“I’m not going to cause a scene. I’d just like to meet the judges, and tell them that they’re full of shit with that third place fucking nonsense. This thing was fucking rigged.”
She patted my arm. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Fucking rigged,” I said again, under my breath, but I did drop it. Even more than I wanted to say my piece, I wanted not to embarrass Danika on her night.
At the after party, I dragged her out into an empty hallway for a moment alone. I was all over her in that sexy fucking dress.
“I’m going to fuck you standing up in this little scrap of nothing you’re wearing. Where’s the closest closet? I swear I’ll be quick.”
She laughed, kissing my cheek. “So you liked it? Thank you for coming out. I know this isn’t really your thing.”
“If it’s your thing, it’s my thing, and you were amazing out there. It’s art, what you do. I loved it.”
She blinked several times, then wiped at her eyes. “Thank you. You’re so sweet. I’m so happy you enjoyed it. Frankly, I thought you might be bored.”
I shook my head emphatically. “Show me where that closet is, and I’ll show you just how bored I wasn’t. I could watch you dance forever. It’s my favorite thing in the world that doesn’t involve touching you. Seriously.”
She kissed me, her smile exuberant. “You can be so sweet,” she said into my lips.
I groaned, dragging her against my erection, grinding it into her stomach, my hands on her ass. She kept calling me sweet, but I wasn’t feeling sweet, I was feeling ravenous, and maybe a bit violent.
“We have to get back,” she gasped.
“Give me five minutes,” I growled, inching her skirt up, “I’ll make it count.”
“Not here! Let’s at least find someplace private!”
I stepped away from her, panting. I was holding onto the last piece of my self-control by one tiny thread. “Lead on. I wasn’t kidding about a closet.”
“You can’t mess up my hair, okay? This party will go on for hours, and I want to look my best when I’m meeting all these new people.”
I laughed. She had no problem with me screwing her brains out in a closet, but she was worried about her hair. I thought it was too fucking adorable.
Her nose wrinkled as she saw me laughing. “Shut up. It took the hairdresser two hours to get it just right, so I want to get full use out of it.”
I was still laughing as she led me down the hallway.
She tried each door we passed until we found one that was unlocked. After we got in, it was another chore to find the lights.
I took vague note of the fact that it was some sort of office before I was pinning her to the door, lifting that wisp of a dress up to her hips.
I freed myself with one hand, the other fumbling with her top, trying to pull it down off her shoulders.
She shook her head. “It’s taped on in a few places,” she explained as she took my hand in hers, sliding it through the opening in her side so I could touch her, skin on skin. My hand snaked up to grip her breast.
I groaned, shifting my hips, rubbing against her until I felt her warm, wet entrance. I pushed in deep, deeper, going until I was buried to the hilt. I didn’t move for one beat, two, just enjoying the perfect feel of it.
With a rough groan, I began to move.
I loved her response, her writhing hips, her gasping, ragged cries. I loved the smell of her sweet breath as it panted unsteadily against my face.
My movements became rough, jerky, as I got close. I growled and pawed. My eyes closed as I savored every tight squeeze, every wet slide.
“Oh God Tristan, I love you!” she cried.
Buried deep in her, utterly submerged, body and soul, I came.
Pulling out of her just about had me attacking her again, but I controlled myself. This round had been enough to take the edge off. I could wait a few hours for the rest.
We cleaned up in the nearest bathroom, and Danika took a few minutes to straighten her clothing, and refresh her makeup.
“That dress,” I said slowly, letting the words drawl out of my mouth like a caress.
She smiled her seductress smile. It was overkill, at this point. “I knew you’d either love it or hate it.”
“Can’t it be both?”
She laughed. “Or that. It’s part of the show. It’s to catch the judges’ eyes.”
“So you’re saying that I need to go take out some judges?”
She shook her head, still smiling. “You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told. In case I didn’t tell you, you look beautiful. That dress is infuriating, but it is ravishing on you.”
She flushed in pleasure. “Thank you. Compliments from you are my absolute favorite.”
I let that one roll around in my head, taking it to mean that she’d gotten a lot of compliments from people that weren’t me.
That was hardly surprising, but still not reassuring. The caveman part of me that she liked to tease me about would have preferred to keep her locked away, for my eyes only.
“Your partner,” I began.
She waved me off. “He’s harmless and a very nice guy, so please don’t scare him off. We’re learning together, and it’s been a good partnership so far.”
I nodded, but my jaw clenched, and I considered dragging her into another room to help me cope with my temper in a way that made us both happy.
I missed my chance, and we were in the party again, mingling with dancers. Somewhere along the way, she was separated from me.
When she reappeared, and she wasn’t alone.
“Tristan, this is Anthony, my dance instructor, and my partner, Preston.”
It’s a punk name, I thought. I smiled at him. It felt unpleasant. “Nice to meet you.” I managed not to say it through my teeth.
He tried to smile back, but he had to tilt his head back to look up at me, and I could tell that I intimidated the hell out of him. Good. I planned to scare the shit out of him before we left tonight. He may as well know what I’d do to him if he made a move on my girl.
Danika moved just out of earshot as her instructor introduced her to some other dancers.
“Two cops Tasered me at the same time once, and it barely phased me,” I told Preston the Punk, my tone quiet and idle, my smile nasty.
He turned an interesting shade of green.
Danika and Anthony rejoined us, introducing us to someone or other, and I watched Anthony’s hand at her waist. I didn’t much care for him, either, but at least he hadn’t been pawing her on the ballroom floor mere hours before.
The group made small talk, but I stayed quiet, watching Danika, and the way she smiled, the way she laughed. She seemed happy here, with these people.
Preston was hell-bent to get on my shit list, and he sidled close to her often. Once he even went down on a knee in front of her, handing her a red rose with a flourish. When she moved her hand to take it, he grabbed and kissed it, making some comment about how he loved working with her.
She waved him off, but he stood, embracing her to whisper in her ear.
I don’t even remember moving towards them, but I was suddenly there, close enough to touch.
I moved between them, bumping him away from her.
“That’s enough,” I said, wrapping my arm around her waist.
She gripped my shoulder. “Please, Tristan, don’t—“
“Okay, I won’t, but tell him not to touch you again.”
“We’re dance partners!” Preston said, flushing hotly. He still looked scared of me, but not scared enough, clearly. “We have to touch!”
“Not now you don’t. You aren’t dancing now.”
“Tristan, please!” Danika said quietly, sounding mortified.
“Okay, okay,” I said, to calm her, but I was looking at Preston.
I let her go, giving him a fake smile as I held out my hand to shake. “Sorry, man,” I offered.
He reached his hand out to shake mine, looking none too happy about it.
I grinned as I gripped his hand tight, moving a step closer to give him a pat on the shoulder. I squeezed his hand hard, harder, pounding him on the back. I just wanted to give him a taste of what I could do to him, how much stronger I was.
As I pulled back, I saw from his wide eyes that he’d received my message loud and clear: I could crush him.
In fact, I was looking forward to it.
We went from that mingler to another party, and still Preston stayed close. It irritated me. But I suspected that everything he did that might remind me of his existence, of those hands of his handling my woman with such authority on the dance floor, would irritate the hell out of me.
I kept my hands on her, casually, possessively, constantly.
I staked my claim on her with my touch with no reservations, or compunctions.
I’d keep my hand on her waist while she introduced me to a friend or acquaintance, or stroke her hip while we listened to her instructor gush about her. I’d stroke a hand up to her ribs, pulling her close, my fingers skating close to her breast.
She never moved away from my touch, always shifted closer, no matter that this wasn’t the appropriate place for it. She denied me nothing.
I met Preston’s curious eyes as I let my hand drift over her body, eventually stopping to cup her ass. Mine, my eyes told him. You might borrow her for a spin on the dance floor, but this was all mine.
I smiled at him, showing my teeth.
The first second I caught her alone in a hallway again, I kissed her. I turned my head and took her mouth for long minutes, thrusting my tongue into her mouth in an aggressive seduction.
I pulled back to look at her sweet face. Her eyes were closed, her expression soft, her mouth slack with desire.
There was no subterfuge here. There never had been. Not from her. From the very beginning, I’d been able to read the sweet passion in her eyes, the artless response, the undeserved devotion.
This woman loved me. I kissed her again.
She pulled back with a gasp. “I think we should be going. Let me go tell Anthony and Frankie.”
I headed to the bathroom. As though it were fate, I wound up running into Preston on my way out.
He nodded politely to me, waiting for me to move out of his way.
I just stared at him.
He had clear, guiltless eyes. They irked me. He’d probably never done a thing in his life that made him hate himself, which made me hate him a little just thinking about.
Perhaps if I was some blank slate punk of a man, I’d deserve her love.
But I wasn’t that. I was a mess of a man, with a list of regrets so long that it haunted my every waking hour, and made sure I couldn’t sleep without chemical assistance. But I’d be damned before I let this punk move in on my girl.
“We’re taking off,” I told him. “To be alone,” I couldn’t seem to help adding.
He nodded. “You’re a lucky man.”
My lip curled. “You bet I am. I’m sure you’re wishing you were lucky like me.”
He just nodded again, his smile pleasant. “I can’t deny it. She’s one in a million. Sweet, beautiful, talented. Funny. She’s always cracking me up in the dance studio.”
