AllFreeNovel
Share Us
1
Gabe
It had been years since I’d been tortured.
And make no mistake, torture was what this was.
She was doing it on purpose. With her gaze on me, eye fucking me as she bloody danced with someone else, she made sure I felt every movement, every tick of her hips, every roll, every thrust.
Combined with her laugh, her coy glance was designed for pain… mine specifically.
The club was dim and crowded. It was the last place I would have ever voluntarily gone. But it was my sister's and Lachlan’s combined hen-and-stag do, so I was obligated to be there.
I nursed a pint, glowering at the dance floor while the rest of my family, if you could call them that, were enjoying themselves.
Lately the Rogues Division had been going hard mission after mission, but we had nothing on our plates for three solid days, which meant Saff and Lachlan could get married in peace.
And God knew my sister deserved a little peace.
The music changed to something familiar, a thrumming bass beat that had me bobbing my head a little bit as I took another sip of my beer, the bitter bite of alcohol attempting to shave off the burn of possession I felt every time I looked over at Tabatha.
My sister was laughing, taking Lachlan's hand and dragging him onto the dance floor. The two of them were in love. Whatever the hell that meant. All I knew was that he looked at her like she hung the stars and the moon.
But even as a reluctant smile sought purchase at the corner of my lips, my gaze kept going back to Tabatha.
For six years I had done a good job of ignoring the pull. From the moment I had recruited her, there was something about her that made my chest tight and my skin itch. She just had this ability to worm her way under my skin.
Maybe it was that constant sunny smile. Maybe it was her enduring enthusiasm for mischief. Maybe it was the way everyone effortlessly loved her. Not to say she was sweet, she wasn't. But she had a tough-love, motherly aura about her. She worked our recruits and trained like every day was going to be some kind of Bond or Bourne flick.
But she had this way of knowing what every single one of them needed, whether they needed to be pushed or she needed to pull back. She paid attention and knew how to get the best out of them.
Despite my best efforts, my eyes went right back to her.
She was moving her hips in time to some Rihanna song, and then she turned around, gyrating her arse in my direct line of sight.
Fuck. Me.
I gulped down the rest of my beer and tried closing my eyes, squeezing them together, trying to erase the image, but it was no use. Now it was burned into my retinas. Tabatha's peach of an arse, gyrating, twerking, teasing me, and I couldn't bloody look away.
Every roll and tick of her hips had me salivating. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My cock, as usual when Tabatha was around, was happy to stand at attention, to greet and salute her as it were.
"Down boy," I muttered under my breath.
Of all the women in the world that I could have, she was not on that list.
I watched as Tabatha's dance partner leaned in to whisper something in her ear. She nodded in response, and he briefly left her side to fetch a new drink for her.
Oh, excellent. He was bringing her more to drink, the twat.
Not your business.
I should look away. I should let it go. But I wasn't going to.
When he came back to the table, he was trying to hand her the drink, but she was too busy talking and laughing with Saff. He placed it on the table and then his hand hovered over it.
I narrowed my gaze on his hand. What the hell was that?
