Because I can’t take my eyes off of her. Not when she looks up and meets my eyes as she jumps a step forward. Not when she lifts her chin over to the right to tell me she’s going to try the mechanical bull. Not when she mounts that beast and makes me think with every thrust of her whirling body about if that’s what she’d look like riding me.
My dick is hard sitting here—imagining, wanting, knowing. My libido is in overdrive. And I’ve had just enough to drink that all my thoughts about being scared of a woman like Harlow can be forgotten.
Rules are made to be broken after all, right?
Her eyes meet mine as she makes her way off the padded mat where the bull is and back toward the dance floor. She smiles softly, suggestively.
Fuck it.
I shove up off the stool and down the rest of my beer as I do so.
I’ve tried to let this be. I’ve tried to let her be . . . but hell if I can sit here and watch every man in this room stare at her, want to be with her, when I know I can be.
When I know I want to be.
She may scare the hell out of me but sometimes fear can be a motivator. So can being horny as fuck.
Screw the rules. I want her. Right now. I’ll deal with the consequences later.
She’s waiting for me when I cross the dance floor, standing still in a mass of moving bodies. But it’s her body I look at. It’s her curiosity I want to pique. It’s only her I see.
“I thought you didn’t dance,” she says when I slide my arms around her and pull her against me.
“I don’t,” I murmur and then crash my mouth to hers. I hear her yelp of surprise, feel the sudden tensing of her hands on my chest, the quick jerk of her body as she presses against me.
And when she reacts—when she slides a hand to the back of my neck and scratches her fingernails into my hair—I know there’s no turning back now.
Not that I wanted there to be.
She tastes like beer and desire as our lips meet and tongues touch and bodies beg for so much more of the other than we can give right here on the dance floor.
I need to get out of here, get us out of here, but when I try to move, find us in the dead center of a jam packed floor. Rows of people move around us, one after another, but luckily they’ve given us a small circle of space.
She notices too, laughs, and then presses her hand on the back of my neck so that I kiss her again. Greedy girl.
And thank fuck for that because I forgot how it could be just to kiss someone. To get lost in the feel of her tongue, in the sounds she makes in the back of her throat that I can barely hear above the beat of the music, in the brush of her tits against my chest, and in the rub of my erection against her through my jeans.
We kiss in this small island of space that we alone reside in as the world moves on around us.
The song changes.
The crowd shifts.
“Let’s go,” I murmur against her lips, her hand in mine, leading her off the dance floor before she even says a word.
The request of an Uber. Another kiss. The sliding into the backseat. My hands skimming up her bare thigh. My lips are on the underside of her neck. Her fingers digging into the muscles of my back.
We don’t speak the short distance back to the coach, just kiss and touch, continuing to fray the thin rope holding my restraint with each and every second that passes. Not when I open the door to it. Not when we step inside and stand a few feet apart, our desire eating up all the air in the room.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispers although there is no one else in the room.
“Okay.” I pull my shirt over my head.
“Like we shouldn’t do this”—I unbuckle my belt—“you’re my boss”—toe off my shoes—“we have to work together”—unbutton my jeans—“us sleeping together would complicate things”—let them drop to the floor.
“You’re right.” I take a step toward her, my only thought as I stand there in my underwear is where are those goddamn condoms and why is she still dressed? “About all of it, you’re right.” Another step closer. “But sometimes, Harlow, being wrong can feel oh-so-good.”
I reach out and rub my thumb over her lips. My body begs me to take and claim and own, but her eyes and words stop me.
“This is a mistake.” Her words are barely audible.
“We’ll learn from it then. We can figure out if it’s one we want to make again or if we want to part ways.” She could tell me the sky is green right now and I wouldn’t argue.
My lips are on hers. My hands sliding up the hem of her dress so that perfectly round ass is in my hands.
“But that’s the thing, we can’t part ways,” she murmurs against my lips.
“You’re talking, Harlow.” I pull her against me so my dick hits her between the thighs and shows her what all this talking is depriving her of. She sighs while I groan and it allows me to dip my tongue between her lips and welcome her back to my side of desperation.
“Zane.”
“We’re just here for the sex.” I chuckle against her lips as her fingers on my shoulders tense, only to fall lax when my hand snakes beneath the elastic band of her panties. I part her. Slide my finger down into her pussy and can’t help the groan that falls from my mouth when I find her wet and slick for me.