Page 10 of Boss of Me
We walk down to North Lamar Boulevard where a glossy black executive car awaits us.
Dawson opens the back door for me. I pause only a moment before climbing inside.
He slides in after me, his warm thigh pressing against mine. The contact makes me tingle all over, from my scalp to my toes.
When our eyes meet in the darkness of the backseat, my heart races like a Ferrari on the Autobahn.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
I don’t leave bars with complete strangers.
I don’t hop into cars headed to unknown destinations.
I don’t do crazy, reckless things.
Or at least I didn’t . . . until tonight.
A few blocks later, we pull up to the private entrance of a swanky club thrumming with music. The driver gets out and opens the back door.
Dawson climbs out first, then reaches down to help me from the car. His hand is slightly callused and huge, swallowing mine completely.
I smile up at him. He smiles back, his thumb stroking the inside of my palm and sending gossamer sensations fluttering through me.
The club’s private entrance is guarded by a security team dressed in black. The men stand up straighter and nod deferentially to Dawson as he guides me inside the dark, pulsing venue.
“I know the owner,” he tells me.
I grin. “Nice.”
The security manager escorts us upstairs to a plush lounge with sleek black leather couches and a curved bar. It’s conveniently empty.
With his hand on my lower back, Dawson steers me to the couch furthest from the door.
I sit down and cross my legs.
He sits beside me and leans back, draping one arm along the couch behind me. I feel breathless, mesmerized by the pure sexual power radiating off him.
The lights are dim and there’s music playing softly in the background—something slow and seductive by The Weeknd.
“Would you like a drink?” Dawson offers.
“No, thank you.” I pull my gaze from his to glance around the suite. “Your friend has a really nice club.”
“I’ll tell him you said so,” Dawson murmurs. “Do you like dancing?”
“Sometimes.” I meet his eyes. “Just depends on my mood.”
We stare at each other, the air sparking and crackling between us. We didn’t come here for small talk. We came here to make out, and there’s no use pretending otherwise.
He seems to be waiting for me to make the first move. As if he wants to ensure my consent.
Without a moment’s hesitation, I slide my hand behind his neck and run my fingers through the soft, thick hair skimming his collar.
His eyes darken, focusing on me with an intensity that makes my heart pound. I return his gaze as he strokes my cheek with gentle fingertips and rubs the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip. I’m pretty certain he can feel the shiver that runs through my body at his touch.
When I uncross my legs, his eyes follow the movement. I bite my tingling lip, barely breathing as he lowers his big hand to my knee. A thrilling rush of heat sizzles in my blood.
As his thumb traces lazy circles on my knee, my breathing quickens until I’m almost panting. Lips parted, pulse racing, I watch his hand glide slowly up my leg and slip under my dress to caress my inner thigh.
