Page 120 of Relapse

She laughed. “I know.”

We were quiet for the rest of the song, dancing awkwardly—if you could call it dancing. We were facing each other, a little less than an arm’s length apart, simply moving with the beat as best we could.

We weren’t really dancing.

But I didn’t mind either way.

She was happy and so was I. My head was light, floating somewhere above my shoulders, and I couldn’t stop smiling. Everything felt so good—the air on my skin, the sweat cooling on my neck, Delane’s presence radiating in front of me.

The music kicked up, and Chelsea strutted towards us. She looked almost cartoonish, with the way she approached from across the dance floor, and I had to keep myself from laughing. She had her sights set on Delane and I, and I knew we were in for something.

“Uh oh,” I mumbled. “Trouble.”

Delane didn’t hear me, but followed the direction of my gaze. “Shit,” she muttered.

“Okay, OKAY, I’ve seen enough of this,” Chelsea yelled as she grew close. She pointed an accusatory finger in my direction. “You,” I flinched, but then the finger quickly shifted to Delane. “Dance with her.”

“Chels, go away,” Delane complained.

In her free hand, Chelsea held a drink that she thrusted into Delane’s grasp.

“If you don’t dance with this fine piece of ass,” Chelsea smirked, “I will.”

I tensed because now it was awkward. I didn’t know what to say to that. Delane fumed beside me.

“You want me to dance with him?” Delane exploded, throwing the drink back in one gulp. “Fine!” she said, shoving the empty cup back at Chelsea and carting me to the center of the dance floor.

I followed behind her quickly, my legs unsteady but still propelling me forward. I was terrified that Chelsea would remain true to her threat, so anything to get further from her would be best. The room tilted slightly with each step I took, the lights made the dance floor look liquid beneath my feet.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” I told her once we reached our destination.

She smirked cutely at me. “I know.”

My heart raced, thrumming so hard I could swear it was about to escape my chest. My high was peaking, and Delane was right there with me, beautiful clarity in a world that had gone soft around the edges.

I wanted to drown in her.

Chapter thirty

Public Display

DELANE

Ididn’t overthink it. The music picked up and I drew Noah’s arm over my shoulder, my back pressed into his chest, and moved my hips against his with the beat. The bass thumped through the floor, up my legs, vibrating between us. The lights were bright and hot, and Noah’s forehead was damp where it rested against my hair. We moved, swayed, grinding against one another. His breath came fast and hot against my neck. He didn’t ask questions, he just fell in time with my movements, letting me take control.

“I missed this,” he said. “Being close to you.”

Shit, I hated to admit it, but Chelsea was right. This kind of dancing was better. So much better.

I reached up to stroke his face, and he pressed into my hand, trailing kisses across my wrist. He had no idea how badly I’d missed this too. How many nights I’d thought about our time together. My fingers grazed his jaw, and he groaned softly, the sound itself making my stomach coil with nerves and a want for…more. His hands slid down my body, resting at my hips and pulling me harder against him. I could feel the rigid outline of his erection pressing against my ass with every roll of my hips.

Our bodies had no space between them. The flashing lights painted his face in strobing colors, and I watched over my shoulder as his eyes met mine—dark and dilated, staring at me with an intensity I hadn’t noticed before. He hadn’t drank anything since getting here, but at first glance, those eyes reminded me of someone drunk. Seriously drunk.

Noah rocked me into him, his hips lifting to meet my motions in time to the song, his face dropping to nuzzle my shoulder. His breath cascaded down across my exposed cleavage, and I shivered. I could feel his cock twitch against me, straining against his pants, and I felt a surge of power. He wanted me. That badly.

His hands slithered up, across my stomach and then back to my hips. My eyes fluttered closed and I sighed. I couldn’t resist anymore. I was about to do something I shouldn’t.

Soon my hands were cupping over his, directing him. I showed him exactly how I wanted to be touched, guiding his hands down to graze over the exposed part of my thighs. I knew I was teasing him. And I loved it. Even though we were in a crowded club, this feeling of his fingertips so dangerously close to me—reminded me of what we didn’t get to finish when we were pressed against his car in the hospital parking lot.