Page 21 of Burn
When I glance at him, he tips his head to the dance floor.
Hell yes, I want to dance with him!
I nod but don’t offer a verbal response. I’m mostly afraid if I do, my words will come out breathy like I’m attempting phone sex operators voice.
As we stand, Caleb’s hand immediately finds the sliver of skin between my shirt and jeans. His finger runs along the band, stopping at my hip bone. At this point, I think I’d agree to anything to have his hands on me all night.
Now that I’m vertical, the alcohol hits me, and it’s apparent I’ve drank entirely too much tonight.
Scarlet giggles at something Owen says and I had almost forgotten they were at the table through all that with Judah. My thoughts don’t drift back to Judah either. How can they aroundthisguy?
Before we make our way to the dance floor, Caleb reaches down and downs his drink, and I do the same with my sixth Bay Breeze. It’s there, I might as well finish it, but I make a mental note not to order another one or I might not remember anything that happens later. And I really want things to happen later.
I can’t tell you what song is playing, some rap, bass-thudding one, but it’s perfect for dancing like this. By like this, I mean grinding on each other like we’re back in high school. There’s nothing awkward about our bodies coming together on the dance floor. They do like we’re meant for one another, perfectly shaped pieces fitting as one.
The boy has more going for him than being a firefighter in my book because goddamn can he dance. I’m half Hawaiian, half Puerto Rican, and a little bit white girl, and I can shake my ass with the best of them.
So I do. I even turn and grind my ass into him and notice Judah taking shot after shot at the bar, watching me intently. What’s his deal tonight?
Is it all just a reaction to someone else having their hands on me?
I want to flip him off because how could he not know I’d move on, eventually, if we broke up? Did he really think I’d mourn the loss of his shitty boyfriend qualities for months on end?
Knowing him, he did.
Caleb grabs me by the waist and turns me around bringing us chest to chest once more. “Don’t look at him. He don’t matter anymore.”
That my friends, was a demand.
And I listen.
His left leg is between my legs, and his thigh feels amazing. Or I should say the friction my tight-ass jeans are creating is amazing.
My arms wrap around his neck, drawing myself closer, refusing to allow an inch of space between our bodies. Our chests press together, his hands low on my waist, gripping my hips a little harder than before. I watch our movements, my panties become wet.
He smells so fucking good, his warm skin, all of him is delicious, and I want to lick the side of his face. Or his whole body. Definitely his entire body. Starting with his cock.
The song changes, a slower beat when Caleb’s rapid breath hits my neck, then his words follow. “I bet I can get you off.” There’s a slight break in his words, a catch in the confidence that hits my center. His voice sounds as seductive as our movements.
Tingles. All. Over.
I don’t say anything. At least not in words. My breathing gives my reply, and if that doesn’t, my cheeks flush brighter, and there’s this feeling in the pit of my stomach I can’t describe.
Actually, I knowthatfeeling. It’s the makings of that special tickle between my legs I haven’t felt in weeks. Maybe an entire month.
With his hands on my hips, he angles them and raises his leg a touch, as if to give me the okay to hump his thigh.
Biting my lip nervously, I glance around the bar. Nobody cares, and it’s so dark I doubt they notice if they did care.
Despite knowing where this is going, the eager part of me—you know the part, the one desperate to reach the finish line?—that part rolls my hips for me, rubbing my pussy on his thigh and it feels oh so fucking nice.
“That’s it,” he coaxes, his mouth twitches a little, and I can’t tell if it’s from amusement or pleasure.
I don’t know why, but I really want to stick my hand down his pants and find out if he’s having the same reaction. I want to feel the arousal, to know it’s caused by me, to know I’m turning him on as well.
It all happens rather quickly. His teeth meeting the skin over my collarbone, the ease of our movements and the way he helps me along, all of it. It’shim, guiding and commanding me. The ripples of his muscles beneath his shirt, the hitch in his breathing when I’m fisting my hands in his clothing, that’s what initially sends me over the edge.
Before I can stop it, because I don’t really want to, my orgasm explodes, spreading through me from my stomach to my thighs. I grip his neck so tight, my braless tits smash against his chest.
