Thick Love (Thin Love, #2)(11)
“He’s still watching.” She didn’t move her face from my touch, but I glanced to her right, seeing Ironside’s frown and the way the * moved his chin at her as though he expected her to keep moving.
“Let him watch. I don’t give a shit.” Around us the music continued, the speakers loud and the pulse of the bass weaving into the small room like overwrought perfume. She probably didn’t know she was swaying in time with the music. Her movements seemed unconscious, like her body couldn’t stop the desire to let the music move her. “You like this song?” The briefest nod and then I was treated to that beautiful smile again. “Show me.”
There was something in her eyes then, a small flicker that she tried to hold back. She battled with herself, with how she wanted to move, maybe with the idea that she was sitting across my lap, my hands resting on her hips like it was the most natural thing in the world. Those soft features hid nothing and I could see the hesitation, the worry fracturing across her face.
“You don’t have to worry about me.” I pulled her closer, not understanding why I did it, not thinking about why I shouldn’t. She drew me in, that soft skin, the faint hint of a scent I didn’t recognize coming from her hair and I couldn’t stop myself from wanting her, from desperately wanting to see how the music would affect her. “Show me what the music does to you.”
She adjusted, paused once then slowly started to move against me, working her hips, closing her eyes as though she’d only be able to manage this intimate dance if she didn’t look at me. Her skin was softer than I imagined, felt like something that I would easily make filthy if I kept messing with it.
“That’s it…” I tried, impressed with the way she moved, a little overwhelmed by the soft texture of her skin and the subtle brush of her hair against my face. She let me rest my hands lower on her body, right against the lace of her thong and when she stilled, fingers trembling, I whispered against her ear. “Still pretending. I promise.”
But I wasn’t sure that was true. My senses were fully engaged—the feel of her body against mine, the smooth whisper of her hair on my cheek, the tempting scent of her perfume—those sensory lures all blended, made me hungry and eager, and just then I didn’t care if Ironside was still watching. This had not happened in a long time. My body had not allowed me these sensations but I didn’t question them. I didn’t examine them. I was too caught in the woman and the slow slide of her body against mine.
After over a year, despite my guilt, those self-appointed punishments, my body ignored the thoughts weighing me down. That phantom voice was finally silent, quieted by the image of this beautiful woman gyrating on me, and my body stopped listening to the protests of that scared, lost kid I’d once been. The one I’d let control me for too damn long.
She offered me a quick glance, one that was closed off and guarded before she held her weight on her knees, shaking harder than ever, rubbing herself right against my dick. When she brushed her fingers across my face, over my mouth, I let her, didn’t pull away, forgetting that I wasn’t supposed to enjoy this. That I shouldn’t be touching her at all.
“Beautiful,” I started, closing my eyes when her breath moistened my bottom lip and she rested further back, a low, satisfied moan leaving her throat when I lowered my fingers on her hips. The sensation was potent, made me drunk and I did what I wanted for once, what I needed. Ironside had gone. The window was covered with a dark curtain, but I still kept up the show. Only now, I wasn’t acting. This wasn’t a performance. “God…who…who are you?” No one had managed to make me want like this, make me crave like this in a long time.
But she didn’t answer. She was wrapped up in the music, letting it move through her as though it controlled her. The sounds she made, that sweet, eager groan from her throat when I breathed against her bare stomach was too much. I couldn’t help myself. Not for another damn second.
“Shit…I…” My mind spun and the confusion of feeling guilt and shame and lust and desperation had me stuttering, unable to keep my hands from stretching over her flat stomach. She didn’t stop me, didn’t protest when my fingers touched the top of her thong. “I need to touch you.”
Only for the night.
That’s all it would be. One night. One moment, and fixating on that one small slip of time allowed my mind and my body to agree, for once, to forget that I shouldn’t feel this good, that I didn’t deserve this, that touching something this beautiful, this sweet, had almost destroyed me.
She moved over me, exulting my senses, exposing emotions that I thought I’d buried deep, and for just those few sweet, obliterating minutes, a beautiful stranger made me feel what no one had since Emily.
“Lower, please” she asked and I was too caught up, too turned on to deny her a thing or to stop myself from feeling what that small, breathy word did to my body.
I touched her. Fingers sliding under her slowly, gazing on her face when I pushed past that thong, to the warm, wet, so f*cking sweet cleft of her * and yes, shit yes she gave back to me what I thought I’d lost, her trembling body weaving some kind of magic over my own that fogged my mind, had my hands gripping skin, my fingers clutching flesh, straining upwards to meet each grind of her beautiful body against me.
“There…yes.” And I let the dancer use me, her body over mine, rubbing against me, making me needy, desperate and all the while I watched her, head thrown back, fingers digging into my shoulders, while I touched her deeper than I had ever touched anyone ever before.