Page 83 of Game Misconduct
“Let ’em look,” I murmur. “They won’t see this.”
“This?”
I lower my mouth to her ear.
“The way you’re shaking in my hands.”
She exhales sharply—barely a sound, but I feel it everywhere.
The song drags out longer than it should, and still I don’t let go.
Because there’s no going back now.
Not after this.
She doesn’t pull away.
Even when the music slows further, wrapping around us like silk.
Even when my hand slides a fraction lower on her back.
Even when her fingers tighten slightly in mine, like she’s holding on.
“You know,” I murmur low, “you could’ve danced with me first.”
Her eyes flick to mine, guarded. “You weren’t exactly asking.”
“Didn’t think you’d say yes.”
She tilts her head. “And now?”
I dip my mouth toward hers, just enough that my words graze her skin.
“Now I think you want to know what it feels like when I do more than ask.”
Her breath stutters.
Her spine straightens.
But she doesn’t let go.
I guide her through the next slow turn, and for a second—just one—we move like this is all we’ve ever done.
Like we know each other’s rhythms.
Like the chaos we create outside this moment doesn’t matter.
“I’m not some charity case you can fix,” I say quietly. “And I’m not one of your rookies.”
“I know.”
“I’m not safe for you, Sloane.”
Her eyes hold mine. Steady.
“No one ever changed the game by playing it safe.”
That’s it. That’s the moment.
