Page 13 of Allegiant

The kind who’s so fucked up he doesn’t know which way is up anymore.

That’s no excuse for making Samson feel bad about himself. I vow here and now to never do so again. “I won’t, I promise. Everyone has rhythm in them. We just need to find it.”

“All right, go on,” he says, only a foot away from me. He folds his arms across his chest, and I reach out and undo them.

“Well, first you need to take off this jacket. You need room to move.”

He huffs but does as I say, tossing it onto the floor. I see the dagger there, right on his hip, but I don’t say anything about it. Just let it be.

Samson isn’t here to hurt me. I don’t know why I’m so sure about that, but I am. He had me at my most vulnerable and walked away.

My hands land on his hips, and I turn him toward the wall-to-wall mirror before us. He looks good standing in front of me, the fabric of his shirt pulled tight across his chest, the muscles in his arms almost edible. I like it.

A lot.

My hands drag up his arms, and I feel him shiver slightly.

“You have a tattoo, too,” I say, tracing the small black raven on his bicep. “Does it mean anything?”

“Just a family thing,” he says, and I let my fingers linger for a long moment before I retract them.

“I see.” Then I clear my throat and square my shoulders, my hands sliding down to his narrow waist.

“Let’s talk about you for a moment. I don’t know you well, but I think you enjoy dancing,” I say, and Samson’s eyes narrow. I wince internally at the memory. I’m spiraling more and more each day. Every moment I’m less myself.

I don’t know if I’ll like who I become at the end of it all. If it ever ends.

“You do, don’t you?” I prompt with a smile.

“Yeah,” he says, almost petulantly. I can’t help but smile wider. How often does Samson open up to anyone? I’m willing to bet it’s almost never.

That suspicion has the guilt over teasing him deepening. Didn’t think it could get much worse, to be honest. What was I thinking?

That touching him again, spending time in close quarters with him, might be your undoing.

I pull myself back to the present and nod firmly. “Well, that’s what’s most important, then. Like the old adage goes, dance like no one is watching. Don’t let anyone, even me, take that away from you.”

He cocks his head slightly and gives a small nod. “Yeah. All right.”

“So, let’s start with your rhythm. You’re a little offbeat.” Or a lot. But I don’t say that aloud. That’s not what we’re about here at Rhythm. It’s not what I’m about. What I used to be about.

You keep letting the ghosts catch up.

Well, yes. That and being unsure whether I want another distraction with Samson. Given I’m still not over the last one, it doesn’t seem like the greatest idea I’ve ever had. But here I am, doing it anyway.

I select a simple song, one that has a strong, easy rhythm to follow. It thuds through the speakers, matching my steps as I return to him. His eyes never leave me, slowly moving up my body from my toes all the way to my hair.

I wish I weren’t wearing such form-fitting clothes, because my hard cock is obvious in these leggings, but then again…he did see my ass and my dick the other night. He swallowed my cum.

I guess I just don’t want it to be distracting. Not this time. I want him to dance. I want him to learn something. But it’s going to be hard since I’m hard.

He knows it. I know it.

Fuck.

“All right, here we go.” I step in behind him and settle my hands on his hips once more. “Clap along with the beat.”

He meets my stare in the mirror and arches an eyebrow, but I ignore it. He thinks he’s too good for this, but I’m saying this is where we start—it’s where anyone does when rhythm doesn’t come naturally to them.