Page 18 of Torrid Love
She’s a grown woman and she’s entitled to go out with any man she wants. It’s not like she needs my permission to sleep with anybody.
The rational part of me accepts that. The alpha, whose eyes are glued to her hips, doesn’t.
Every time Dom gyrates and sways those sinful hips of hers from left to right, my cock stiffens. It’s like she’s taunting me. Tormenting me, even. I know it’s illogical since her back is facing me. Maybe my filthy fantasies about her are coloring my better judgment. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on my part. After all, there hasn’t been any crazy surge of electric current between us since the battle shots game.
I’m sure this is all in my head.
When she turns around to face me, I can really appreciate her new smoking-hot look. Her eyes are closed, so I can take her all in. Her long hair cascades seductively down her back and her slightly dramatic makeup brings out her features. As my eyes travel to her feet, I can’t help but shake my head in amazement. Her heels accentuate her perfectly painted toes, which happen to match the same daring shade as her lips.
Those lips.
Dom’s lips are naturally plumper in the center of the upper and lower. She’ll never need to alter her features. No injections for my Dom. Yeah, I know. I’ve spent too much time analyzing every part of her.
Damn, those lips.
Is it wrong to admit I just want to drag her off the dance floor, find a secluded place and do very naughty things to that mouth?
Fuck.
And then there’s the dress.
Wow!
Unlike Clemensia’s, Dom’s form-fitting black tank top dress—that hits her just above the knees—is all class. The fabric clings to every perfect inch of her slender curves and does justice to her plump breasts.
It’s not only the clothes, but she exudes this newfound confidence––something I’ve never seen before. It’s sexy as hell.
Who is this uninhibited vixen threatening to bring me down to my knees? And what the hell happened to my best friend?
The look of utter disappointment I read on her face as Clemensia was doing her circus act, sliced. Okay, I’m no choirboy, but I wash my hands of what just happened. I’ve always been careful not to flaunt my conquests in front of Dom. I have too much respect for her.
She left LA with a chip on her shoulder, she was upset with me when we spoke on the phone earlier and now I’m pretty sure she’s spitting mad. I don’t care how many times she protests, we need to clear the air between us.
“Let go, Rod,” she demands, tugging her arm, desperately trying to free herself. “I told you, there’s nothing to talk about.”
“I disagree,” I retort. “Whatever’s going on between us, we’re putting an end to it tonight,” I say firmly.
Without warning, I drag her by the hand off the dance floor, through the entrance doors, down the hallway, past security, out the front door, around the building and into the gardens. I don’t stop walking until we reach a wall with three archways.This will do in terms of privacy.I lead her under the alcove. Well, I should say, I haul her.
She’s been throwing a litany of,‘You’re a brute,’and a series of,‘Seriously, Rod?’She even goes for the big guns with,‘Who the hell do you think you are?’And of course, the classic,‘You’re not the boss of me.’She went for blood with,‘I fucking hate you, Rod Wolfe.’
I hear her, but it does little to deter me.
Sorry, Dom, I’m on a fucking mission.
“Why aren’t you running after your date instead of annoying me? She seemed ready for anything,” she sneers.
Hell no.
I place my hands firmly on her bare shoulders.
Shit.
From the quick flicker in her eyes, she feels it too.
I’d forgotten how soft her skin feels.
I shake my head and force myself to focus.
