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Excited, I climb off the motorcycle, removing my helmet. I give my head a vigorous shake to de-helmet my hair, until the long red strands cascade freely over my shoulders. When I’m done, I find Nate watching me with heat in his eyes.
“What?” I say.
“You’ve no idea how hot that was, do you?”
I feel myself blushing. Every time he looks at me, it completely does me in. Makes me feel desirable. Exposed.
“You ever been to one of these?” I ask him, trying to quell the rising sexual tension between us. We’re in public, for Pete’s sake.
“Not in years. Reckon I’m overdue an all-nighter at a rave. Shall we have a look?”
“Let’s do it.”
We walk toward the entrance of the warehouse, where a huge, beefy bouncer informs us the cover charge is twenty quid each. Nate peels some bills from his wallet, hands them over, and then we’re inside, greeted by a blast of EDM and utter darkness.
I search for his hand and hold it tight, expecting something to jump out at me as we find ourselves traversing a long pitch-black tunnel. Instead, the tunnel opens to a cavernous room with projected images on the walls, floor, and low ceiling. It’s a seemingly random splash of colors and images. A kaleidoscope of lights assaults my eyes as we’re thrust into the belly of the warehouse amid hundreds, if not thousands, of bodies and thumping music. Lights spray over our heads and move color in all directions. I can hear the live drums, guitars, and electric violin, but I can’t see the stage over the bobbing heads.
“Oh my God,” I shout in Nate’s ear. “This is amazing!”
His answering grin tells me the shock and awe on my face are obvious.
“Dance with me,” I beg him. I shove my phone and little card wallet in the back pocket of my jeans, then unbutton my coat and grab for Nate’s hand.
I don’t peg Nate for the dancing type, but he indulges me. Our coats come off, tossed into some dark alcove that I hope we’ll be able to find again later. We’re close and sweaty and touching everywhere when we make our way into the crowd. We dance for so long I feel light-headed and deprived of oxygen.
“It suits you,” he says against my hair as we dance, his hands skimming down my back and resting on my ass.
“What?”
“Freedom.”
No one pays any attention when he leans in to kiss me. Deep and hungry. His fingers bite into my overheated flesh as his tongue explores my mouth. I’m breathless. Helpless to stop the lust and excitement and giddy joy that runs rampant in my blood.
I break the kiss and peer up at him.
“I wish I could suck you off right here on the dance floor,” I find myself confessing.
Nashville Abbey would never have voiced such a filthy thought, but Nate’s resulting groan tells me how much he likes the idea.
“Bloody hell,” he growls when I reach between us and teasingly run my hand over his groin. “Don’t start something we can’t finish, baby.”
I think it’s the first time he’s called me that.
And the first time I’ve felt like I truly hold power over a man. Not in a malevolent way but that feminine power of seduction, persuasion. The thrilling sense that I could bring him to his knees with one touch, one heated look. It’s an incredible rush.
When we finally emerge into the damp early dawn, I almost don’t remember who I am. It’s like walking out of a dark movie theater into the blinding sun where you aren’t a rebel space pilot.
“That was incredible.” Leaning against his motorcycle, I pause to catch my breath.
“Didn’t realize I had a little exhibitionist on my hands,” he says with smoldering eyes.
“Didn’t realize I had those tendencies,” I answer mischievously.
“Let’s go back to mine?” Nate cages me against his bike with his arms on either side of me, kissing my neck.
I beg off the suggestion. “Do you mind dropping me off at my place instead? I’m gross. I need a shower.”
And I’m about ready to collapse. I don’t know how my dad keptup with stuff like this for twenty years. It never occurred to me how exhausting all those exploits must have been. Guess that’s why they invented cocaine.
