Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Scarlett
Dax guides me through the crowd to a quieter corner of the lounge, away from the pulsing music and the press of bodies. It's a semi-private alcove, tucked behind a column, where the noise dims just enough that we can hear each other without shouting.
We stop. Face each other. The tension is immediate.
Overwhelming. My heart is racing so hard I can feel it in my throat.
He's standing close. Too close. Close enough that I can smell his cologne—that same expensive, masculine scent that's been haunting me for days.
Close enough that I can see the way his jaw tightens, the way his eyes darken as they lock onto mine.
"Dax," I start, but I don't know what to say.
I don't know how to explain what I'm feeling, and he doesn't give me a chance to figure it out.
"I didn't appreciate you running out of my hotel suite without a word," he says, his voice controlled but edged with something harder.
My defenses snap into place.
"What did you expect? I woke up and realized what we'd done."
"What we'd done?" His eyes flash.
"You mean what we both wanted?"
"It was a mistake, Dax. I was devastated, drunk—"
"It didn't feel like a mistake," he says, cutting me off.
Silence stretches between us, charged and crackling.
"Why are you here?" I ask finally.
"In this club?"
"Business meeting with clients." His eyes don't leave mine.
"I could ask you the same thing."
"My friends brought me to New York." I cross my arms over my chest, a weak shield against the intensity of his gaze.
"To help me move on."
"Move on." He says it like the words taste bitter.
"From Miles?"
"Who else?"
Another silence. Heavier this time. Dax steps closer. I should step back. I don't.
"Have you been in touch with Miles?" he asks, his voice quieter now.
I shake my head.
"He's left me voicemails. Texts. I haven't called back."
"Good."
The word is possessive. Territorial. It sends a shiver down my spine.
"I just wanted to make sure you're okay," he continues, his eyes searching my face.
"I'm fine." I try to sound convincing.
"Or I will be."
His hand comes up, fingers brushing my arm. Just a light touch, but it sets every nerve ending on fire.
"I can't stop thinking about you," he says, and the raw honesty in his voice steals the air from my lungs.
"Dax—"
"Tell me you haven't thought about that night." He leans closer, his voice dropping to something almost dangerous.
"Tell me you don't feel this."
I can't lie. Not when he's looking at me like that. Not when my body is already responding to his proximity.
"Of course I've thought about it," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes darken further.
"Then what's stopping us?"
"Everything." I gesture helplessly.
"You're his brother. I was supposed to marry him. This is—"
"Miles made his choice," Dax interrupts.
"He walked away. From you. From any claim he had."
"That doesn't make this okay."
"Doesn't it?" His hand moves from my arm to my waist, pulling me closer.
"Tell me you don't want this. Tell me you don't want me. And I'll walk away right now."
I should tell him that. Should push him away. Should go back to Jane and Sarah and pretend this conversation never happened. ButI don't say anything.
The alcohol I've been drinking all night is lowering my inhibitions.
Making everything feel both sharper and softer at the same time.
I glance across the lounge and see Jane and Sarah dancing, flirting with a group of men near the bar.
They're distracted, laughing, not paying attention to us right now.
Dax is standing so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body. Can feel the tension coiled in him, matching my own.
"This is insane," I whisper.
"I know," he agrees, but he doesn't move away.
"We can't—"
"Can't what?" His hand comes up, fingers brushing the bare skin of my arm. The touch is light, almost reverent, but it sends electricity shooting through me.
The memory of his hands on my body floods back. The way he touched me. The way he made me feel. The way he took me apart and put me back together.
I can feel him getting hard. Can see it in the way his jaw tightens, the way his breathing changes. His cock is pressing against his pants, and the knowledge that I'm affecting him this way sends heat pooling low in my belly.
I'm standing on a precipice. One step forward and I fall. One step back and I'm safe. I should step back. Before I can make the decision, Dax makes it for me.
He grabs me, his hand wrapping around my wrist. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with want.
"Come with me," he says, his voice rough.
"Where?" I breathe.
He doesn't answer. Just pulls me toward him, then guides me through the crowd. We weave between bodies, the music pounding around us. He's searching for something, his hand still wrapped around my wrist like he's afraid I'll disappear if he lets go.
Then he sees a sign for the bathrooms down a corridor away from the main lounge area. He pulls me down the hallway. There are multiple doors—men's, women's, and at the end, a single private bathroom. Dax tries the handle—it’s unlocked. He pulls me inside and locks the door behind us.
The bathroom is upscale—marble counters, a large mirror, soft lighting. Spacious enough that we're not cramped, private enough that no one can see us.
The moment the lock clicks, Dax is on me.
He steps forward, his large hands gripping my waist and sliding over my body with an urgency that leaves me breathless.
His touch is firm, almost rough, as his fingers press into the seams of my dress, squeezing my hips, my ass, like he's desperate to claim every inch of me.
I gasp as his mouth crashes into mine, the kiss searing and ravenous. My hands fly to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging as our lips move in frantic unison, the taste of him intoxicating and overwhelming.
Without breaking the kiss, Dax lifts me like I weigh nothing, placing me on the cool surface of the expansive sink counter. My legs part instinctively as he steps between them, his body pressing into mine, solid and unyielding.
His mouth leaves mine, trailing heat along my jaw, down my neck. I tilt my head back, giving him access, and my hands reach for his suit jacket, fumbling to slide it off his shoulders.
He shrugs it off with a sharp movement, tossing it carelessly onto the chair beside us.
His hands roam down my thighs, the rough pads of his fingers sliding under the slit of my dress, caressing the sensitive skin.
My breath hitches as his touch grows bolder, his hands kneading my flesh, trailing higher until they brush against the damp silk of my panties.
"You're so wet,” he growls, his voice thick and primal, and a shiver courses through me.
His fingers hook the edge of my panties, sliding them to the side, and then he's inside me, two fingers plunging deep with a confidence that steals the air from my lungs.
A sharp moan escapes my lips, and my legs fall wider as his fingers pump into me with relentless precision. He spreads me open, his movements skilled and unrelenting, and my head falls back against the mirror as I feel the pressure build.
Then, suddenly, he lowers himself, his mouth replacing his fingers as he buries his face into my core.
I cry out, my hands flying to his hair, gripping tight as his tongue finds my clit, flicking and swirling with devastating expertise. His fingers are still inside me, curling to hit that perfect spot with every thrust, and I'm unraveling.
My thighs tremble around his head as his tongue dips lower, teasing my entrance before plunging into me, the sensation blinding.
My breath comes in gasps as the pressure coils tighter and tighter. His thumb rubs deliberate circles over my clit while his tongue and fingers work in tandem, pushing me closer to the edge.
"Dax," I gasp, unable to hold back the tidal wave of sensation crashing over me.
My orgasm hits hard, my body convulsing as I release, my juices spilling onto his chin. He groans in satisfaction, licking me clean as I shudder in the aftermath.
Before I can catch my breath, he stands, his fingers still slick with me as he unzips his pants.
My gaze drops to the thick length that springs free, and I can't help but reach for it, wrapping my hand around him and stroking slowly.
He's rock hard, pulsing in my palm. I feel powerful holding him like this, watching his jaw clench with restraint.
But Dax doesn't waste time. He pulls me off the counter and spins me around, pressing my front against the wide mirror. The glass is cool against my heated skin. I brace myself as he lifts the back of my dress, exposing me to him entirely.
He fists his cock, the head brushing against my slick folds before he smacks it against my ass, the sharp sound echoing in the quiet room. I gasp at the contact, and then he's sliding inside me, stretching me so completely that I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming.
His hand tangles in my hair, tugging my head back so our eyes meet in the mirror.
"Look at me fucking you," he commands, his voice a growl, and the feral dominance in his tone sends a fresh wave of heat crashing through me.
I do as he says, watching his face as he begins to thrust, hard and deep, the reflection capturing the raw intensity of his movements. My body rocks against the mirror with each powerful stroke, and my moans fill the room, unrestrained and desperate.
"Quiet," he hisses, his hand moving to cover my mouth.
"People can hear."
The reminder that we're in a public bathroom, that anyone could be outside, that we could be caught—it makes everything more intense. More dangerous.
I bite down on his palm to muffle my cries as he pounds into me.