He moves us back a little to where it’s less crowded, and he continues to hold me like this, with his chest to my back, as we dance, grinding against one another, uncaring who sees. There is no sign of Ash, Audrey, or Cat, but I’m not worried. I know my Irish friends will look after my bestie, and I’m sure they just left to give us some privacy.
Dillon’s hands wander, palming my stomach, lingering on my hips, and gliding up and down my arms as we gyrate together to the sound of our own beat. Nibbling on my neck, he licks a path up and down my sensitive flesh with his hot tongue, and low moans trickle out of my lips. His expert fingers work my body into a tizzy until I’m no longer in control. My head is thrust back on his shoulder, my eyes are closed, my body flush against him, and I’ve never felt more wanton or more desired. I’m majorly turned on by the sizzling touch of his hands and the feel of his hard-on digging into my back. I’m seriously considering eating my words and dragging him someplace to have my wicked way with him when something cold and sticky unexpectedly hits my face and my upper body, and I scream.
“What the fuck, Breda?” Dillon snaps, as I blink my eyes open, wincing when liquid drips from my eyelashes into my eyes. The black-haired skank smirks at me, holding an empty pint glass in her hand. Looking down, I see my shirt took the brunt of her jealousy. Sopping wet cotton adheres to my stomach and my chest like a second skin. Warm hands grip my upper arms as Dillon turns me around to face him. He curses, glaring at Breda over my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“I need to go.” I attempt to wriggle out of his arms, but he holds me tight, piercing me with a stern look.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m a fucking mess, Dillon,” I say, in case he’s missed the obvious. I bet I’m rocking a great pair of panda eyes, and last time I checked, that shit isn’t attractive.
“I have a spare shirt in my bag, and I’ll take you to the staff toilets to clean up. She’s not ruining your night.” He slides his hands down my arms, turning one of my palms over and lacing his fingers in mine. It’s a sweet gesture, one I would never have thought him capable of.
“C’mon, Dillon. It was only a joke,” Breda says from behind me.
Keeping my fingers locked in Dillon’s, I turn around to face her.
“You’re a clingy jealous cunt, and I’m sick of your shit,” Dillon seethes, fixing her with the full extent of his disgust. “You’re not welcome around us anymore, so fuck off.”
“You’re dumping me for her?!” she screeches, waving her hands around like a crazy person. Her eyeballs are rolling around in her head, and she’s clearly high as a kite.
“That would imply we were in a relationship, which we aren’t,” Dillon hisses. “We fucked one time, Breda. One time, and it was a big mistake. I’ve tried letting you down gently, but fuck that shit. You don’t get to throw your drink in anyone’s face. Grace hasn’t done anything to you, and that shit you just pulled is not on. In case it’s not clear, I’m not interested in you, now or ever, so back the fuck off before I have you thrown out.”
He doesn’t wait for her to reply, leading me off the dance floor to a staff door at the back of the room. A burly man with heavy eyebrows and a thickset mustache guards the entrance, but he nods at Dillon, stepping aside to let us enter.
“I’m really sorry about that,” Dillon says, glancing worriedly at me as he pulls me along the narrow hallway. A few bodies loiter inside a large room on our left, but no one bats an eye as we pass by.
“It’s not your fault your psycho radar is out of whack,” I deadpan. Or maybe it is. I don’t know. I’m too wet, sticky, and pissed off to care.
“I’m pretty sure it is my fault.” He shoots me a sheepish look as he leads me into a small coatroom. Coats and jackets hang off hooks on the wall, and a variety of bags are stuffed into open cubby holes on the other side of the space. “I only brought her to your party to wind you up, and now she’s like a dose of bad breath I can’t shake.” He removes a black duffel bag from one of the holes, dropping it on the ground.
“Nice analogy,” I drawl, plucking at the wet material clinging to my flat stomach as he rummages in his bag.
“Here.” He thrusts a wad of black cotton at me while bending over his open bag. “These might help too.” He hands me a pack of wipes.
I arch a brow, holding the items away from my wet shirt, and he grins. “Don’t judge. It gets hot as fuck under stage lights.” Straightening up, he claws a hand through his hair. He points over my shoulder. “Toilet is right across the hall. Take as long as you need. I’ll be right here.”
I knock on the door of the single toilet, to ensure it isn’t occupied, before I step inside. The scent of lavender and jasmine floats through the air as I lock the door behind me. From the schedule pinned to the wall, I can see this bathroom has only recently been cleaned.
Stripping out of my wet shirt is harder than it looks. “Ugh.” I throw it into the sink, rinsing it under the hot water as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Yep, I’m sporting a nasty case of panda eyes, and my Ireland face paint is a streaky mess of color on my cheeks. Using a couple of wipes, I scrub my face clean. My purse is downstairs at our table, along with my gloss and mascara, but right now, I couldn’t give two shits that I’m wearing no makeup. I am so over this and ready to call it a night.
Thankfully, my bra is only slightly damp, so I leave it on as I use another couple of wipes to clean my stomach, chest, and my arms. After toweling dry, I slide Dillon’s plain black tee over my head. Predictably, it swamps me, skimming way below my butt. I twist the material into a knot under my boobs, and it looks more presentable. Spritzing some of the complimentary spray, I hope it masks the scent of cider that still seems to cling to me. I wring out my ruined shirt, balling it up, hoping Dillon has a spare plastic bag I can put it into. After going to the toilet and washing my hands, I emerge to find Dillon in the hallway waiting for me.
A dark glimmer of lust flits across his retinas as he drinks me in. “Fuck me.” He claws a hand through his hair. “You look too fucking good in my shirt.” In two seconds, he’s across the hallway, pinning me against the wall. His strong, muscular arms cage me in as he leans in close. Too close. Spicy notes of his cologne invade my senses, and I gulp over the lump clogging my throat.
Dillon is gorgeous, and I already know sex with him would be out of this world because he oozes sexual confidence from every pore. But I can’t do this to myself again. I can’t put myself in another world where girls have ulterior motives and I’m collateral damage. Whatever this is between us ends here. “I need to go,” I say, gently pushing at his chest as I avert my gaze.
“Don’t do that.” His fingers curl around my chin, and he forces my eyes to his. “Don’t shut me out. I know you were into it downstairs.” His fingers creep up the side of my face. “I promise I’ll tone down my default setting if you don’t push me away.”
His eyes lower to my mouth. A flash of silver glints at me when his tongue darts out to lick his lips. Carefully, he presses his body against me, and my nipples harden the instant his chest touches mine. He rubs his nose against mine, as his fingers caress the side of my neck.
God, his touch does intense things to me, and I’m putty in his hands.
Arousal coils in my belly, and my body is screaming for a release only he can give me. The shirt drops to the floor, and I grip his waist. A needy moan escapes my mouth when his lips replace his fingers on my neck, and he plants a slew of drugging kisses along my traitorous skin. My hips arch against him as raw need courses between my legs. “I know you want this as much as me,” he whispers with his lips edging dangerously close to my mouth. “Stop fighting it. Give your body what it needs.”
His finger rims the low band of my jeans, and I jolt out of my lust-fueled bubble. “No.” I push more firmly at his shoulders. “I can’t do this.”