My hands cupped his jaw, pulling him in for another kiss.
Sloppier.
Hungrier.
He pulled me closer, his voice ragged with desire. “Ride me like you did the chair.”
I obeyed, moving in slow, grinding circles. Filthy, deep rolls that sent shivers down my spine. My garter rode up, and his hands were now gripping my inner thighs, holding me as if I were his to command.
“You’re wet,” he groaned into my ear, his breath hot against my skin.
I bit down on his shoulder, the taste of him intoxicating. “Because you’re hard.”
“Fuck.”
He gripped my ass, dragging me forward again and again. My body trembled, my nipples scraping against his shirt, and I could feel the dampness between my thighs. Each grind made my breath catch in my throat.
Was this still just a show? It didn’t feel like it anymore.
Then, abruptly, the music stopped. The lights flickered on, flooding the room with brightness.
I pulled back, breathless, my chest rising and falling rapidly. My lipstick was smeared, and my eyes locked onto his. “Do I look like I care who’s watching?”
Roman’s grin was infectious, his gaze still locked on mine despite the sudden illumination.
Then, without warning, applause erupted behind us, the sound echoing through the room.
“That was quite the performance, Sav,” Dean remarked, his applause ringing out in the air. “So incredibly sexy.”
I shot back, “Sorry, we nearly forgot you were here.”
The atmosphere shifted palpably. Roman’s jaw tightened, his hands gripping my waist with an intensity that sent shivers through me.
“Go change. I’ll track down the hostess and return the costume,” he instructed, his voice steady despite the tension radiating from him.
I nodded in agreement, sliding off him and following his lead toward the changing room we had visited earlier. But not before I caught Dean’s gaze, a playful wink exchanged as he gulped down the remnants of his drink.
Roman’s breaths came in heavy bursts, not from exertion but from the struggle of restraint.
His hands remained on my waist, fingers twitching against my skin, as if pleading for permission to explore further. Each grind had left its mark, the contours of his abs pressing into me, the undeniable ache of his arousal pulsing between us, a silent testament to our shared desire.
What the hell is wrong with you, Savannah?
“Wait for me, love. I won’t be long,” Roman’s voice was still husky, laced with an undercurrent of urgency.
I nodded, my heart racing.
With one last lingering glance, he stepped out, closing the door behind him with a soft click that reverberated in the silence.
The dressing room was a sumptuous fantasy, adorned with rich velvet walls and gold-framed mirrors, the air thick with the scent of perfume that clung to everything like a lover’s embrace.
The sharp click of my heels echoed against the marble floor as I walked in, still riding the high of the performance, adrenaline coursing through my veins like wildfire.
My body craved Roman, while my mind screamed for me to escape this intoxicating atmosphere.
Slowly, I unhooked the red lace bra, tugging at the satin straps and tossing it carelessly onto the vanity stool. My skin glistened with sweat, flushed from the heat of the spotlight. I glanced at the faux latex bombshell dress hanging on the rack, its allure calling to me.
Just as my fingers reached for it, the door creaked open. Expecting it to be Roman, I spoke without turning around.
“Did you find her?”
But the voice that responded was not Roman’s.
“Fucking hell, I did.”
The soft click of the dressing room door echoed ominously. I spun around, my heart sinking as I recognized that voice.
Dean.
His shirt was unbuttoned halfway, his eyes glazed with drink and desire. He leaned against the doorframe, one hand resting casually on the handle, but the tension in his posture betrayed his nonchalance. His gaze roamed over my barely clad figure, taking in the sight of me standing in nothing but heels and a garter, the rest of my lace ensemble discarded on the chair behind me.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his eyes lingering on my bare shoulders and breasts as if he were a starving man feasting on a banquet. “You really outdid yourself back there. That was damn hot.”
I reached for the dress, refusing to meet his gaze. “Get out.”
He leaned against the wall, one hand shoved deep into his pocket, the other swirling a half-empty glass of scotch, his demeanor casual yet predatory.
Instead of leaving, he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a deliberate click.
“You were unreal out there,” he drawled, his voice thick with intoxication and something darker. “Watching you grind on Roman like that… fuck, Savannah.”
I crossed my arms over my chest defensively. “Get out.”
“I’m just here to talk,” he slurred, a smirk playing on his lips. “No need to get all uptight. I mean… shit, Savammah. Look at you. I love how you don’t even bother to cover up, knowing I’ve seen it all.”
“And I’d give anything to erase that.”
He chuckled, a low, mocking sound. “That’s the beauty of the past, isn’t it? It can’t be erased. Just like you can’t erase the fact that I know exactly what you look like when you want it badly.”
I turned to face him, clutching the dress to my chest like a shield. “Leave. Now!”
He took a slow, deliberate step toward me, his intentions clear.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.