Page 16 of Every Eligible Man

"I'm quite a person."

He dances chaotically, unpredictably, with a complete disregard for what the steps are supposed to be. He leads me into turns that shouldn't work but somehow do, dips me at unexpected moments just to hear me yelp, and at one point lifts me clean off the floor and spins me around like we're at a country fair instead of a royal ball.

"You're insane," I gasp, laughing, clinging to his shoulders.

"Absolutely." He sets me down and immediately pulls me close, no space between us, just heat and chaos and his body pressed against mine. "But here's the thing about insane. We don't have limits. We don't get tired. And we definitely don't care about propriety."

His hands slide down to my ass and squeeze. Just grabs me like he owns me, right there in front of the entire ballroom.

"Wreck," I start.

He rolls his hips against mine, grinding with absolutely zero shame. "Tell me something. Have you ever had a man make you come in public? Just from friction and dirty talk while two hundred nobles pretended not to watch?"

"No."

"Want to?"

I should say no. I should be appalled. But I'm so wet at this point that my thighs are slick with it, and his complete lack of filter is doing something to my brain. Something unhinged. Something feral.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Oh." His grin turns wicked. "I'd dare anything. But if you want me to behave.”

His hand slides around to cup between my legs through the silk. Just for one searing instant. Long enough for me to feel the pressure against my aching clit. Long enough for a moan to escape my lips before I can stop it.

"You're going to have to make me."

I grab his wrist before I can stop myself, but I don't pull his hand away. I should. I should slap him. I should have him arrested.

Instead, I hold him there, letting the heel of his palm grind against me for one more devastating second.

"You're a menace," I breathe.

"Thank you. I practice daily." He removes his hand on his own, looking far too pleased with himself. "But I think you need more than one menace tonight. I think you need all three of us. Different flavors, different skills, one very satisfied lady.”

The music fades. But Wreck doesn't let go.

Instead, he turns me gently to face the room. Where the other two are already approaching.

The crowd has been whispering throughout, scandalized and fascinated in equal measure, but when all three masked strangers surround me on the dance floor, the whispers become a roar.

I don't care.

I can't care.

Not when I'm surrounded by three bodies, three different kinds of heat, three men who look at me like I'm the only thing in the room worth looking at.

The orchestra strikes up something new. Slower. Darker. A waltz that sounds like it was written for exactly this kind of disaster.

The big one, Ash, steps up behind me. One massive hand settles on my hip. The pretty one, Slade, appears at my left side, fingers intertwining with mine. Wreck stays at my right, arm looping around my waist.

And we begin to move.

It shouldn't work. Three men, one woman, a dance floor full of horrified aristocrats. But somehow, impossibly, we move together like we've been doing this our whole lives.

Ash leads from behind, his body guiding mine with that same effortless control. Slade matches his steps, adding flourishes that make me spin between them. Wreck improvises, filling the gaps, always there when I need a hand to steady me.

I'm surrounded. Consumed. Overwhelmed in the best possible way.