Wicked (A Wicked Trilogy #1)(55)

Swaying to the music, I bit down on my lip when Ren's arm crept around my waist and hauled me back against him.

"Careful," he said, his nose grazing my cheek. "I know damn well he hasn't forgotten that face of yours."

I had no idea if that was just a statement, a compliment, or an insult, but then his hand slid across my stomach, his fingers expanding, and as I danced, I realized this position was a bad idea. Every slight move of my hips sent a jolt of shivery awareness through me. His other hand rested on my hip again, and as he finally started to move behind me, finding the rhythm I'd set, I struggled to remember to breathe.

This . . . this was too much, and yet I didn't pull away. I didn't put distance between us.

Our bodies were virtually one, and the feel of him against my back turned my insides into molten lava that simmered and then flared hotly the moment I felt his mouth, wet and warm against my neck, just below my ear. Ren didn't move those decadent lips. He waited for my reaction, and each second that ticked by I was losing myself to the shadows, to the way we moved against one another, and to the act it simulated.

He pressed a kiss against my fluttering pulse, and another gasp escaped me. My eyes drifted shut as he rained a tiny path of sweet, brief kisses along the length of my throat. This was just pretend. I kept telling myself that as his thumb moved in a slow circle just below my breasts. We were pretending. That was all. But my body didn't recognize that. My breasts ached, and the area between my thighs pulsed. Arousal hummed through my body.

When I opened my eyes, I saw a couple standing across from us. Both were human, and they too were pressed so closely there was no telling where one body ended and the other began. Their mouths were fused together, and his hand was under the skirt of her dress.

God, I wanted Ren to touch me like that. Though that would be entirely wicked and completely wrong, the mere thought of him doing that caused my back to arch and my bottom to press back against him.

Air left my lungs in an unsteady rush. I felt him, and knew at once what I saw in his stare was real. He was not uninvolved in this. He was hard and thick against my lower back as my hips rolled against him.

This was getting out of control.

Ren's hand on my hip moved, inching down my thigh. The tips of his fingers brushed the bare skin of my left leg, and I shuddered. There was no hiding it, no mistaking it. His mouth trailed back up my throat.

"He's still at the table," he whispered, barely audible over the music, the whimpers echoing around us, the sound of my pounding heart.

I opened my mouth, but he caught the lobe of my ear between his teeth, and my words were lost in a moan. He chuckled, and I wanted to hate him for that, but my senses were alive, sending heat through my veins.

His hands were on the move again. The one on my stomach had inched up, his thumb smoothing along the underswell of my breast. Damn that bra, because it proved a formidable barrier, but I could feel the tips of my breasts hardening, and the ache grew stronger. My breath was coming in short pants, and I wasn't sure if we were dancing anymore or just grinding on one another.

My wild gaze flickered to where the ancient was and saw that Ren had not lied. Tiny, delicious knots formed low in my belly when his hand slipped under the hem of my skirt, causing me to jerk against him, losing the rhythm. I gripped his arm, my nails digging into his skin.

Ren waited.

Because I was obviously losing my mind, I didn't pull his hand away, and that was all the permission he needed. His hand swept up my thigh. There was fire in my blood, incensed by the deep sound that rumbled out of Ren from behind me.

His breath danced over the slope of my neck and then my jaw. He pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth as his chest rose and fell heavily against my back.

"Honored," he whispered.

My heart stuttered blindly. Almost as if I was somewhere else, I watched through a haze as the ancient who could recognize who and what I was stalked across the club toward the exit. He was leaving. We were safe, and it was time to stop this, but his fingers were so close, skimming the crease of my thigh, and I couldn't ever remember feeling like this—like I couldn't breathe. Ren cupped me with his hand, and my entire body reacted to the intimate touch.

The thin scrap of lace was no protection. His hand was hot, and as he pressed his palm against the spot he just seemed to know, against the bundle of nerves, I thought I saw stars.

This was insane.

But I burned for his touch—for him. Thoughts of the fae and the ancients fell away. Being distracted as we were was so incredibly dangerous and ridiculously stupid, but as I held on to his forearm, holding his hand there, I shook with a need I didn't even fully understand.

"Fuck," he cursed. "I want to make you come. Right here. Right now."

The words jarred me into reality, but his fingers had found that spot, brushing over the damp stretch of panties and dragging out a bolt of sharp pleasure. The knot in my belly tightened as he trailed his finger back and forth. Desire clouded all sense of rationale.

"Tell me yes," he ordered huskily. "Tell me yes and I'll do whatever you want. Anything you want. Just let me do this."

Shocked by his words—shocked by the way I rode his hand and by how badly I wanted him, I knew I had to end this because of—because of reasons. But I was urging him on, pressing myself against him, wishing deep inside that he'd slip one of those long fingers under my panties. My gaze danced over the club.