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“God,” he growls, and the gruff sound travels in waves to the bottom of my belly.
As the music continues, the voices in my head finally dissolve. The only persistence is the vibration rippling through my body when I remove my eyes from his, just to find them still on me when I return.
Lustfully removing myself from the ground, I finally face him.
My long brown hair, that’s been stuck in a messy ponytail, is ripped from its place on top of my head, becoming a much-needed prop in the pursuit my body needs to draw closer to him.
Flipping my head around, the strands of my hair slap the corners of his face, and a loud screech of the chair screams through the track, forcing Jett right underneath me.
Using my hair again, I repeat the same motion, whipping my body along with it, but two times is enough for him.
Strong hands catch my movement, my wide legs organically flowing over his widened ones.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, out of breath, but so enamored by the feeling of finally setting this version of myself free.
“Keep dancing,” he grumbles in my ear.
I’d usually fight like hell to stop. Give him my best smart-mouthed response, but I can’t find the words, or the will, to stop myself right now.
“I-I told you not to touch me,” I stutter, stumbling with my words and emotions.
“Do you really want me to stop touching you?”
No. God, no.
“Yes,” I exhale heavily, trying to convince the rest of me to buy into my words.
“Just keep dancing for me, baby.”
And I do.
The second verse comes and goes, yet I stay planted on his lap. My body’s feeling things that don’t correlate to the song, yet they’re so powerful that I’d be a fool not to surrender.
Surrender to him.
The last chorus hits, and the song fades into silence. My head finds a home on his shoulder, a desperate attempt to recalibrate after what the hell just happened.
Together, we sit, unmoving, until my bubble finally pops when he speaks, and I jerk myself out of his grasp.
“That didn’t look like a tired dancer to me.” He chuckles under his breath, still dazed from the fucking lap dance I just gave him.
“Call it hysteria,” I quip, backpedaling to gather my stuff for the final time.
Rising from the chair, he stalks toward me. The noticeable bulge in his pants catches my eye, but I snap my gaze back to his face before he can notice.
Too late for that.
When his towering frame hovers over mine, his decorated limb snakes up the front of my chest, making a path to my throat. A necklace I remember all too well rounds softly around my neck.
While it’s by no means suffocating, it doesn’t need to be. I was already having trouble breathing without it.
He stares into my eyes, saying nothing, but so fucking much all at once.
His flickering brown gaze dances all over my glistening face, just before his soft breath caresses my lips.
“Hysteria to you is ecstasy for me, Sofia baby. A drug that would take me lifetimes to get out of my system, and even then, I still wouldn’t be willing to give up my addiction.”
CHAPTER 21
