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“Fine, just… I need a second.”
“You’re flushed.” He brushed the backs of his fingers along my cheek.
“That’s how I know you want to fuck. Make a note.” He spun me away and
rolled me back.
“How do I know when you want to?”
“You’re in the room.”
I laughed. It was such an act. So fake. So over the top, yet when he
guided me in the dance with a smile on his face, I let myself live it. For one
dance, then two, we were at our most convincing, acting as if there wasn’t
another soul for miles. He looked at me as if he wasn’t faking it, and when
he kissed me, I kissed him back as if it was all real.
The music stopped as another round of trays came around.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, running his lips along my neck. “There’s a
room with dinner somewhere.”
“We should mingle. I don’t want to make a bad impression.”
He looked away, then back at me with a heat I didn’t expect. “If they
could see what was in my head, they’d be impressed.”
“What’s in your head?”
“Getting my hand under your dress and finding out if you’re wet.”
“Logan,” I scolded in a hiss. “We just said—”
“We said no feelings.” He took me by the chin. “If I took you right now,
fucked you raw, gave you a dozen orgasms and came deep inside you, it
would mean nothing to me.”
My panties were soaked through. “Me neither.”
He looked over my shoulder as if he needed a moment to think, then
found my hand and squeezed it. “Come.”
He pulled me off the dance floor.
“Where are we going?”
We went down a stairway we hadn’t before, past a security guard, and
into a closed hallway with double doors at the end. He pushed me into a
wall with a kiss that wasn’t like the others. It was thoughtless, reckless,
uncontrolled. It was a cyclone of desire I was already caught in, spinning
upward, limp-willed with the force of it, because it was my whirlwind too.
“Let me get inside you,” he growled, lifting fistfuls of silver fabric until
he could get his hands under my skirt. “Let me take you.”
Reaching from behind, he pressed his hand against the dampness of my
underwear.