Chapter 19 Nora #2
The fingers of my free hand curl around Theo’s.
Hi Jonathan, I mouth above the music, and I wave my flute at him and wiggle my fingers in greeting to discourage him from coming any closer.
For some reason, just seeing him pisses me off.
It’s probably Theo’s pep talk the other day that’s set me against him.
He waves back at me and mouths a greeting before jerking his gaze back to Lucy, who’s a ship in full sail tonight in a low-cut black dress.
Fair play. Honestly, if I had those boobs, I’d get them out every chance I got.
But Lucy’s not looking at me. Or her boyfriend.
Or even Theo. Because she’s staring at Josh like he’s the second coming of Christ. Jonathan clocks her intense appreciation for the Hollywood vision in front of her, and his jaw tightens, which, for me, is a priceless gem in this otherwise shitty situation.
He’s got his girlfriend and his ex-girlfriend right in front of him, and he can’t get our full attention.
Isn’t karma a bitch?
Theo’s hand moves up over my stomach, leaving a trail of heat. He tucks his head in between my neck and shoulder. His lips graze the skin just above the halter neck tie of my dress while his fingers rub at the fabric draped over my stomach.
He growls in my ear. ‘Sexy. As. Fuck.’
There’s no space between us. None. My bare back is plastered against the front of his body, his belt buckle hard against my skin, but I don’t care, because I can tell what he’s doing.
He’s most likely trying to make Jonathan jealous, which is precisely his mandate.
But the way he has me wrapped up in his body is having another effect.
It’s making me feel protected.
Untouchable.
Even if the way he’s gyrating against my ass is dangerous.
I know Theo now. I know he’s doing a job, and I know he’s also enjoying how I look tonight. He’s a straightforward guy, like he’s told me, and like Elle’s reminded me. I’m in a revealing dress, and he’s into it.
That part is real.
Lotta, who’s clearly in a Seventies, spread-the-love mood tonight, hugs Jonathan and Lucy and pulls them towards the rest of us to dance.
She’s too cheerful, the wild abandon of her dancing technique too infectious, for them to have a hope in hell of escaping.
Jonathan gets moving, his arm loosely around Lucy, and Elle catches my eye as Josh spins her around.
I silently message her back. Most awkward dancing cluster ever, I hope my eyes say.
Theo’s hand splays across my stomach as the music segues into Donna Summer’s I Feel Love. Oh my God. This song gets me every time. It’s incredible, with its sultry, hypnotic electro-beats.
‘Turn around and dance with me,’ he says into my ear. I twist in his arms and wrap mine lazily around his neck, my eyes sweeping down over the sliver of skin revealed by his shirt before raising them to find his are doing the exact same to me. He grins. Busted. Like he gives a shit.
He adjusts me slightly, so one of my legs slips in between his.
We’re interlocked. I’m right up against his thigh and he’s still pulling me closer, one hand slithering down over the fabric of my dress to cup my ass and the fingertips of the other running so lightly up and down my bare spine that I practically drool with the sensation.
There’s the light scratch of fingernails, and he whispers in my ear. Hot and urgent.
‘Your back. Belle, your back. It’s so fucking sexy. I want to scratch it. I want to press you up against a wall and lick down it, for fuck’s sake.’
I rake my fingers through his damp hair and grip him so his face stays where it is.
His other hand presses more firmly into my ass cheek, pulling me even closer to him, and the friction of his trousered thigh right against the spot between my legs is way too good.
I could hump him, right here. I really could.
He’s panting into my neck, and the heat is pooling low and urgent in my abdomen. And I know two things.
I really want to kiss this guy. Properly.
I don’t want an audience. Not Jonathan. Not anyone. That’s just icky. A small part of my consciousness is hoping Jonathan’s eyes are glued to Theo’s hands on my bum and my back, but honestly, I don’t even care. Right this second, my desires are far less strategic.
I want Theo Montague’s tongue in my mouth.
I use my hand in his hair to twist his ear to my lips and I tell him, ‘Come with me.’
When I pull my face away to check he understands through his alcohol haze, his eyes are wide with surprise and questions, but he nods and follows me as I disentangle our bodies and grab his hand.
I can’t wait a minute longer.
I steer him hurriedly towards the back of the vast club, through the bodies pulsing all around us, until I can’t see Jonathan or Elle or Lotta or anyone else. We don’t have privacy over here, but we have anonymity. It’s enough.
I hook my arm back around Theo’s neck and pull him to me, and I grab at his magnificent bum through his trousers, and I press my mouth to his, because I’m desperate.
The way he’s been moving against me. Touching my body.
Whispering things in my ear. He’s driving me out of my mind, and I need some release.
And for once, I’m confident enough to believe he won’t say no.
As soon as our mouths touch, he’s unleashed.
Yes, he’s hammered. But he’s definitely in enough control to know what he’s doing, because holy shit.
He clamps a hand to the back of my head and glues my face to his as he sucks down on my lower lip before releasing it and driving his tongue into my mouth.
There it is. Thank God. I take it gratefully, winding my tongue around it, moaning as it invades my mouth, the sound of my moan lost in the music.
But Theo knows, because he uses his hand to angle our heads so he can get in deeper, and he drags his nails down my back, the sensation so primal and hungry and addictive that I arch against him, begging for more.
His nails scrape down over the fabric of my dress, his fingers digging hard into my bum as he sticks his thigh between my legs again and me:squats the slightest bit, and I know he can tell I want to hump his damn leg.
And he wants me to. My fingers are back in his hair.
My hand pulls his shirt aside so I can cop a feel of his gorgeous, firm chest as I grind against his thigh.
He pulls away to look at me, and fuck me, if his flushed face, crazy black eyes and swollen, wet lips aren’t the most heavenly thing I’ve ever seen.
He plants those same lips to my ear a second later, and I press the length of my body against him as he starts to speak.
He’s hard. I can feel it. Clearly, alcohol has no adverse effect his ability to perform, because the hard-on that’s prodding me in the stomach right now is seriously impressive. I wriggle against him.
‘Belle.’ His voice is rough. Tortured. ‘I’m so fucking turned on, baby. I want you so badly. I want you to rub yourself against my leg till you come. I want to take you home and strip you naked and go down on you till you come again. I want to fuck you so hard.’
His fingers press against my back, my bum, so hard I may bruise, and I couldn’t give a shit.
He keeps talking, and I keep lapping it up, the dirty, rough growl of his voice doing just as much to whip me into a state of excitement as his touch.
I’m dizzy. My nipples are so hard, I’m surprised they’re not making dents in his chest.
In response, I turn my head and capture his mouth again. That fucking mouth, with its probing tongue and its nipping teeth and its full, glorious lips. And I was right about the feel of his beard against my skin. It’s fucking perfect: just the right balance of friction and softness.
Don’t think about it between your legs.
Don’t think about it between your legs.
I’m kissing him because I can’t get enough, and because I want to buy myself time.
Because right now, in this state, I could let him have his way with me in an alleyway, and that is not how I operate.
That’s not part of the plan. Enjoying all this so much, allowing myself to get so aroused by Theo Montague—none of that is part of the plan.
I should be over there, harmlessly flirting with him in front of Jonathan.
Not trying to dry-hump his rock-hard thigh in a dark corner of the club.
Just as I’m telling myself to enjoy it and go with the flow, Theo pulls away. His hand flies to his mouth.
‘Fuck.’ His breath is coming fast. His shoulders heave. ‘I think I’m gonna—’
And off he runs.