Chapter 37
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SEVEN
MYLO
The music overflows with energy, my hair is blown out, my face is beat, I’m wearing a slutty little dress, and I just drank so much wine.
So of course I want to fucking dance.
Christine needs no encouragement to head to the center of the dance floor, and the crew greets us with cheers as they make room.
I catch the rhythm of a Top 40 hit with my hips, riding the beat around to glance at Christine.
She shed her moto jacket along the way, and she stands with her drink against her lips and her thumb hooked behind her belt, foot tapping as she watches me.
I might finally have found something she’s bad at. My time to show off. I let the music carry me, my doubts and worries going distant and blurry beyond the wine and thumping beat.
Haley dances over and joins me at the center of the floor, and we loop in others to scream-sing along to our favorites.
Christine was right. We made it to the end. Might as well enjoy the last night.
I’m more than content to let Christine watch.
Until Shakira croons, hips don’t lie.
And then I’m grabbing her hands, pulling her into a salsa beat.
She laughs, holding up a hand. “Let me put my drink down.”
I hang shamelessly off her elbow, pausing to note that she’s not wearing a bra: the thin white cotton of her t-shirt drapes over those perfect breasts. I hurry her along as she gulps down the rest of her Mai Tai and sets it on the closest table.
Once her hands are empty, I pull her onto the dance floor.
“Just watch my feet and follow along.”
A smile clings to her lips as she makes an effort, clumsy but serviceable. “Like this?”
“Yeah, keep doing that, but better.”
Her rich laugh rolls over me, and I catch myself smiling too.
As the chorus picks up, I look up at her with a glint in my eye. “Now, try to keep up, princess.”
I change direction, and Christine stumbles. I give her a few bars to adjust, then move to a side-to-side step. She catches on faster this time.
Content that I’ve been nice enough, I move on to more and more complex steps, waiting for Christine to trip over herself.
She never does, though. On a direction change, she switches feet, stepping back instead of toward me.
I push against her. “Hey, I was leading!”
Her satisfied purr drips down my chest. “Not anymore.”
My breath flees me as Christine pulls me into the next bar, then sends me spinning into a twirl. She catches me on the beat, and it’s all I can do to keep my feet under me as she changes direction again.
She leads like a pro, flowing us through steps far more advanced than my weekend workshops got into.
And when the shock wears off, I find myself… having fun. There’s something thrilling about being at her mercy, knowing she’s going to put me through my paces, find my limits. I’m excited for what she throws at me next, eager to prove that I can take it, whatever it is.
As the song moves through its crescendo, Christine pushes me into a dip.
I realize, as I fall toward the ground, making no effort to brace—
I trust her completely.
With her hand spanning the small of my back, and the other under my neck, she dips me so low that my hair brushes the floor.
Applause erupts around us, but I hardly hear it.
Her lips are so close, if I just hooked my arms over her neck…
Christine pulls me back upright and sets me on my feet. Her hand slides around my waist, pulling me tight to her side as our crewmates offer her enthusiastic high-fives.
The firmness of her hand on my hip says she won’t tolerate anyone else touching me right now, and I’m too drunk to pretend I want to fight that. I lean into her smell, her warmth. It’s just one night, right? Why not enjoy being the prize an alpha wants to defend, for once?
As the next song grabs the crew’s attention, Christine pulls me toward the bar. “Let’s get you some water.”
“Where the fuck did you learn to dance like that?”
“That answers the question of whether you’ve been following my career.”
I click my tongue. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She raises a brow at me. “I was on Dancing with the Stars last year.”
“Oh. Did you win?”
Christine’s laugh is warm and rich as she hands me a glass of water. I like it when she laughs like that. I don’t think I’ve heard it much before.
“Third place,” she says.
“That’s pretty good.”
“Imagine how much better I could’ve done if I’d actually tried.”
I choke on my water, then cast a skeptical look up at Christine. “I can never tell if you’re being serious.”
The corner of her mouth hooks upwards. “You’re just full of compliments tonight.”
I roll my eyes, then chug the rest of my water. “Okay, I hydrated, can I have more alcohol now?”
There’s a coy glint in her eye. “Why are you asking me?”
“Because…” Shit. Did I adjust that quickly to following her lead? “You’re bossy. I’m just being proactive.”
“Oh, I’m bossy?”
I scoff. “Obviously.”
Then suddenly she’s leaning low over me, and her warmth makes my skin tingle.
“See, I get the feeling I’m not half as bossy as you want me to be…”
A violent shudder ripples down my spine, dripping heat.
Her low, wicked laugh flashes fangs next to my cheek. “I can tell how badly you want to be a good boy…”
The room spins. “You can’t… do that…”
“Oh? And why is that? You gonna stop me?”
I drag my gaze upwards, finding Christine’s eyes—the only steady point around me. The tavern has become a kiln, and the sweat-soaked silk clings to my skin.
My breath catches. “Because I’m not going to make it—”
Her arm rises to steady me, and I cling tight, fingers digging into flexed muscle.
“Because I need—” Fuck, it’s impossible to get the words out.
Christine’s other hand cradles my cheek, and her whisper brushes my ear. “I want to hear you say it.”
Something at my core cracks and gives way. “I need you.” My breath quickens, and I pant just from the effort of standing. “Tee, I need you…”
She folds around me, nails digging through the silk, hot breath on my neck.
Then I’m stumbling through the party as she leads me around the bar and to the back. We pile into a cramped single-stall bathroom, and the cold tile wall bites my shoulders as the lock clicks into place.
Christine moves painfully slowly, dragging hot palms down my body as she kneels.
I shudder under her touch, cock pinching tight in my briefs.
She kisses and licks her way up the insides of my legs, gradually lifting the silk.
I moan quietly as she frees my length, and I might as well be tied to the wall, it’s so hard to get my body to move. She was right. I melt for her because I want to. Because being the subject of her attention, her power is… intoxicating.
And I have one night left to drink up.
Her mouth closes around my cock, and a shameless moan escapes me, echoing off the tile. The party is loud enough to drown it out, but I don’t care who hears me at this point. If this is the last time I have my cock down her throat, I’m going to enjoy it.
I’m dripping already, heat leaking from my length. Even when I gush, it still only feels like the edge. Usually this would bring me at least some relief, but no matter how much she milks out of me, I only get dizzier and dizzier—until her tongue slides around, slow and teasing.
I whimper openly, desperate.
“Please, please, I need you inside me…”
The words seem to snap Christine’s restraint, and she takes me deep, sucking hard, tongue plunging into my ass as she holds my leg to the side. I cry out, and heat coils at my core, throbbing through my base and promising true release.
She works her mouth and tongue over and through me, fast and hard, and I unravel into something that feels like a real climax—but only just.
I lean heavily against the wall, still dripping, as Christine stands.
She strips her shirt off over her head and her breasts drop free, holding my eyes until she slides her black jeans over her hips.
Then she takes my hands in hers, pressing one to her cunt and the other to her breast.
Holy fuck, she’s wet. She cradles her hand over mine, hooking both our fingers into her hot folds. When I squeeze her breast, she releases the hand there, bracing against the wall over my head.
Her clit throbs against my palm, and her wetness drips around our fingers. She rolls her hips, grinding on my hand, and the subtle catch of pleasure in her breath is enough to send my arousal back into overdrive.
I brush my thumb over her nipple, earning a low gasp. Aching for more of that, I find her other nipple with my mouth.
She draws a sharp breath past her teeth—fuck, she’s sensitive.
As I look up, her eyes pin my soul in my body.
I feel every throb and clench of her cunt, the subtle pebbling of her areola against my tongue, the heat wherever our skin meets.
I hear every quiver in her breath, every low purr, every subtle moan.
And I smell a thunderstorm rolling in from the ocean, casting rain over a forest wet and rich and teeming with life, loam against my fingers and lightning crackling in the air.
And I know what she’s thinking with each roll of her hips, every throb of her clit.
I finally understand exactly how inside of me I need her to be.
I’d shoved the concept of knots far, far from my brain, but the feeling of her thrusting against me cuts through every veil, and my ass tingles as I ache for her presence.
I suck harder at the nipple in my mouth and massage my thumb over her other breast, hooking my fingers in her cunt with each thrust.
Her breath tightens and quickens, and there’s a tinge of desperation in the furrow of her brow, an edge of disappointment in her quiet moans.
She’s honest, like this.
This isn’t how either of us wants this to end, not really.
But fuck, it’s going to feel good.
Christine curls over me, hips shaking. The word that falls from her lips, possessive and devastated, shatters me to my core.
“Mylo…”
Then she crests her climax, unraveling around me. Her cunt squeezes my fingers, tight and rhythmic, and her hand drops to the back of my neck, pressing me tighter into her breast.
Even though there’s nothing touching my cock, I tip over my own edge, pouring out onto the floor. Her pleasure is the most potent spell, and this time, true relief is within reach. Still shaking with her own aftershocks, she moves her hand to my cum-slick cock, stroking hard and fast.
I shake with overstimulation, then hurtle into a decisive orgasm, one that actually drains the heat from my head.
We come down together, breathing hard, with my cheek against her breast, her hand on my cock, my hand in her cunt.
This time, neither of us is in a hurry to pull away.
Until someone knocks on the door.
“It’s occupied,” Christine barks.
“I gotta piss,” comes the muffled reply.
“Piss outside.”
Even through a door, an alpha bark is hard to resist, and there’s no further protest.
I’ve already slipped around Christine and pulled out a handful of paper towels, dampening them in the sink before wiping myself clean.
She frowns, as if disappointed at the waste, but I think if her tongue hits my cock again I might actually pass out. She pulls her thong and jeans back up, then slips her shirt on over her head as I arrange myself in my tucking briefs.
“Ready to head back to the party?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I could use some fresh air.” My senses are still overly sharp, but we can’t exactly stay here.
“Wanna go up to the roof?”
I catch myself in a genuine smile. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”