“Move for me.” He wasn’t asking and because I was weak, because I was helpless when he had me—when I let him mold me like putty—I listened.
The sway of hips, limbs, bodies only inches, a fraction of that, apart. This was more erotic, closer than any Kizomba we’d ever danced before. It felt natural. It felt right and when Ransom dipped me, holding my waist, making me arch, I exaggerated the movement, driving my shoulders back as he held me, swayed my body so that my arms almost touched the floor before he lifted me, still dancing, my legs around his waist, his hands dragging up my back.
Now we danced differently. We forgot technique. We forgot everything but the heat collecting between us. We only knew the feel of fingers over damp skin, of mouths separated by hesitation.
“Aly…” I knew what he was asking in the slow, soft release of my name. I knew what he wanted when he lowered us to floor, when he kept those large hands on my hips, when he leaned over me, blocking out the low light overhead. “Nani…makamae”
Ethan’s face swam in my mind. How he urged me to examine what I felt. Is that what this was? Ransom over me, the smell of his body as the room heated, as we did—was I allowing this because I intended to say goodbye?
Hands over my eyes, I patted my damp face dry, stilling completely when he lifted my left hand, looking down at the ring I hadn’t found the courage to take off.
“Do you really want this?” He didn’t look at me when he spoke, like that diamond had him mesmerized.
“I…I don’t know. In a way, yes, but... I’m…Ethan wants me to really think about what I want. I’ve been trying to figure that out—what I really want.”
Ransom’s attention left my ring in a millisecond. His gaze jumped from that diamond to my face. He didn’t need to say a word for me to know what he thought. That beautiful face was expressive, open. There was no tension in his features, nothing to make his face look hard or pinched. No lift of his eyebrows as though my admission had surprised him.
I recognized that expression for what it was.
Hunger.
He intended to convince me what I wanted. Really wanted.
My brain fired off warnings. They came in a litany of screams, all telling me to run out of the room, to not let his desires overwhelm mine. All insisting that I ignore the rage of my body, what it wanted, what I tried to convince myself it needed. I let him drag me under like I had since the night of the recital. I felt like I was drowning, but damn, it had my pulse quickening.
Ransom adjusted on top of me, pushing his hips closer, watching me when I managed to inch away from him.
“Come closer.” I didn’t bother to answer him—not that demand, not the quick flash of irritation on his face at my refusal. “Aly…”
“And if I don’t?” I knew better than to ask. My question was a spark flirting too close to the fuse.
“You really don’t want that question answered.” He wasn’t serious, didn't think I was. That threat was part of the game we used to play so often. Him demanding, me refusing. We’d switch, reverse roles and by the look in his eyes and the twitch moving his lips I knew he remembered playing with me. Remembered and likely missed it as much as I did.
He was so solid over me, trapping me because he knew I liked it. I always had. The weight of his thick body, keeping me still, pinning me just enough to make me ache for what he offered. But indecision was a weighty thing, it planted a kernel of doubt that, despite what my body was telling me, I needed to be sure I wasn’t just doing something stupid.
It was the indecision that seemed to urge Ransom on, lowering over me, just enough to get a taste of what he wanted. “You remember what it was like, don’t you?”
He came too close, a movement that vanished the space between us.
“No. That memory is gone.” Okay, two could play at this game. One look at his face told me he knew I was lying, but I tipped my chin, defying him anyway. “I don’t remember anything.”
I caught the hint of a smile, the pulse working in his left cheek. “You’ve never been a good liar, Aly.” Then Ransom moved quick, fingers sliding down my hip, a treacherously slow descent as he cupped me. My thin dance pants hid nothing. He was soft, smug with a stroke meant to tease, meant to reveal just how wet he’d made me. My body remembered. That much I knew the second Ransom touched me. “You’re still not.”
The laughed he released when I pulled on his shirt died as I brought his mouth to mine. “Shut up.” And he did, not letting me take more than a bite against his bottom lip. He tasted like a hazelnut latte. That was my last thought before Ransom held my wrists, grabbing them in one hand.