Page 60 of Check & Chase
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Good.”
The music shifts again, the beat faster now, and around us, the dancing becomes more energetic, more suggestive. Bodies grind together, hands wander, inhibitions lowered by alcohol and darkness.
Including Tyler, I realize, who’s now on the other side of the dance floor with Carina, both looking too drunk and caught up in an argument to care what we’re doing.
I should tell Chase. Should remind him we don’t need to continue the show if no one’s watching.
But then he shifts against me, his good knee pressing between my legs, and every coherent thought scatters.
“Chase,” I gasp, the sound lost in the thumping bass.
His eyes find mine, questioning, giving me the chance to pull away.
I don’t.
Instead, I rock against him, just slightly, but enough to make his pupils dilate.
“That’s dangerous, Emma,” he warns, his voice a rumble I feel more than hear.
“We’re just dancing,” I reply, but we both know it’s a lie.
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
His hand slides lower, skimming the curve of my ass. The touch sends electricity up my spine, a shiver of want that I can’t suppress.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, his voice rough. “Tell me this isn’t what you want.”
But I can’t. Because despite every rational thought screaming that this is a terrible idea, my body has its own agenda.
“I want it. I wantyou.”
Something flashes in his eyes before he spins us, using his body to maneuver us deeper into the crowd, away from prying eyes. We end up in a dark corner, partially concealed by a large potted plant. My back is to the wall, his hands are on my hips, and he’s grinding me against him in a rhythm that has nothing to do with the music.
“Anyone looking?” he asks, his lips against my ear.
I glance around, but in the dim, smoky room, it’s impossible to tell. “I don’t think so.”
“Good.” One hand slides to the nape of my neck, tilting my face up to his. “Because I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw you tonight.”
His mouth claims mine, hot and demanding. His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open for him, my hands fisting in the soft fabric of his shirt as heat explodes through me.
He tastes like mint and the faint sweetness of whatever he’s been drinking. His stubble scrapes deliciously against my skin as he angles his head, deepening the kiss until I’m breathless, dizzy with need.
When we finally break apart, I’m panting, my lips tender and swollen. He doesn’t look much better, his eyes heavy-lidded, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I say, though I make no move to step away.
“Probably not,” he agrees, his hands still on my hips, keeping me pressed against him. “Want to stop?”
The rational part of my brain is screaming yes. The part of me that’s been awakened by his touch disagrees.
“No,” I admit.
“Good. Because I’m just getting started.”
His hand slides down my side, then around to the front of my thigh, his touch light but purposeful. My breath catches as his fingers trace patterns on my bare skin, inching ever higher beneath my dress.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on mine.
