Page 65 of Beautiful Secrets
Except, I still feel drunk.
Lightheaded.
Wicked horny.
On top of the fucking world.
When I pull back and see Mika’s eyes glowing with points of purple light, the mystery is gone.
It’sher.
She’s like no one I’ve ever met. Fierce, determined, but compassionate too. I still can’t get over how her face changed when I told her about Kill and me, our childhood. She didn’t have to give a shit—or she could have pretended just to make me let down my guard.
But no.
There was genuine concern in her eyes.
It makes me wonder what her childhood was like, because something had to ring true to her. But a spoiled kid like her? What did she have to suffer through?
Yeah, her adult life is a shit show, arranged marriages and all that shit, but I’m sure no one’s ever dared lay a fucking hand on her.
UntilIcame along.
She’s dancing now, eyes closed and her back to me, watching the DJ up on his electronic circus-show of a booth.
Which leaves me free to soak her in as she moves.
And God, can she move.
Strobe lights stab down, diffusing when they hit the clouds of smoke poured out by the fog machine. The dance floor transforms into a weird and wonderful alien landscape. The people around us move in jagged lines, the flickering lights dropping life’s frame rate to something resembling a stop-motion animation.
Mika’s hips sway, hypnotizing me, luring me closer.
She starts when I slide my hands around her waist and tug her against me, but as soon as our bodies touch, she begins grinding against my lap.
As much as she can, anyway. Little Mika doesn’t even reach my chin.
While the music pounds us into submission, we become encased in our own private bubble. The crowd is nothing but a movie playing in the background—what’s real, and now, and all that matters is Mika and me, and how fucking perfectly our bodies meld together.
We don’t dance for long, though, because pretty soon I’m sporting a fucking hard-on visible from the International Space Station.
And there’s only one thing that’s gonna make it go away.
Mika owes me one, and I’m cashing in.
She wriggles when I squeeze her hard against me, and then goes stiff when I slide my hand down the back of her leg.
I nip her ear a second before I duck down and scoop her into my arms.
She squeals almost playfully, but as soon as I start moving she fights me tooth and nail.
And here I was trying to be a gentleman.
She gets one last punch to my chest before I flip her over my shoulder. She’s probably shouting, but her protests are barely audible over the music. Still, the fact that I’m carrying someone off the dance floor gets more than a few heads turning our way.
Mika starts struggling even more—obviously—and I just keep going.
Obviously.
