Page 122 of You Were Always Mine
I take another swallow of whiskey, hard enough to feel it sear down my throat.
Not tonight.
Tonight she gets to pretend.
Her voice cuts through the noise, softer than the bass but sharp enough to slice through me.
“Dance with me.”
I shake my head once, flat, cold. “No.”
She rolls her eyes, pretending that my refusal means nothing, but I catch the twist of her lips, that wounded flicker she tries to drown in the burn of tequila. She throws back a shot, slams the glass down, and drags her tongue across her lower lip slowly, deliberate. My chest tightens.
And then she’s moving—hips swaying as she steps between my knees where I’m slouched in the booth, the air in here thick with smoke and sweat. Her hands brace onmy shoulders, nails grazing my shirt as she straddles me without asking, grinding against my lap with the rhythm of the music.
A lap dance. My lap. In front of everyone.
Her hair brushes my face, her perfume swallowing me whole as her hips roll down harder. She leans close, lips at my ear.
“You don’t want to dance? Fine. Then sit still and watch me.”
My hands clench into fists at my sides. I could shove her off. I should. But every swivel of her hips drags heat through me until I’m grinding my teeth just to keep from grabbing her and snapping the little game she thinks she’s playing.
She laughs low in her throat, a cruel little sound that digs under my skin, and whispers, “You like it, Kai. Don’t you dare lie.”
Her tongue drags across her bottom lip again—slow, deliberate—like she knows exactly what it does to me. She grinds harder, her hips rolling to the rhythm, and my cock aches against the zipper, so hard it feels like it might split me open.
I grit my teeth. “Scarlett… you shouldn’t be doing this.”
She only leans in closer, her breath warm on my ear, moving against me like the music belongs to us alone.
“Not here,” I snap, voice raw, low enough only she can hear. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? You want me to lose it in front of them?”
She smiles against my jaw like it’s funny, like I’m not about to break every rule we’ve been pretending to hold on to.
And I can’t take it anymore.
My hand finally lifts—fingers sliding around her waist, digging in tight. The second I touch her, she shivers, her body melting against me like she’s been waiting for it all night. I squeeze harder, pulling her down onto me, making her feel just how painfully hard I am, how close I am to snapping.
“You feel that?” I hiss, lips brushing her ear, every word a threat and a promise. “That’s what you do to me. That’s what you make me carry while you tease and grind like you’re untouchable. You shouldn’t be doing this, Scar… not here. Not anywhere.”
But my grip doesn’t loosen. It only tightens. Because now that I’ve touched her, I can’t stop.
Her hair drags across my cheek as she bends lower, her breath hot at my ear while her hips grind down slow, shameless. The crowd behind her disappears, the music dulls into a pulse under my skin—I only feel her. My jaw locks so tight it hurts, because if I move my hands even an inch I’ll tear her dress up around her waist and end this game in front of everyone.
She knows it. That’s why she’s smiling, that wicked little curl of her lips as she rocks harder against me, her body finding every ridge, every sharp edge she shouldn’t be anywhere near.
“Should’ve danced with me, Kai.” Her whisper is sugar-laced venom, dragging down my spine. “Now I’m dancing on you.”
My hands fist against the booth, nails digging into the cracked leather. She grinds again, sharper this time, and I can’t breathe. My throat burns with the words I don’t say—filthy promises, threats, confessions.
She leans back just enough to look at me, her eyes glittering in the dim light, daring me to break.
“You feel that?” she murmurs, cruel and soft. “You could’ve had it in the dark where no one would see. But you said no.”
Every muscle in me trembles with restraint. I’m seconds away from snapping.
Her words echo in my skull, rattling the last of my restraint loose. My hand moves before I can stop it, sliding up the back of her thigh, fingers slipping beneath her dress. She jolts against me, hips pressing harder like she’s daring me to go further, and I do—my hand curving over the heat between her legs.
