9. Chapter Nine #2
God, I feel beautiful.
A guy drifts closer behind me, slipping into the rhythm. Heat radiates from him, close enough that I can sense it at my back. His hands hover near my hips, waiting for permission. I turn my head slightly, just enough to make it clear I know he’s there. Just enough to tell him I’m choosing this.
His palm rests lightly at my waist.
I move with the beat, with the heat and with the stranger’s hand on my waist. His body is close and his breath brushes the side of my neck as the crowd presses tighter. I let my head fall back a little and roll my hips against him, slow enough to feel sexy.
Then another man steps in front of me.
He doesn’t touch. Not right away. He just moves into the rhythm, close enough that the blue light catches the sharp line of his jaw and the hungry little flicker in his eyes.
His gaze drops once—quick and hot—down over my body before lifting back to my face.
His fingers flex at his sides as if his hands have opinions his manners are still trying to overrule.
I have always had a weakness for men who understand the difference between wanting and taking.
The stranger behind me shifts closer as the crowd presses in, his palm tightening slightly at my waist. Suddenly I am caught between them, heat at my back and heat in front of me, the music sliding through all three of us in one filthy, perfect rhythm.
My body keeps moving before my head can talk me out of it, hips rolling, hair brushing my shoulders, skin warm beneath the lights.
I let my hips roll again, more slowly this time, and they move with me, grinding into the rhythm.
And God, what a rush.
For a few glittering seconds, I let myself have it.
The music, the hands, and the heat. The wonderfully uncomplicated reality of two men pressed close enough that there is no mystery about what they want, their hard cocks and dark eyes speaking a language far more honest than most men ever manage with words.
Then the man in front of me leans closer, blue light slicing across his face as his gaze drifts to my mouth. His fingers tighten once around my waist, and for a dangerous second, I think he’s going to kiss me.
God help me, I know I’d let him.
His gaze lifts suddenly as something behind me catches his attention.
His expression shifts. Then, with a slight smile that seems almost apologetic, he steps back and disappears into the crowd, swallowed by blue lights, sweat, and bodies moving to the beat.
A second later, the warmth behind me shifts as well. And just like that, he’s gone.
Story of my fucking life, really.
Then another hand glides to my hip. Not hesitant or polite. Familiar.
My entire body knows before my head does, which is humiliating and inconvenient and exactly the sort of shit my heart would pull.
It’s Phoenix.
His hips fit mine as if the song had been written around us.
One hand stays on my waist, the other slides over my stomach, not high enough to be public indecency, not low enough to give me any peace.
His chest presses against my back as his breath hits my neck.
His mouth brushes the skin below my ear and my entire body turns traitor in a hot, humiliating rush.
I turn my head slightly, not enough to look at him. “You chased them off.”
“They were in my way.”
His hand flattens against my stomach, holding me to him as the bass hits hard enough to shake the floor. My breath catches. His body is unforgiving behind mine, all heat and muscle and his hard cock pressed against my ass.
For years, I have watched Phoenix want women. I have watched him smile at them, touch them, ruin them with that lazy mouth and then walk away as if they were nothing.
He has never once aimed it at me. Not like this.
His mouth brushes my ear again and I register the curve of his smile against my skin. Arrogant. Filthy. Beautiful enough to be a public health concern.
“Do you know what you look like out here?” His fingers dip into my hip as he grinds behind me.
“Do you know how fucking sexy you are when you let everyone else see you?” His mouth brushes my ear again.
“I could finger fuck you right her in the middle of this dance floor. Everyone’s too drunk to notice.
The music is so loud nobody would hear you fucking come. ”
My pulse stumbles.
“Phoenix.”
“Is that supposed to stop me?” His laugh is low. “Because, sweetheart, it’s not doing a very good job.”
He gathers my hair in his hand. The simple intimacy of it almost fucks me up more than the words. Slowly, he lifts the strands of hair from my neck, exposing the skin beneath. The gesture feels absurdly possessive.
“Fuck, you have no idea what you’re doing, moving those hips, letting those assholes think they’ve got a chance.” His mouth brushes my ear again. “You get into my blood and send me fucking stupid, Wills.”
The words hit me harder than the music does.
“I’ve wanted you for so fucking long,” he whispers, his words rough with need. “You think this is new? Sweetheart, I’ve wanted to fuck you for years. I just kept finding easier ways to lie to myself.”
My breath catches.
He laughs softly against my neck. “You look shocked.” His mouth brushes my ear again. “What? You thought I was blind?”
“Phoenix.”
His hand glides over my waist, holding me tighter against him.
“Jesus Christ, Wills.” He brushes his lips along the line of my throat. “Tell me you haven’t imagined this?”
The bass pounds through the floor beneath us. Bodies move around us. Somehow, the whole club shrinks until there is only his mouth and the hard line of his body behind mine.
“You think this is because some asshole got too close to you tonight?” He plants a little open, wet kiss on the side of my neck and I almost moan. “Wills, I’ve been jealous since we were seventeen and too fucking stupid to tell you I wanted to fuck you then.”
His lips brush my neck. “Every asshole who ever looked at you pissed me off.” Another kiss beneath my ear. “Every fucking boyfriend.” His fingers tighten on my hip. “That asshole cockhead Memphis from the other night.” His breath fans across my skin. “Half the crowd here tonight.”
I close my eyes because this is Phoenix. The man who has broken my heart so many times it should have learnt self-defence by now. The asshole who usually hides behind smirks and groupies and women whose names disappear before morning.
But he is holding me like this and wanting me like this in the middle of a crowded nightclub with half the world watching.
His mouth grazes my ear again. “Do you know what really pisses me off?”
“What?” I ask.
“That I know exactly what those assholes were thinking when they looked at you, because I was thinking even worse.”
God, help me. After years of being the girl beside him, behind him, writing songs while other women got his attention, I let myself believe this means something.
I let myself believe that after all these years, Phoenix finally sees me.
Worse, for one stupid second, I let myself believe he finally wants me.