CHAPTER ELEVEN
brYCE
I despise dancing.
The Pawseidon dance studio leaves me nowhere to hide. Its mirrored walls, polished bamboo floors, and judgmental lighting make it the perfect stage for my impending humiliation. One wrong step, and I’ll shatter my tailbone and my dignity—not necessarily in that order.
For the next hour, this room is my personal torture chamber.
I put myself in the corner like I’m being punished. I’m a sulking statue—pressed khakis, every shirt button clamped shut, a collar so tight you’d think it had a choking kink. But I need the discipline. I don’t trust myself around a certain brunette in red.
Thirty minutes ago, I was in my cabin having what I’d describe as the fastest, most pathetic orgasm of my life. Three pumps and I was done, courtesy of replaying Petra’s moan when I grazed her nipple.
Now she’s ten feet away, wrapped in a crimson dress that clings like guilt. Strategic cutouts reveal flashes of inked skin, deliberate and taunting. She’s scrubbed away every trace of our encounter—hair flawless and wearing a fresh coat of red lipstick .
Fiona spins by in a blinding pink disco ball gown. Hana twirls in a fringe tornado.
But Petra… She hijacks every molecule of my attention.
Christ. I kissed her again. I have zero self-control when it comes to her.
I’m the biggest piece of shit alive. Gavin trusts me, calls me family. And here I am, one heartbeat away from ripping off that sin-red fabric and finishing what we started in the goddamn closet.
Our eyes lock, and she shoots me a wicked grin, as if she’s heard my thoughts and is daring me to act on them. My dick twitches at the invitation.
Out of the question. I’m leaving this class right now. One more seductive glance and I’m a dead man.
“?Buenas tardes, mis amores!”
A petite Mexican woman with silver hair and a flower in her bun bounces into the room, her jewelry chiming with each step.
“I am Rosita Salinas, and today we discover the language of passion through movement!” She shimmies dramatically. “Salsa maintains the fire between two hearts long after the vows are spoken. My Enrique and I have been dancing for thirty years, and— ?madre mía! —we still burn for each other.”
Hana releases an appreciative sigh.
“Sadly, mi corazón cannot join our lesson today. He’s teaching at the weeklong summer festival in Puerto Vallarta with drinking, dancing, and”—she winks—“passionate encounters beneath the stars.”
My mind conjures images of Petra moving against me under cover of darkness, and I shift uncomfortably.
“But first,” Rosita announces, “you must witness true dedication! Allow me to present my most accomplished students!”
The studio door swings open, and I’m fully unprepared for what emerges.
Miss Muffy Von Cashmere II struts in wearing a rainbow-sequined dress possibly stolen from a Vegas showgirl.
And then comes Nigel.
Gone is the butler suit. In its place: a matching colorful shirt unbuttoned to reveal glittery chest hair and pants so tight they look sprayed on.
“What fresh hell is this?” I whisper.
Latin music floods the room.
What happens next will haunt me forever.
Miss Muffy rises on her hind legs, places her paw in Nigel’s hand… and they dance.
Like, actual salsa .
Miss Muffy’s tiny legs work in perfect time with the beat as Nigel guides her through choreographed turns and spins.
“This cannot be real,” Gavin mutters.
The music builds, and Nigel drops into a split—a full split—while Miss Muffy leaps over him. Nigel springs up as if he’s got coils in his shoes, and they kick into side-by-side footwork that would shame professional humans.
My stunned brain forgets how time works—because suddenly, it’s the finale.
Nigel lifts her overhead, a spinning glittery cyclone, and throws her skyward. She rotates midair.
A double backflip !
He catches her in a dramatic dip. For her ending pose, she kicks out one leg, her tiny paw poised in perfect prima ballerina precision.
The room explodes with applause.
Fiona and Hana are on their feet, shrieking with delight. Even the normally reserved guests are clapping.
“?Magnífico!” Rosita beams.
My brain’s still buffering from the dog ballet when WHAM! Rosita pounds her cane on the floor with fury.
“Now, find your partners and prepare for romance!”
I’m halfway to Hana when Echo slithers toward Petra like a shirtless snake.
“My radiant muse,” he purrs. “You’ve invaded my subconscious. I spent all evening clothed only in moonlight, attempting to translate your beauty onto canvas. I must have you tonight for a private modeling session. Naked, of course. For art.”
I’m across the room and claiming her before I know it. “She doesn’t dance with anyone but me.”
That dangerous spark ignites in Petra’s eyes. “Did I agree to that? My memory’s fuzzy. Hmm. This is a pickle, isn’t it? Who should I dance with?”
“The guy who bought your dress,” I say firmly, closing my fingers around her wrist and steering her away.
“I’m enjoying this dominant side of you, Moneybags,” she murmurs breathily.
Fuuuucccck. This is not good. But it’s too late—the class has started.
Rosita paces like a general in stilettos, her cane tapping out the rhythm.
“?Uno, dos, tres, cuatro! ”
At first, we practice the steps on our own. WTF? Petra failed to mention she had a previous life as a professional backup dancer. Where did she learn this?
Me? I’m a sweating pile of panic in khakis, moving as though I’ve got concrete shoes and a spreadsheet for a soul.
“ Senor Sterling! You are too buttoned up! We must liberate you!”
Before I can object, she’s rolling my sleeves and popping buttons like it’s an F1 pit stop. Cool air hits my skin, and suddenly I’m the reluctant star of a Magic Mike sequel.
With a firm push, she shoves us together—tight. My palm lands on the curve of Petra’s waist, our fingers lock. We’re pressed so close that my dick is already third wheeling us in the salsa.
“ ?Excelente! Now feel your partner’s body moving against yours.”
Petra presses in, nipples grazing my chest. And—
Ooof! I trip over her ankle.
“Awesome! I’m stuck with two left feet over here,” Pip announces.
“Petra, go easy,” Gavin says, half laughing.
“Oh, I’ll go easy—once he stops dancing like he’s dodging bullets.” Her hand slides up my neck, fingers slipping into my hair.
Stop getting hard. Think about quarterly earnings reports.
“Feel the music, Moneybags,” she says playfully, then leans in. “Would it help you to remember how I tasted? Or how I’d taste if you licked me… other places.”
I clear my throat. “Gavin asked me to look after you. Not… this.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, B.” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “A facesitter, maybe…”
Focus on the steps. Left foot. Right foot. Don’t think about licking that sweet cu—
“There ya go, Sterling, now you’re getting it,” Gavin shouts.
Against my best efforts, the lesson transforms into a fever dream of vertical foreplay scored to Latin music.
“Whoopsie,” she says, fake falling. Her hand shoots out to “catch herself” and lands directly on my straining erection. She gives me a gentle squeeze that makes my vision blur.
“My, my. Now that’s what I call a dance partner.”
I close my eyes, swallow down a groan, and try to find my sanity somewhere in the pounding music. My best friend’s watching. My entire body is on red alert. My Sterling sword is doing a dance routine of his own, and Petra’s loving every second.
“Everything okay over there?” Gavin calls out.
“Just peachy!” Petra chirps, still cupping me before pulling back slowly. “Trying to help your bestie find his rhythm. He’s incredibly… hard to work with.”
“Pip,” I rasp.
“What?” she asks innocently. “You look so damn hot, I can’t help myself. And that monster in your pants has me gushing.” She edges closer, breath scorching my neck. “Knowing how much you want me… is making me so fucking wet.”
Her purring slides down my ear like a shot of whiskey—smooth, hot, and meant to burn. The sensation rockets through my spine, landing low in my stomach like a lit match. My grip tightens as I spin her away—too hard, too fast—and she crashes straight into Gavin and Fiona.
“Sorry!” I yelp.
“?Cuidado!” Rosita chuckles, helping Petra to her feet. “This is salsa, not bumper cars. ”
Petra laughs, eyes glittering as though she’s committed a felony and gotten away with it. She presses back into me, hips swaying slow and lethal.
“What’s the matter, Moneybags? Worried I’ll break you in front of everyone?”
Think about interest rates. Tax codes. Anything except how good she feels grinding against my dick.
“ ?Muy bien, Senior Sterling!“ Rosita shouts over the chaos in my head. “I see the chemistry building! Allow your bodies to communicate!”
My voice comes out hoarse. “Thank you. Very… educational.”
Rosita claps. “Now try the dramatic finish! This is where passion explodes!”
Poor choice of words.
“Yeah, B. This is supposed to be sensual,” Petra says loudly. “Not like you’re afraid I have cooties.”
As she’s calling me out, her fingers glide across my chest, lighting me up. She spins, her leg sliding up my thigh, and then wraps my arm around her. I catch her in a low dip, my hand skimming the edge of her dress’s daring neckline.
I pull her up with agonizing slowness.
She leans in, lips brushing my neck. “I’m dying to know,” she purrs. “Do you fuck like you kiss?”
Her hips roll against my erection with dirty intentions. My control is shaking like an overstretched rubber band.
“Because Bryce, you don’t have to be gentle with me.”
Snap.
I lose my footing and fall backward, knocking into the sound equipment, creating a domino effect of destruction .
The room goes silent.
“Minor technical difficulties!” I announce from the floor, scrambling to cover my arousal. “Nothing to worry about!”
Everything to worry about. Your hard-on can be seen from space.
“Shit, man, you okay?” Gavin approaches with genuine concern written across his face.