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I slam my heel into the ground to stop myself from walking over there and showing her exactly what teasing gets her.
I want to smack her ass until my hand stings and her cheeks redden. And then I would run my fingers between her legs, and I know I would find her soaking wet for me.
It has been a long, long time since I had such a visceral physical reaction to a woman. Or ever really. Which is surprising, even to myself, considering how many women I’ve slept with since signing with the Nighthawks. And, well, long before that.
Slamming my eyes shut, I grab my hardened dick through my slacks and adjust myself so I’m not riding the zipper so hard. I blow out a slow, steady breath as I open my eyes.
My pants are immediately too tight again when my gaze adjusts to the flashing lights and locks with the eyes shining behind a white-and-gold mask. Little Dove licks her lips before sucking the bottom one into her mouth before spinning back around to the bar.
As much as I try to resist, I take a step toward her, then another and another. When I’m almost in reach of her silky skin, her friend drags her away. She watches me the entire time, smiling, until the crowd fills our vision.
Good.
I hope she stays out of sight, far away from me. Because she and I are not ingredients for a fairy tale. We’re a recipe for a fucking disaster. And I’ve never wanted to be ruined so badly in my life.
Running my hand down my face, I sigh and spin around, looking for the group.
They aren’t hard to find. This group of guys, all six foot or taller and built like Captain America, tends to stand out in any crowd.
I walk over to them, instantly regretting not getting a drink or taking ten shots at the bar.
“You good?” Reed asks, leaning away from Charlotte and toward me.
I nod once. “Yeah, I’m good.”
So fucking far from good. But I know whatever feelings are coursing through me are probably better left untouched and unexplored.
The song comes to an end, and thankfully, my group needs another drink, and we head to the bar. Kos buys us two rounds of shots, which I quickly down, hoping to get Little Dove off of my mind.
But my eyes can’t stop scanning for her, looking for her, and it’s starting to piss me off. I don’t even know this girl.
Why the hell am I obsessing over her five seconds after we met?
I order two more shots for the group. They can handle it—well, everyone, except Laura probably. She’s the world’s biggest lightweight.
Slamming the shot glass down, I turn around and lean back against the bar on my elbows, again looking for that pink hair in the bland sea of everyone else. Immediately, I find her, spotting swishing gold fabric. I have a direct line of sight to her, which doesn’t help me not to stare.
It looks like Little Dove is a woman of her word. She did exactly what she’d said she would. She found a good, nice boy. A boring and inexperienced boy.
I watch them, swaying, grinding, reacting to the music. She hasn’t caught me watching yet, so I enjoy my view unabashedly. Her body is free, weightless, moving with no care in the world. It’s breathtaking. She’s breathtaking.
I can’t help but chuckle at Mr. Nice Guy’s moves. He’s not the worst dance partner in the world, but he’s got to be a close second. I know she isn’t enjoying herself—at least not in the way I could make her.
He isn’t changing his rhythm, isn’t teasing her in any way. Not running his fingertips over her bare skin, blowing hot breath into her ear while whispering how amazing she feels against him.
And she is well aware of his shortcomings. Her back is barely arched, not craving his touch against her ass. She isn’t flushed, no red speckles on her chest or neck.
I wonder how red she would turn if I whispered into her ear how perfect her ass was, how good it felt to have her pressed against me. I wonder how she’d react if I slid my hand under the side of that dress and grabbed her breast in the middle of the dance floor.
Would she be too embarrassed and run? Would she look at me with hooded eyes and bite that plump bottom lip? Would she let me show everyone in this room that she was off-limits to anyone but me? Would she beg for more?
Fuck, I shouldn’t have worn jeans tonight. But I never get this hard without even touching someone. Let alone just thinking about her and watching her while she dances with someone else.
But if I had worn anything less constricting, then every person in this room would have had a perfectly clear idea of exactly what Little Dove was doing to me.
I can’t help the smirk that breaks free, forming on my lips, as I watch him grab her hips a hair too low, awkwardly low. My body is vibrating, needing to go to her.
Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it.
