Never Standing Still (The Never Duet #1)(45)

Every part of me was buzzing with his energy and I was pressed up against him, soaking it up, relishing it.

When we stepped to the beat of the music, our hips punctuated the syncopation. His leg wound up between my knees as we continued in our electric circle.

“Are we dancing yet?” he whispered in my ear.

“Yes,” I stammered, dropping my cheek against his chest. The song grew louder, the singing fuller, more soulful. I felt the music in my bones, but couldn’t tell if it was the song that had my heart thundering in my chest or the way Riot’s hips pressed into mine as our dance continued, or the way his hands were no longer staying still, but wandering across my back. One hand traveled dangerously close to the curve of my bottom, the other tangled in the hair that fell down my back.

I gasped at the feeling of his hand owning me. He knew he was breaking me down, cracking away the glass walls I’d put up around me. With every sway of our hips, with every breath I felt feather across the skin of my neck, I was sure he could feel me crumbling. I knew that after this I wouldn’t be able to push him away again. I knew he wouldn’t let that happen. I was never going back to that place. Not after I knew, for sure, what it felt like to be pressed against him like this.

I gripped his shoulders hard when his hands pulled my hips into him, pulled me closer to him. His thigh between my legs, my heat burning up against him, was overwhelming.

“Riot,” I gasped, wanting to bite into his shoulder to keep myself level, but resisting.

“Kalli,” was all he said in response. I’d heard him say my name a thousand times. That time, that moment with his hands on me and every part of me throbbing for him, my name falling from his mouth was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.

His hands slid up my back, over my shoulders, up my neck to cradle my face. My eyes stayed closed. I was afraid to open them and see him, worried he wasn’t as affected by this as I was.

“Look at me, Kal,” he demanded and I couldn’t refuse. My eyes opened slowly, and I was met with eyes that looked just as electrified as I felt. “Stand still with me,” he said just before his mouth came softly to press against mine. I couldn’t help but cry into him for everything I felt with just one touch of his lips on mine. His hands were grasping at me, pulling on any part of me he felt, and I just let myself go with him.

“Do you feel that, Kalli? That rope between us?” He pressed those words into my neck, saying them between kisses laid on my skin there, my head tilting back to let him have his way. “I’ll tie you up so tight, baby.”

I knew what he was asking, what he wanted from me, and in the back of my mind I was in agreement. I wanted so badly to let go of all my fears and let him keep me safe. But the most prominent thought, the one I could grasp firmly a hold of, was that I wanted him to take me. I wanted him naked and I wanted him over me.

He must have sensed the urgency in my kiss because the next thing I knew, Riot had lifted me up, my legs wrapping around his waist, and he was walking through the bar. My hands were on the back of his neck, and his were both planted firmly on my ass. I kissed him with all the reckless abandon four beers allowed me, biting down gently on his bottom lip.

He growled through the kiss, attacking me back with his own teeth. The kiss was wet and sloppy, but it was also hot and unrestrained. It was everything I needed in a kiss at that moment and then some.

I felt him lean over and then I was on a hard surface. My hands went down and my fingertips rubbed against the unmistakable felt of the pool table. Once I was safely atop, his hands roamed free, moving anywhere and everywhere they wanted: around my waist, to my thighs, up my belly, under my shirt, over my bra. They were everywhere and nowhere, weightless and heavy, feather-soft and rough.

He climbed up and over me, forcing me to lie back, and my hands naturally found their way under his shirt to grip the hard muscle there. My legs instinctually found their way around his waist. As my legs captured him, he lowered his hips and our centers were deliciously pressed together, the friction there maddeningly and intensely arousing.

“You’re lying to yourself if you can’t admit you want me,” Riot whispered against my skin as he ran his mouth over me. “Everything about your body right now gives you away. The way your breath is panting,” he said, pressing a kiss just above my collarbone. “The way your fingers are digging into my skin.” His mouth moved up and he nibbled on my earlobe as I tried to stifle a moan. “Even the way you smell right now tells me you want me,” he said right against the shell of my ear.

I swallowed hard and tried to keep an even keel, tried not to give in to him so easily, tried not to forget the reasons we could never be, even if he was right and we was all I really wanted.

“Do you want me?” he asked, his hand skimming over my breast. All I wanted was for the layers of fabric between us to disappear. I wanted him inside me, all over me, around me—any way I could get him. And I didn’t have the self-control to lie out of self-preservation anymore.

“Yes,” I rasped.

“Yes?” he asked, running his nose up from the hollow of my neck all the way up my chin.

“Yes. But not here.” I looked in his eyes and silently pleaded with him to get me back to the house, take me in a bed, and make me forget I had a million reasons to send him away.

“Let’s go,” he said, swiftly lifting off me and grabbing both my hands, pulling me off the table and to a standing position in one strong jerk. He held one of my hands, and strode toward our table, pulling me along behind him. He walked past the table, swooping in to grab my purse and jacket, but never stopping, and continuing toward the door.