He nods, his penetrating gaze assessing my uncharacteristic state-- and probably looking for the nonexistent hickey, then observes, “You’re doing pretty fucking good if that’s the case.”
“That’s what Nolan said,” I reply, but looking into his aqua eyes I let some of the need swimming inside me leak out.
“It’s alright, Angel,” Donovan promises, tapping my chin with his knuckle. “We’ll take care of you.”
I issue him a pouty crinkle of my nose and comment, “You think angels are assholes. That’s not how pet names work.”
A rueful smile tugs at his full lips, as he murmurs, “You may not be an asshole, but you’re about to be fucking torture real soon.”
“Don’t dance with me then if you’ll hate it so much,” I huff, pulling my hand away from his shoulder and letting it hang limp down Nolan’s back. “Go back to your ditzy cheerleader.”
Nolan laughs darkly and shouts, “Different kind of torture, Callie love. And D’s practically a sadomasochist. He likesthiskind of torture.”
Donovan opens his mouth to reply, but instead, he licks his lips, grins suggestively, and shakes his head.
I don’t know exactly what to do with that, so I decide to try to take in the room Nolan has lead us into. I’ve known him for nearly a month and I’m still discovering new places in the estate.
It looks like the Campbells have converted their indoor/outdoor swimming pool into a dance floor. The water is covered in plexiglass with weighted balls of light resting on the pool floor. Fake fog rolls down along the waterfall that feeds the pool, rippling over the dance floor and out onto the open patio. A DJ with a massive stage is set up to one side, giant speakers acting like watchtowers on either side of him. Multi-colored lights hang from the ceiling, flashing and bouncing along the rustic rock walls. With the decorations, the room looks equal parts haunting grotto found deep in an abandoned castle and an elitist nightclub.
Nolan slips through the crowd straight for the center of the dance floor, leaving so many that call his name wanting, while Donovan ensures that no one succeeds in trying to join us.
The music playing is a gritty rock song with heavy guitar riffs and the vocalist singing how he fantasizes about a girl and if she’d give him a chance, they’d “Fire Up the Night.” Lost in the crowd of other partygoers, there’s an almost fevered dream quality to this moment that whispers permission for every dark desire.
My heart pulses with the beat as I slide slowly down Nolan’s body to my feet. Donovan presses close behind me, his large hands seeking my hips, and the intensity of their nearness already has me breathless.
Nolan leads one of my arms around Donovan’s neck, our fingers woven together as he holds my hand there, murmuring hotly in my ear, “You’re safe here. Don’t fight it. Let go.”
My whole body throbs with those dangerous words, the need inside me bursting, and before I can think too much my free hand traces up his chest, resting over his heart. His beats at the same tempo as mine, and for the first time, I wonder if biting me does more than quench his hunger.
“I, um, don’t really know how to dance past swaying in a circle,” I admit, swallowing heavily.
Guiding my hips to roll with his, Donovan reassures, “Don’t worry. We’ll do all the work.”
“Do what feels right,” Nolan adds, his right knee snaking between my legs while his free hand slides down my side to the hollow of my hip.
Right. Considering the song just suggested ripping off all our clothes that might not be the best suggestion.
Nolan forgot his coat and wig upstairs, so now they truly look like a set, one dark-haired, one light, both in nothing but leather pants and sweat. The heat of their bodies ignites an intoxicating mixture of masculine scents, Donovan’s musk and leather blending with Nolan’s cologne and engine grease, and it leaves my head spinning.
My breathing grows heavy, and my costume once again feels too tight. Heat ripples across my skin feeling Donovan pressed tight against my back, my ass cradled against his groin. Unconsciously, I rock against Nolan’s thigh between my legs, a growing ache blooming inside me.
There’s open envy cut across many faces watching us dance. Hard gazes taking in every place they touch me and I touch them, how their hips are synced to thrust against me with every lust filled beat. Without really trying and not wholly sure how I got here, it’s obvious that I’m living many of their deep seated fantasies.
Taking in the crowd, I quickly spot Gina in a small circle surrounded by her Barbie collection of followers. She’s dressed as none other than a sexy witch—her waist length black hair streaked with purple to match the colors in her small witch hat, mini skirt, and corseted top that’s cinched to flatter her already tiny waist. Her makeup is flawless with a heavy smoky look around her obnoxiously large brown eyes and black lipstick on her full lips. Add in her insanely tall black high heels, and every facet of her speaks of runway model potential.
However, the look is humorously ruined by the ugly scowl that mares her face when she witnesses me sandwiched between Nolan and Donovan. She’s so furious that she stops dancing just to glare at me, her dance partner shrugging her off to go find someone else. I smirk and wink, my hand moving from Nolan’s chest to his neck and pulling his face closer to mine. Her eyes bulge at my boldness, and there’s a clear rage at the idea the rumors might be true.
Donovan laughs darkly, apparently seeing Gina too, because, with perverse pleasure, he says, “Witch Bitch looks angry. We should step it up.”
Nolan follows my line of sight, and a taunting smile curls his lips.
“Let us know if it becomes too much,” he warns me, his lips so close I can feel them against my ear.
Nolan drops low, his hands following the lines of my body while my free hand grasps his shoulder, the other still wrapped around Donovan’s neck. His head rests against my stomach with his face upturned toward mine. His arctic blue eyes burn with a promise that makes everything inside me tighten, and I bite my lip to keep from making inappropriate noises. With our eyes lock, he smirks and slowly rises, following the seductive roll of the music. I burn with the sensation of every inch of his body gliding up mine.
He traces one hand up my arm, covering my hand around Donovan’s neck. His other hand slides down my naked thigh, his gaze following where he touches me, then hooks my knee around his hip. Donovan quickly drops his hands lower, one near my ass to support my raised leg and the other slipping underneath the leather strips of my skirt to explore my exposed skin. Both of them have managed a bent knee between my legs now, and the three of us are pressed so close, that I’m more sitting on them than standing, keeping me from having to balance on one foot.
Before the song can fully end, the DJ blends it into a new melody that’s more techno based but similar in idea to the first. This one skips from fantasy to reality, informing the girl in question that he’s more than interested in anything she’d like to do.
