Chapter Five
UNTIL YOU LET ME BACK IN
Lennox pulled up to Sol he literally had the crowd in the palm of his hand.
He went from Marley into Buju Banton seamlessly, making people shout before they even realized the song had changed.
Lane tried to keep her face unimpressed.
She failed before they made it to the bar.
Lennox saw it happen. Her shoulders dropped first. Just a little.
Then her head tilted, catching the rhythm.
Her fingers tapped against the side of her handbag.
By the time Sister Nancy rolled through the speakers, Lane was still mad at him, but her body had stopped being committed to the cause.
That was the thing about music like this. It made your body catch di riddim. It got into the hips and spine. Into the soft and hidden places where joy waited for a reason to come out.
Lennox stepped beside her at the bar. “Still hate me?”
“Yes.”
“You said that on beat at least,” he nudged her playfully.
“I can multitask.”
He laughed and signaled the bartender. Lane ordered rum punch because it was something bright and dangerous that looked sweet enough to trust and strong enough to rearrange a person’s evening.
Lennox ordered dark rum on the rocks because he was not trying to miss a second of watching her loosen up by letting a fruity drink out him on his ass.
He watched her but not in the way other men watched her.
They looked at the curves first, their eyes roaming her thick thighs.
They bit their lip at the soft sway of her hips.
Land had a body that made a room full of men and women focus on her.
Lennox saw all of her too, but he also saw the fight leaving her in pieces.
He saw the way her mouth softened around the straw. The way her eyes went to the dance floor. The way she wanted to move, and how she was making herself stand still, because staying mad at him had apparently become her extracurricular activity for the evening.
Patra came through the speakers, and half the women near the dance floor screamed like their knees had received a divine summons.
Lane’s eyes lit up as Lennox leaned down near her ear. “Go ahead.”
She looked at him. “What?”
“Your body already left. Your pride is the only thing still standing here,” he grinned. “Come dance with me.”
“No,” she refused.
“Lane.”
“I said no.”
He held out one hand, and she stared at it like it owed her money.
“Come on,” he said. “You can cuss me out while you dance.”
That did it; she slid her hand into his with a glare. “One song.”
Lennox’s fingers closed around hers. “One song,” he agreed, lying with his whole chest.
He led her to the dance floor just as Shaggy came on and the room shifted into a frenzy of movement.
People paired off and hips were whinin. Lane stood in front of him with her arms crossed for exactly four seconds before the rhythm caught her.
Her hips moved first, barely—she was trying to prove she was still in control.
Lennox stayed behind her. He was close but not touching her the way he wanted to.
He was letting her decide how much space existed between them, and it was killing him.
His woman was inches away, glowing under club lights as her hips began to whine up as she stepped back just enough for her body to brush his.
His hand flexed at his side, itching to grab her hips.
Lane looked over her shoulder, eyes bright beneath the lights. “Don’t get excited.”
“Too late,” he groaned.
She laughed from her chest, and Lennox felt something inside him relax.
He’d seen Lane in all her anger, but he loved when he got to experience her in soft flashes of joy that she often pretended never happened.
But happy Lane did something to him. It made him want to be the man that made that happiness permanent.
The DJ moved from Shaggy into Beenie Man and Lane forgot herself for another few seconds.
Her shoulders rolled, and her body found the pocket of the beat.
She lifted one hand, eyes closing as she let the music move through her.
Lennox moved with her, still careful, still close enough to feel the warmth of her but not enough to claim what she hadn’t given.
Then she reached back and pulled his hand to her waist, and his entire body ached.
Lane didn’t look at him; she just kept dancing.
Lennox held on, letting his palm settle against the curve of her waist, and the softness there nearly ended his ability to think.
The music thickened around them, and the crowd pressed closer.
The lights shifted blue, then gold, then red across Lane’s skin.
Her lavender curls looked almost silver in one flash and violet in the next.
She was beautiful in a way that felt rude, disrespectful, even, especially when you couldn’t have her to yourself.
God had made her and said, “Let’s see how many men are willing to risk it all for a chance to get her attention. ”
Lennox lowered his mouth near her ear. “You having fun?”
“No.”
He smiled against the air beside her skin. “You’re smiling.”
He laughed, and her smile widened. The DJ shouted over the mic, hyping the room as the next song slid in. The opening rhythm made the women around them cheer. Lane’s spine straightened. Her hand flew to Lennox’s wrist, where it rested at her waist.
“This is my song!” She shouted over the music as Keznamdi’s “Queen of the Ghetto” poured through the speakers.
The last bit of restraint left her body, making space for stress-relieving fun. She leaned forward then backed into Lennox with a slow, deliberate motion that made his hand tighten at her waist, and his member tighten his slacks.
His mind emptied, causing a full system shutdown.
Lane moved on him like she knew exactly what she was doing, because she did.
Hips fluid, back arched just enough, her soft, round ass pressed against him with enough pressure to make him see their future.
She looked over her shoulder, eyes half-lidded, mouth curved like sensual revenge had found rhythm.
Lennox’s free hand went to her other hip. He couldn’t help it, and she didn’t stop him. That was mercy or cruelty. With Lane, it was usually both.
“Still mad?” he asked, voice rough.
“Yes,” she said, rolling her hips again.
He closed his eyes for half a second. “You dance like that when you mad?” He whispered in her ear as she ignored him and wound harder on the growing erection that he was sure she felt.
“Stop talking and keep up, or you scared?” She taunted.
He turned her to face him as he met her gaze. “Scared of holding something I should’ve never let go?”
Her expression held a flicker of desire in her pretty eyes.
The song kept moving while the crowd kept singing and swaying.
He could hear voices around them, but between them the sexual tension crackled.
Lane looked away first, but she didn’t move out of his grasp.
If anything, she settled closer—letting her body rest flush against his chest as they found the same rhythm.