Page 54 of Dance With A Devil
But next time?
Next time I won't disappear.
I’lltake.
Chapter Ten
Wyck
The second I see her, hips swaying, head tilted back in that reckless, sinful way she does, I know I’m fucked.
Athens.
Dancing like she’s the only one who matters.
Dancing like the world doesn’t deserve to watch her, and yet she gives them a show anyway.
She doesn't know it yet, but every sway of her hips, every smile she throws over her shoulder, every teasing graze of her fingers up her body… it’s for me.
Even when she’s with Karter, she’s still mine.
That’s the thing about my Little Fox. She thinks she can slip into the dark and not be hunted.
But I was born in it.
Karter fades into the crowd like a good fucking soldier, leaving her to burn for me under the strobe lights and slow music. And burn, she does. Her body moves like temptation incarnate, hands on her thighs, her stomach, her breasts, like she’s remembering how good it feels to be wanted. To be watched. Owned.
And I do watch.
With obsession. With hunger. With the twisted reverence of a sinner praying to a God he wants to destroy.
She doesn’t see me move through the crowd. But the people part like they feel it, that chill crawling up their spine, the dark promise in my gait.
“He’s one of the Devils of Cliffside,” some girl whispers.
No shit.
I pass them without a glance, eyes locked on the only thing that matters. My girl. My future. My fucking obsession.
Her lips move, singing along to the song, and I swear she’s singing to me. The second her gaze snaps up and catches mine, my blood runs lava-hot. My feet stop.
And then she moves again.
Fuck. She’s a weapon and doesn’t even know it.
Her hands trace her curves, her eyes half-lidded and lost in the rhythm, but the ache in her movements tells me everything. She’s not just dancing. She’s crying out without a sound. She’s begging, begging to be touched, claimed, wrecked.
And I will.
Eventually.
But first… I just want to see how far she’ll go thinking I’m not already devouring her.
Then she spots me.
And everything changes.
“Dance with me?” she asks, like it’s not already written in blood that I belong to her.
