, shifting in perfect rhythm to the thumping beat. Her assessing ice-rink eyes dropped to my lips. I mouthed, “You should kiss me.”

She lifted on her toes and I lowered my mouth, my lips brushing hers. She let out a soft sigh, hands fisting my shirt collar to prevent my retreat. It was permission to savor, running my tongue along her full lip.

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