Two Justice #2
“I know you are.” He says it like a fact. No heat, no praise. Just truth.
The heat that pulses low in my body is unwelcome and completely infuriating.
I feel my knees start to betray me again, so I pivot to cover it.
Clean step. Controlled. Almost elegant. I’m proud of it until his hand adjusts with me, just enough to keep me from actually falling.
Like he anticipated the slip before I did.
I hate how easily he can hold me like this. I hate how warm he is. I hate the smell of his cologne. Expensive, complex, a little sharp. Like black pepper and sin. “There’s a running theme in my head about you. It’s called hate.” I might as well give him the truth.
“Really?” He slides one hard thigh between my thighs and presses up.
Electricity arcs between my legs and through my body. I gasp, my clit pulsing. What is he doing? “Stop.”
“No.” His hand flattens across the small of my back, and he pulls me toward him, pulsing up with his leg. His very strong, muscled, unrelenting thigh.
Oh, God. Tremors begin to shake inside me. “Justice.”
He forces me to ride it, turning with the music, holding me close. Does anybody know what he’s doing to me? I clutch his lapels tight, digging my nails in. Liquid pools in my panties. My teeth grit. “You are such—”
“Watch it, princess.” His hand slides down to cup my ass and then squeezes, just as his thigh muscle tightens.
My body jerks and my nipples sharpen, scraping against the soft fabric of the dress. Even that small sensation is overwhelming.
My head drops toward him. Live wires uncoil inside me, and erotic sparks zing up from my clit. I blink several times. My breath starts to pant. Panic takes me along with the need to let go. “Justice,” I breathe again, needing him to stop. Now.
“Say please.”
I swallow. People are all around us. His gaze drops to my hardened nipples. “Last chance.”
“Please.” I can’t orgasm in front of everyone. How is this happening?
His leg slides back and he twirls us. “Good girl.”
I want to hit him. Kind of. I also want to finish what he just started. That’s not like me. Not at all.
He studies me. “You look lovely tonight, Ella.”
It sounds like he means the compliment. “Are you always this nice to your enemies?” I keep my tone dry, but I hear the edge in it. The nerves. The pull.
“I’m not nice,” he says. “This is containment.”
“Charming.” I stiffen.
His hand spans my entire lower back. “You should keep talking,” he adds.
This throws me, and I don’t want to challenge him again right now. Not with people all around us and my vagina weeping for him. This confuses my brain. My body seems to have a plan of its own. “Why should I talk?” I whisper.
He’s quiet for a beat too long. “Your voice helps me think.”
It’s a lie. Or it’s not. I can’t tell. I can’t read him.
For someone like me, that’s terrifying. I narrow my eyes.
“I know your brother has a form of lexical-gustatory synesthesia and can taste people’s words.
Do you have it also?” The condition is real but enhanced with Thorn and makes him have a taste in his mouth any time somebody speaks. When Alana talks, he tastes honey.
Thorn apparently loves honey.
Justice stiffens and then relaxes. Crap. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. “How the hell do you know about Thorn?”
Heat tinges my face. “Alana told me. Thorn knows I know.” Anything that will keep Justice from snapping my neck right now is a good sentence to say. “I’ll never tell anybody. I promised her.” I will never break a promise to Rosalie or Alana. Regardless of the consequences. “Do you have it, too?”
“No. I just like your voice,” he says, and his thumb presses lightly into my lower back again, steadying me mid-turn. “If you’re talking to me, you’re not trying to kill anybody I care about.”
I laugh, breathy and sharp. Do I believe him? Maybe. He sounds sincere, but he wouldn’t tell me if he had a weakness, would he? I angle my head back to look at his rugged face. “I’ve already apologized. Are you going to take revenge?”
He doesn’t smile. His jaw flexes. He says nothing. But his eyes say yes.
This is not comforting. “You’re making me nervous,” I say, and this time I mean it.
“Good.” His voice is too even. “You should be.”
He’s not threatening me. Not directly. But he doesn’t have to. The truth is worse than a threat. I’m the enemy, and I’m completely caught in his arms.
We dance another full song. Somehow, I move against him naturally, my body wanting more.
A lot more from him. His hands are steady, his rhythm flawless, and every time I breathe in, I get that mix of expensive cologne and skin-warmed heat that makes my head spin.
His touch never falters. Not too tight, not too soft. Controlled. Intentional. Deadly.
Which is exactly what I should be focusing on. Not the pressure of his palm, or the way he moves with me like we were made for this. Or the fact that part of me, a part that absolutely needs to shut up, is starting to enjoy the feeling of us plastered together.
Then someone taps a knife against a champagne glass. A soft ting ting ting echoes through the pavilion, pulling all attention toward the cake table.
“Oh, it’s speech time.” I’m breathless and a little dizzy. “Aren’t you the best man?”
“I really am,” he says, and there’s something deeply unfair about how good that sounds in his voice. Smooth, confident, unshakable. My brain short-circuits just a little.
He takes my hand, whether I like it or not, and I very much don’t.
I have a date, who I can’t even see right now.
Where is Wesley? Then Justice starts leading me through the crowd like I’m a very fancy, very glittery flight risk.
People part like the sea for Moses. Only this time, Moses is carrying a hacker hostage in heels.
At the table, he snags a flute of champagne with his free hand like this is just another night out.
This man is about to toast the bride and groom, and I’m still trying to remember how to breathe.
The moment no one’s looking, I wrench my hand free and vanish around the other side, heading straight for Alana.
Still trying to catch my breath, I grab a fresh glass of champagne, trying to act as if I wasn’t just dragged across the ballroom by Justice Beathach like his personal property.