Page 77 of Broken Vows

It’s clear she’s danced like this before, and I have to rein in the flicker of jealousy at the thought of another man touching her the way I am now.

Her sweater slips, exposing her shoulders. Underneath the thin strap of her dress is that creamy, pale skin of hers which is begging for my teeth to sink into it. I haven’t even touched her yet and I’m aching for my hands to be up that skirt, dragging my fingertips across her skin until she trembles.

Jesus Christ. Focus.

The ballroom light streaming into the room highlights the sparkle in her spring-green eyes, reminding me of the first day I met her all those years ago. Those eyes had sucked me in and refused to let go. Seven years later, they have the same hold.

Ever since I told her everything about my dad, the investigation, and Anna, we talk about everything. But there’s one crucial piece that I still haven’t confessed.

And I never fucking will.

She will never know that I remember her from Boston.

I’ve let this lie go on for too long and I can’t take it back now.

My hand rests at the curve of her waist as her small, impossibly soft palm slides effortlessly against mine and the other rests on my shoulder. There’s a sliver of space between us, but the heat radiating from her feels like velvet needles against my skin. I will not break. I will not break. I draw in a careful breath and pray she doesn’t notice.

The song ends and another begins, but I don’t release her. The curves of her body, the smooth skin of her arms, the freckles dusting her nose and cheeks and her scent alone are weapons. She licks her lips, slow and deliberate to grab my attention, and it works because my mouth goes dry. I know exactly what she’s doing. She loves games.

I hate that it’s working.

My grip tightens at her waist—just a fraction. A challenge. I pull her closer, testing, and feel the answering heat of her palm move down my bicep and up like a warning shot.

The air around us becomes suffocating. Her breath stutters. Color blooms across her cheeks. Her thumb strokes lazily on my shoulder. She looks up at me through thick dark lashes and nibbles her lip. It’s subtle enough that no one would notice, but I fucking do. Games. She’s dancing along the edge, seeing how long she can hold before she burns.

Fine. If she wants to play, I’ll play right back.

But the way she’s dismantled me these past weeks, like her body was handmade for me, leaves me dangerously close to losing. Her tits brush against my chest and my heart pounds. Before I can stop myself, I tug her in, hard, and she exhales softly.

Her body melts into mine and the way she moves, the way she breathes… fuck. A subtle tug lifts my shirt, just enough to bare skin and I wait for her fingers to find their target. But she only smooths it back down into place and my skin is burning with the need for her touch. Anyone watching should probably look away because I’m about two seconds away from slamming her against the nearest wall and reminding her who’s in charge.

I grip tighter. So does she. My fingers trace slow, deliberate patterns down her back. She presses against my cock. That single move nearly undoes me.

“There’s a private staff room down the hall,” she whispers. “If you’re ready to admit defeat.”

Then she’s gone, leaving me on the dancefloor, horny and frustrated, watching her hips sway with just a little too much intention.

A wolfish smile curls across my mouth as I follow her into the small, dimly lit break room. Besides the table in the center of the room and a few chairs, the room is empty. She locks the door, leans back against the wall, and looks at me with a dirty, smoldering gaze.

“Well, well,” she says, voice sugar-laced and sharp. “Look who couldn’t help himself.”

I don’t care that I’ve lost.

Two strides put me in front of her. My palms hit the wall on either side of her head, caging her in. Her lips twitch into a devilish grin—unafraid. “I’m not going to break, no matter what you do.”

She peers up at me with feigned innocence. “I have no idea what you mean.”

I lean in just enough for the words to land where she’ll feel them. “You know exactly what I mean.” I slam my leg between hers, and the soft whimper that leaves her luscious mouth drives me insane. She grips my hips, tugs me in tighter. “You and your fucking games,” I husk and glare down into those wide eyes, biting back a grin. “You feed off this, don’t you?”

She lifts her chest, rocks her pussy against my thigh, and my focus is gone.

This is what she does. And God, I fucking love it. A pounding grows in my head, in my ears, my vision blackens. I grab one of her wrists and pin it to her side. I need her to stop moving against me, stop looking at me. She peeks at my cock and that fucking smirk of hers… I yank the other one and pin it to her other side.

Her smirk grows, and then she lifts herself onto her tiptoes and drags her tongue across my lips.

I have no self-control. I drop my hands and grip her hair at the nape of her neck, forcing her head up. My hand seizes the fleshy part of her inner thigh, my defiant cock screams for release. “Is this what you want?”

If she’s going to play, then I’ll make her pay for it. She’ll want this as badly as I do, she’ll need this as much as I do. She’ll ache for it, crave it, be driven half-mad needing this fix the same way I am.