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Chapter Eight
When had life gotten so insane?
For the next hour, Hannah did her best to carry on with her job. She interviewed Bebe until she ran out of questions, something she’d never thought was possible. She then snapped several photos of the Thunder Club’s owner, both on her own and with the beefcake usher who’d shown her to her table. Hannah then tried to interview the usher, who was also one of the dancers slated to perform later that night. Unfortunately, that particular interview wasn’t nearly as in-depth as Bebe’s, as it was conducted with Dalton holding her clamped to his side while he kept an aggressive, unblinking gaze locked on the other man.
Come to find out, interviewing someone who thought he might be killed if he said the wrong thing didn’t make for an easy gathering of information.
Interviewing the club’s patrons also proved to be a challenge, but for a completely different reason. Every woman in the house had seen Dalton stride across the stage, which apparently made it open season on him. With blatant hunger in their eyes and maybe a hint of drool on their lips, Hannah found herself getting territorial herself. When one woman with more dangerous curves than a mountain switchback cupped Dalton’s butt while waving a stack of bills at him, Hannah actually pushed the woman back into her chair and yelled, “Hands off what isn’t yours!”
Not her most professional moment, to say the least.
But, oddly enough, she had no regrets when Dalton had laughed, swept her into a dip and kissed her like he was starved for her taste.
No matter how noisy the club was, she still heard the envious sighs of the women at the table.
After gathering the club’s promo photos, price lists, hours of operation and a special-events calendar, there was nothing left for her to do but see the show. She’d already promised Dalton she didn’t have to stay for the entirety of it, but she was darned well going to at least give the club all the attention she could muster. One, because she liked Bebe Zaiger and wanted to do justice to all the hard work the older woman had put into both the show and the club. And two, she didn’t want to reward Dalton’s bad behavior with the outcome he ultimately wanted—her, out of there. Somehow she had to convince him that showing up at her work was the last thing he would have accepted if their roles were reversed.
If only she could stop being distracted by the fact that he was hotter than the surface of the sun.
If only.
At last, Bebe hit the stage to unveil her main male dancers, and Hannah had no doubt those men would soon become household names for the Thunder Club’s happy customers. Determinedly she picked up her pen and notebook, trying desperately to shut out Dalton’s presence so she could do this last piece of her job. Then Dalton reached out, hauled her chair around to face his and kissed her, obliterating both her view of the stage and all thought of any other man on earth but him.
Which was exactly his point.
She tried to be outraged. Really, she did. But the moment his lips touched hers the world fell away along with every thought and pressure bearing down on her, and the sensation was so wonderful she couldn’t even be mad at him. How could she, when this amazing man gave her everything she never knew she needed just by touching her?
The kiss lasted a small eternity, something she loved, but to her surprise it didn’t just stop there. With his mouth fused hotly to hers, his hand came up from under the table, and slid along her knee up to the inside of her thigh. Her breath caught as his hand trespassed beneath the hem of her black dress, his palm scorching a trail along the inside of her thigh until she half-believed his touch had somehow branded her. Then he brushed his fingers against the veil of her thong, and all at once she desperately mourned the fact that she hadn’t chosen to go commando.
How beautiful it would have been if they’d had no barriers separating them, her mind whispered while the flush of raw desire lit her body up from the inside until she was sure she was glowing. No barriers at all, just flesh against flesh, with friction building an all-consuming fire while he buried his hard cock as deeply as he could inside her...
She gasped into his mouth when he pushed beyond the flimsy barrier of her thong and slid a finger along the slick, intimate folds of her channel. She moaned as she instantly began to ache wherever he touched, needing him to fill her in a fucking that would rock her world. The mere thought of it made her moan again, her legs opening wider in eager invitation while the emptiness between her legs became almost unbearable. She yearned for him in a way she hadn’t known she could yearn, her intimate tissues throbbing with a rush of blood to feel his hardness thrust into her, filling her until she thought she’d explode, because dear God, fucking this man had to be the reason she’d been brought into existence.
“Tell me, beautiful.” Despite the loud music and the raucous whoops and cheers of every horny woman in the club, his low murmur was the only thing she could hear. “Have you seen enough of the show?”
Show? What show? “I think so.”
“You only think? You’re not sure? Damn.” His mouth toyed with hers while he again slid a finger along her cleft to find the hard nub of her clit. “Looks like I still need to put in the work to convince you to come upstairs with me.”
“Dalton.” She whispered his name against his mouth, the sound for his ears alone as the club’s music drowned out everything else. Her arms tightened around him, clinging to the only solid thing left within her grasp, while he shook her world with every stroke of his hand. Feverishly she ground herself against his touch, chasing that elusive ecstasy even as whatever rational thought she had left was shocked that she was so damn close to coming her brains out right there in public.
This couldn’t be happening, she thought, even as the delicious tension inside her deepened. She couldn’t possibly have an orgasm in public.
But...
She was.
Blindly she buried her face in the curve of his neck as the sweet sensation swept through her like a tsunami, crashing through her so hard she was sure some vital part of her shattered. She cried out, mainly because she could do nothing else, her eyes closing so she could lose herself in the waves of pleasure washing through her. She undulated her hips so hard against him she almost pushed herself out of her chair, but she didn't care. She didn't give a damn if she looked desperate, or wanton. She was desperate—desperate to come until she didn't know her own name while mindlessly screaming his.
If that made her a wanton, then so be it. When a man could make her come with just a few strokes of his hand, all she could do was thank her lucky stars that fate had sent him across her path.
She was still riding the hard edge of pleasure when he turned his head and pressed his mouth to her ear. “Now,” he said, and some part of her was shocked to hear his breathing was almost as ragged as her own, “tell me you've seen enough of this goddamn show and you're ready to go upstairs to be thoroughly fucked by me.”
“I'm ready.” The words were out before she could give them conscious thought. “Now, Dalton. Take me now.”
Without another word he stood, pulling her to her feet along the way. She had just enough sense left to make sure her dress covered her in all the right places before allowing him to escort her out of the nightclub. Her legs shook, her inner thighs were wet, and it was a minor miracle she didn't fall down as he made an unerring beeline for a bank of brass-accented elevators. The only thing that kept her going was one breathtakingly vivid image of Dalton, clamped between her legs while he surged into her like a freaking madman.
Shaking legs or not, she'd happily walk through the fires of hell to make that mental image a reality.
The elevator they stepped into was already crowded with a group of people who obviously knew each other. She hated them on sight. They laughed and chatted together, utterly oblivious that she needed privacy with Dalton more than her next breath. In frustrated silence, she and Dalton rode the elevator with the festive group almost all the way up, making it impossible for her to play out the feverish fantasy of Dalton pushing her against the cold steel of the elevator wall, and taking her where she stood. Instead, as the boisterous party at last exited one floor below theirs, they had just enough time to slam together for a hot, deep kiss before the doors once again opened, this time onto their floor.
Finally.
