Page 39 of The Beautiful Collision
“Hi,” she says, looking up at me with innocent eyes that we both know are bullshit. Her breasts press against me, and she fits against me like a puzzle piece.
“Hi,” I croak back.
Rook looks at her, then at me, then back at her. “I’m going to go find another drink,” he announces to no one in particular.
Smart man.
Maya doesn’t move when he leaves. If anything, she presses closer, her hand splaying across my stomach. “Having fun?” she asks.
“Not as much as you, it seems,” I counter, hyperaware of every point where our bodies touch.
“Best party of the semester.” Her fingers find their way in between the buttons on my shirt, and her nails graze my chest. “Though the host seems distracted.”
“Wonder why that is.”
She laughs, low and throaty, and the sound goes straight to my already interested dick. “Must be the Ice Queen Headache. They go right to your head.”
Before I can respond, someone cranks the music louder—if that’s even possible—and the living room transforms into a dance floor. Maya pulls away, but not before dragging her hand across my chest in a way that’s definitely not accidental.
I watch her move to dance, and something in me snaps. I’m done with the games, done with the careful choreography. The emotional wasteland of a day has left me raw and reckless. I don’t know if it’s the bet, how good she was today, the urgent need to feel something, or the way she moves, but I need to touch her.
I push through the crowd until I’m right behind her. Without asking permission or announcing myself, I press into her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her back against me. From head to toe, I’m pressed against her, and I’m certain she can feel every inch of me.
She freezes completely, every muscle going rigid.
Fuck. I’ve misread this whole thing.
My hands start to loosen, ready to back off and apologize, when she melts into me. Her ass pushes back, grinding in slow circles that match the heavy bass thumping through the speakers. The contact shoots straight to my cock, and I have to bite back a groan.
This isn’t dancing. It’s a promise of what she could do to me if we were alone.
My hands find her hips, gripping tighter than strictly necessary. She responds by grinding harder, her movements deliberate and torturous. The party fades to static. All I can focus on is the heat of her body against mine, her smell, and how soft she feels under my calloused hands.
Around us, I’m dimly aware of people watching. The guys are definitely taking notes for the betting pool. Good. Let them watch. Let them see that I’ve got Maya melting against me like butter on a hot pan. After the day I’ve had—fuck, after the year I’ve had—I need this.
To feel seen and in control.
Except then she turns in my arms, slow and deliberate, and the look on her face stops my mental victory lap cold. “Hi,” she smirks.
She’s not melting. She’s hunting.
Her arms wind around my neck, pulling me down until our faces are inches apart. Her hips never stop moving, maintaining that maddening friction that’s rapidly destroying what’s left of my self-control. But it’s her eyes that really fuck me up—dark and knowing and completely in control.
“Is this what you wanted?” she murmurs, her lips brushing my ear.
I meant to melt the Ice Queen. Instead, I’m the one who’s been captured, turned into her prey with a few moves and a smile that promises trouble. She’s taken my power play and flipped it, made it hers, mademehers in front of everyone.
And the fucked-up thing is I don’t even want to fight it. I just want her to keep moving against me, want to find out what that wicked mouth tastes like, and want to discover exactly how deep this performance of hers goes and what’s real underneath.
She saw the stripped-bare version of me, so now I want Naked (Maya’s Version).
The song changes to something slower but still heavy with bass. Maya doesn’t miss a beat, adjusting her rhythm to match. Her fingers play with the hair at my nape, and I suppress a shudder. Right now, she could ask me anything and I’d tell her, demand anything, and I’d do it. She’s got me hook, line, and sinker.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” she says, still close enough that her breath ghosts across my neck.
“Funny,” I manage, my voice rougher than intended. “I was about to say the same thing to you.”
She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, and her smile is pure challenge. “Good. I was starting to get bored.”
