Page 77 of Heart Sick

“Are you all right?” she finally asks, the tension between us only burning brighter.

“Show me,” I say with little emotion.

“Show you what?” She licks her bottom lip, and I clench my jaw in anger.

Did she use that mouth on those undeserving assholes?

This is my fault. I should have thought of another way.

“So help me God, show me what you did to those motherfuckers before I go out there and rip off their arms and beat them to death with them.”

A stunned gasp leaves Luna.

I know I’m being aggressive, but I can’t help it. I’m moments away from exploding. I’ve never felt this way before. It’s foreign to me and I wonder if that’s because I’ve never felt this way about another woman before.

Luna is a danger to me in every way possible and I don’t care.

When she reads my resolve, she turns on the clock radio and searches for a station. When she hears Mozart, she leaves it on. My eyes never leave her as she drags a chair to the middle of the room.

“Sit.”

I do as she orders.

Mozart sounds soft and when Luna begins to move to the music, I clench my hands into fists on my thighs to stop myself from touching her. She chose this piece, knowing my background, knowing what it would do to me.

Usually, I would be focusing on the changes in the music. But not now. Nothing exists but Luna, and when she slowly removes the coat, revealing a PU leather bra and matching short black skirt, I am her fucking slave.

She never breaks eye contact, watching me watch her as she shimmies out of the skirt. She has on a black silk thong. I have no idea where she got these clothes from, but that’s the least of my concerns as she bends down in front of me, showcasing her perfect peach-shaped ass.

She runs a hand up her leg, turning over her shoulder to watch me as she does. She isn’t grinding on me or gyrating distastefully. Luna moves like a dancer. The musician in me wants to write a thousand songs for her.

But the man in me has other ideas.

“Come here.”

She turns around, allowing me to eat her up from head to toe. The black monster heels she wears just adds to the appeal. She looks like a femme fatale with her black bobbed hair and decked out in her dominatrix attire, and I will happily drop to my knees and lick her feet.

She saunters over, using her body to accent the music. Piano has always roused desire in me. But throw Luna into the mix, and I am done for.

She dances in front of me, her strong muscled body that of a dancer. I wonder just who she is. How can I be so attracted to someone I know so little about? Someone who I don’t think I should trust.

But that’s always been the issue with Luna—she’s never felt like a stranger.

She turns around again and shakes her hips in time with the music. She becomes a note, in step with the beat, and his heart soon resonates with her movements. She moves from side to side, running her hands over her body.

I want to follow each stroke with my tongue.

I love that she has curves and that she embraces what was given to her and fucking owns it. She lowers herself onto my lap, her back to my front, and commences rolling her hips, her ass rubbing over my erection.

I don’t touch her because this is her show.

She gives me a lap dance to Mozart and I’ve never been more turned on in my life. She smells of strawberry kisses, and I want to steal them from her luscious mouth.

No wonder the bed is littered with money. Every man would happily hand over their entire savings to be near this goddess. However, I wonder how she got the keys to the cop car. Did she see them before the show?

“Did you do more than dance for them?”

Her silence will be the death of me.

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