Seven Nights of Sin - Lacey Alexander [24]
It was too incredible to be touched by him, even just in that small way, pleasure spreading rapidly through her.
And then, then—oh yes!—he was pressing into her from behind, enough for her to realize he was going hard against her ass. It felt like a dream, a fantasy, but it was shockingly real.
Low in her ear, he rasped, “Dance with me, Brenna. Move with me.”
It would have been smart to step away, or to tell him to remember they were professionals here, doing a job. That this was a mistake.
Yet she simply couldn’t. More than just the song was intoxicating her. More than the alcohol she’d consumed. She was drunk on Damon Andros, and she had been for the last twenty-four hours. And she’d tried to play this smart, be bigger than her lust—but now it was consuming her.
So she moved with him, drank in the heat of his body as he leaned closer, felt the power of his hot erection against her rear.
Had anything in her life ever felt better?
She didn’t think so.
She didn’t think any physical sensation had ever pulled her in so quick, so deep, leaving her helpless to fight it.
Together they swayed as the blonde on the stage purred the provocative lyrics that added fuel to their fire. Brenna never looked at him after that, simply kept her eyes straight ahead, feeling it all, trying to survive it, trying to believe it, and wondering what would happen now.
But she knew what would happen, of course. The song would end. The song would end and they’d stop moving together and they’d pretend things were normal again, that he hadn’t touched her, that she hadn’t experienced the deep, raw pleasure of his stiffened cock against her ass.
And it was just as she drew that conclusion…that something else entirely took place.
The warm masculine hand curving over her right hip eased upward, over the gauzy fabric covering her stomach and higher, higher, coming to rest beneath her breast, his thumb arcing up onto the rounded flesh while his fingers played about the bottom of her bra. The intense delight combined with intense need to make her sway more sensually, her breath turning labored, her cunt throbbing madly.
Which is when his other hand snaked downward onto her thigh—and up under her skirt. That quick, that smooth. His fingertips eased between her legs, caressing the silk there.
Her breath hitched and she involuntarily moved in a whole new way, beginning to undulate, as if she were having sex. She met his touch in front and pressed her ass to his hard-on in back. His right arm now circled her waist to keep her steady—he must have realized he was making her weak, her whole body nearly convulsing from the hot strokes his fingers delivered.
Did anyone around them see what was going on, the way he was touching her? Surely not—the crowd remained tight, the spaces between bodies mostly dark, private even though in public.
She’d long since ceased paying attention to the song but glanced up at the stage in time to catch the last line: The best hands are mine. It was an end-of-song twist—the lyricist had no lover, but was touching herself.
Damon kissed Brenna’s neck now, sending fresh spirals of pleasure all through her. Oh God. Oh God.
And when the song ended, the crowd cheered—and Damon leaned near her ear to rasp the words, “Come with me.”
She turned to find that meeting his gaze now was different—even more paralyzing. Because his hands were on her. Because he wanted her as much as she wanted him. And Kelly’s words came back to her. Instant lover. Just add lust and stir. She’d never dreamed it could really happen.
Damon’s hand closed firm around her smaller one as he pulled her through the crowd. She didn’t see the people they passed, didn’t hear the next song begin—she could focus on nothing but him and the need that burned through her.
They broke away from the masses near the back of the club, and he led her briskly down a low-lit hallway. He twisted the knob on an unmarked door, but it was locked. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath, then tried another across the hall.