Page 82 of Running from Drac
“Straight from Australia, baby,” Pippa winks. “Get ready to see some hot and sweaty men on the dance floor.”
An announcer takes the stage, introducing himself as both the DJ and the emcee for the night. A girl to my right shouts for him to take his shirt off, because damn, even the announcer is packing something underneath that button-up shirt he has on.
A grin moves across his face as he Hulks that shirt right off, every muscle defined, his ebony skin basking beneath the overhead lights like it’s licking every part of him. “If you like what you see here, ladies, let me introduce you to my friends.” He waves a hand at the stage behind him.
A low rumble blasts through the speakers, making the girls go absolutely wild as, one by one, each male dancer is lit up, all of them wearing fedora hats and dressed in well-tailored suits.
“Ladies and gents, I’m so pleased to introduce you to my friends, the all-male Australian review! Get ready for a night you’ll never forget, because these men are hot, tan, and ready to be your next guilty pleasure!”
The emcee finishes just as the dancers start to move. The next few minutes are a blur of sexy as fuck men struts, broken buttons flying everywhere, ripped shirts revealing mouthwatering abs, and gyrating. Goddamn that gyrating issomething I’ll never forget. That first in-sync hip thrust with a ripping of pants will be permanently scarred into my memory. Girls are fucking screaming so loud I’m surprised glasses aren’t breaking.
“You bitches are insane,” I yell over the music, spinning in a circle to take it all in. Poppy is already at the edge of the makeshift stage, waving a hundred-dollar bill in the air like she’s front row at a concert. Mallory has her phone out, recording everything. Pippa hands me another drink. It’s something pink and fizzy.
Poppy’s smile explodes on her face as one of the men reaches down, allowing her to stuff the money she has in her hand down his underwear.
“I think I touched his dick!” she excitedly cries, facing me as I bring the drink to my lips. “Drink up, bride-to-be! This shit is about to get bananas!”
“B-A-N-A-N-A-S!” Mallory, Poppy and I scream in unison.
Another man comes forward, his bits and wiggles jumping inches from my face. Somehow, we’re right near the stage. He’s goading me to load his banana hammock with something monetary, but I hesitate. This feels way too familiar. Like I’ve seen this show before. Seen him before. But then Poppy screams happily as she grabs my arm, “He just winked at me!”
The men all take a bow before leaving the stage, the excitement dying down, the song at its completion. I’m definitely feeling it now. Everything is blurring together. The lights, the sounds, the people, but it’s like I know what’s about to happen.
My stomach twists as the room is sucked into near-darkness. A low roll of thunder rumbles through the sound system, followed by the slow teasing trickle of rain. It starts falling from the rig above the stage. A cool mist curls across our faces, making the front row squeal in delight.
A lone figure steps onto the stage. He’s shirtless, his torso carved like stone as the glistening water drips down every chiseled crevice. His face is cloaked in shadows, hidden beneath a black hat pulled low, droplets sliding down the hard line of his jaw. The music swells, pulsing like a heartbeat.
The lights snap on in a burst of gold and white, slicing through the darkness and illuminating his face. That charismatic smile glides across the Adonis’s features, it’s like he knows he owns every woman in the room the way he struts to the front of the stage, his cocky smile locked and loaded.
My breath catches in my throat.
It’s him.
The guy.
Myguy.
The one I cheated on Eddie with in Vegas.
He stalks the stage like its prey, every step smooth and hungry. Water trickles from the ceiling, cascading in cool sheets across his sculpted chest and shoulders. He grips a chair sitting in the middle of a puddle and thrusts against it like he’s fucking the cheap wood, hips grinding, glistening skin flexing with every powerful motion.
The audience erupts in howls and screams. The women can’t get enough.
My mouth parts in stunned silence as he rips his pants off in one clean, confident motion, revealing a barely there metallic thong that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. The outline of his cock strains against the fabric, and for a moment, my legs tremble.
He licks his lips slowly, then prowls the edge of the stage like a predator scenting its next kill. He makes eye contact with each girl like she’s his only obsession, his eyes burning with sinful promises as his mouth hints at all the filthy thingshe’d whisper if this weren’t a public performance. The room vibrates with female hysteria, and I feel like I’m melting.
One girl faints when he crawls toward her and brushes his hand along her cheek, his lips ghosting so close they almost touch. Another woman screams when he grabs her hair, yanking her head back as he drags his nose up her throat, pausing an inch from her lips. She whimpers as she shoves bills into his thong, hands sliding down his abs, desperate to feel more.
Then he turns toward us.
His eyes rake across the crowd before locking with mine, and I freeze.
Our gazes collide as something inside me unravels. That lazy smirk plays on his lips again like he remembers. Like he can smell the desire soaking through my panties. He moves with devastating control, dancing just for me now, hips rocking in time with the beat as his hands slide up and down his chiseled torso.
Memories flood in.
I can see it all… the hotel room… the bed… those exact moves performed on me but horizontally, flesh smacking against flesh, heartbeat battling heartbeat as I fight to catch my breath.
