Page 79 of Captured Solace

“Dance with me, you fucking gorgeous thing,” he coaxed.

The vodka hit my brain and I let him pull me across the floor. From the corner of my eye, I saw Magnolia shoot me a concerned look, but I was too far gone to care. Beneath the flimsy lace between my thighs, I was aching and wet. Not for the man who was holding me now, his hands skimming over my barely dressed body. No, he was nothing more than a warm body to fill the space Viktor had left.

We moved together and I let my head fall back against his chest. The hard ridge of his arousal ground into my ass and my tipsy brain entertained the thought of letting him take me into the bathroom. If I was drunk enough, if he took me from behind, maybe I could pretend he was my husband.

He pushed his mouth up against my ear. “You come here alone, baby?”

“My friend is fucking the bartender,” I said. “But it’s okay, she deserves to have some fun. Her husband is dead.”

God, why was I such an idiot?

“Alright then,” he said. “I’m just asking because you look like you have a mark where you wore a wedding ring.”

I lifted my head. “Oh, I’m separated. Recently.”

“I don’t fuck other men’s wives, so are you sure?”

I turned around, sliding my hands up his broad chest. “Yeah, I’m sure. Are you going to fuck me? Because I’d let you.”

He brushed my hair back. “Alright then, get that fine, little ass to the bar and drink some water. I’m not fucking you until you’re sobered up a bit, okay?”

“I’m not drunk,” I yelled. It was true, the drink had rapidly run its course through my veins and I desperately wanted another shot.

“Do it for me, love,” he insisted.

I pouted, disappointed. I wanted reckless, euphoric drunk sex that tasted like going too far too fast. Would I regret it in the morning? Most likely. But tonight, I was going to pretend that tomorrow didn’t exist and there was nothing to think about but the throbbing need between my legs.

“Go on then,” he said, slapping me lightly across the ass.

I moved to the bar and leaned on the countertop. Andrew and Magnolia were gone, probably having a quickie in the backroom. I slipped behind the bar and found a bottle of water, lifting it to my lips and froze as hot breath brushed over the back of my neck.

“I hope you’re not thinking of fucking another man while wearing the panties I bought you.”

A lean, familiar hand slid down my side and cupped my ass, kneading it hard enough to send a spark of pain through my hip. My pulse quickened and a rush of heat moved through my body. Fingers pushed beneath my short skirt, exploring me, finding the edge of my panties and sliding beneath. There was a sharp intake of breath in my ear and then I felt my husband’s fingers sink into my pussy. Filling me like only he could.

I caught my breath, dropping the water bottle and gripping the edge of the counter. My ears roared with rushing blood and music and my body burned with the sensation of his long, lean fingers pressing in and out of my pussy. Fucking me until wetness dripped down the inside of my thigh.

“Do you use that line on all the women?” I managed.

“It works,” he said against my neck.

He spun me around and I gasped, pressing back against the counter. I hadn’t seen him in almost six weeks and he was different. The last shreds of domestication had fallen from him, leaving the eyes that connected with mine raw and burning like fire. He was leaner and tanned, his shirt open at the collar to expose the hairs on his chest. I stared at them, fascinated.

“But you know what else really gets women going?” he said.

“What?” I breathed.

“I’ve got a party trick that works every time,” he said, stepping back and drinking deeply from a bottle of whiskey.

“Oh really?”

He picked up a mini bottle of vodka and knelt in front of me. Even in my inebriated state I had the presence of mind to look around and make sure we couldn’t be seen. Then I turned back to him, watching his fingers trace up the inside of my thigh. He pulled my panties down, letting them pool at my heels, and nudged my thighs apart.

“Put your leg over my shoulder,” he ordered, his eyes glittering up at me.

I heard my heart pounding through the music throbbing in my ears. I wanted him so badly I felt I might come if I just pressed my thighs together. I obeyed. Despite the last six weeks, despite how he’d walked out the door and left me, I opened my legs to him.

It was always going to be this way, from here on out. He had me wrapped around his little finger and crushed beneath his heel. And I wanted it. This man had found his way under my skin and there was no getting rid of him.

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