Chapter 62

He clenched his jaw, entrapping the growl that rumbled in the back of his throat, and danced with her. Let her feel the effect she had on him. He’d find a way to explain it away later. Not that she seemed to mind. Maybe she was as caught up in this pretense as he was, because she didn’t whirl around and accuse him with those beautiful eyes or tear into him with that sometimes sharp tongue. No. Instead, Michelle rubbed over him again...and again. Teasing him, arousing him, tempting him. Jesus, she was pure, condensed temptation.

A thick, erotic haze enshrouded his mind, settled in his limbs, weighing them down even as it buoyed him. This— her in his arms, inhaling her scent, her small body grinding against him —was his moment to let go. And he did. He could give himself this. He owed himself this.

She spun around, wound her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts, hips and thighs to him. Her hooded gaze met his, and even in the dark, he glimpsed... God, the glint of desire there. For him? Yes, he convinced himself. For him. Desire wrapped its hot, sticky fingers around his throat and squeezed, cutting off all ability to think, to process his actions, to consider the consequences.

He slid a hand up her back and tunneled his fingers into her hair, cupping her head, tilting it. His breath punched out of his lungs, and his heart hurled itself against his rib cage. To get to her? To escape him and spare itself from this colossal mistake he was on the verge of making? Didn’t matter. Not when his dick was in full control at the moment. He lowered his head, close enough that he tasted his error on her parted lips. Its flavor was regret and greed.

Fuck it.

He took her mouth.

Invaded it. Claimed it. Sexed it. Michelle stiffened, and her shock vibrated from her trembling frame right into his. He absorbed it, his arm around her waist, curling her into his body. A warning blared through the dense fog in his head, and he started to draw back.

Nick was not so far gone that he would force what wasn’t willingly offered. But then, she softened, melted into him, her lips opening wider, granting him more access. He groaned, closed his eyes. And fell.

Urgency and years of need didn’t allow him to be gentle or tender. Didn’t allow him to ease into this mating of mouths, or leisurely explore this territory that was both endearingly familiar and terrifyingly new. Being denied this—being denied her—for so long stripped him of his charm, of his control. Ruled by lust, by a soul-deep yearning and the knowledge that this would be his one and only taste of her, he delved into her. Twisted his tongue around hers and sucked and licked. He demanded. Demanded that she give in return. That she devour him just as eagerly, as desperately as he feasted on her.

And she did. God, did she.

Her nails bit into the skin on his neck as she tilted her head, met him thrust for thrust, chasing his tongue for more. She didn’t need to pursue him for what he wanted, needed, to give her. What he would beg for her to take. He stroked inside her, harder, deeper. And when she tangled with him, he couldn’t have stopped grinding his erection against her soft belly. Barely stifled the howling urge to hike her up in his arms, wind those legs around him and rock into that hot, soft place between her thighs. She emitted a whimper that echoed in his chest, his gut, his cock.

But it was her needy sound that snatched him back to the dance floor in the club.

What the hell am I doing? The question ricocheted off the walls of his skull. Jerking up his head, he broke off the kiss. He barely managed not to return for one last sample, but he licked his lips, savoring that last bit of her. Because it would have to sustain him.

“Nick,” Michelle whispered, slowly lowering her arms, resting her palms on his chest. She stared up at him, eyes wide but still a little hazy, lips swollen and damp from their kiss.

Slowly, he untangled his fingers from her hair and released her waist, stepping back. Placing much-needed space between them. As if that would help. It hadn’t in years.

“Is Stoner still standing at the bar watching us?” He clasped her hand in his and lifted it to his mouth, pausing just shy of brushing his lips over it. “Do we still have him as our captivated audience?”

The clouds in her gaze cleared, and her head jerked back in a slight flinch. She stared at him for a long, charged moment, then glanced over his shoulder.

“Yes, he’s still there.” She shifted her attention back to him, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. “So that kiss...

It was for your brother's benefit?”

I don’t give a fuck about my brother. I’ve been hungry for the taste of you for do damn long. And now that I’ve had your addictive, delicious flavor on my tongue, you might have ruined me more than I already am. The admission roared so loud in his head, he paused before replying, balancing himself, afraid he might have actually voiced it. When she continued to look at him instead of gaping in horror, relief poured through him.

He could do this. Pretend. It was all a part of the show. “Of course,” he lied, tugging her close and bending his head over hers. “Remember what I said about him wanting what he believes another man desires? If that doesn’t get his ass in gear, nothing will. And the fact that he’s still standing there instead of heading to the VIP section means he either wants, or is interested in wanting.”

“Jesus, Nick.” She touched a finger to her still-damp bottom lip.

And, dammit, he wanted to replace those fingers with his tongue. He took another step away from her, but her hand clutched in his prevented him from moving far. “It’s just a kiss, Michelle. A tool to get the job done. You want Stoner. I said I'd help you. I’m only holding up my end of the bargain.”