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Are my motives for walking over to her entirely altruistic? Maybe not.
But nobody’s perfect. Sure as hell not me.
“There you are, Buttercup,” I say, pasting a big, obnoxious grin on my lips as I step towards the two, angling my body to jut in between her and the guy, making him take a step back.
Olivia’s brows start to pinch together, but when I shoot her a wink, she picks up on the message. “Yes. Hello … dear.”
Her expression twists in pain at having to offer up that pet name for me. My lips can’t help but twitch.
As one song comes to an end on the speakers, another starts. I don’t even recognize it, but I say to Olivia, “Oh! It’s our song. Come on, let’s dance.”
I hold my hand out to her. For a beat, she eyes it questioningly, but then she recognizes it as a rope to pull her out of an interaction she’s even less into.
She drops her hand in mine. Sparks explode all over me as I gently curl my grip around it. Fuck, her hand feels good. Soft, smooth, delicate. Already I feel my cock thickening.
She flashes a tight, mock-apologetic smile at the asshole who was clearly trying to pick her up, and then follows me as I walk backward. We melt into the dense mass of bodies on the dancefloor.
When I pull her close to me, she doesn’t resist. Excitement hums through my blood as I savor the warmth of her pressed against my front.
I curl my arm around her waist and beam a roguish grin. “Our first dance.”
14
OLIVIA
“First of all—Buttercup?”
Pressed against Tuck, I feel the vibration of his laughter in his chest. The sensation elicits a fuzzy warmth deep in my center.
“You didn’t like it?” he asks coyly.
I kind of did. “Of course not.”
He lets out a playful sigh. “We’ll just have to think of another pet name, then.”
“Or not,” I protest. But there’s no bite to the words. No firmness. They’re weak.
I’ve been getting way too weak around Tuck lately. What should really worry me is the fact that, even as I realize this, I feel no resolution to reinforce the walls I’ve built up when it comes to him.
Tuck and I sway back and forth lazily as a slower, more mellow tune pumps from the speakers.
This would be the perfect time to thank Tuck for rescuing me from the guy who kept spewing lame pick-up lines at me, and then just step away. The perfect time to find Summer and the other girls and spend the rest of the night on the other side of the bar, studiously avoiding his gaze.
But I don’t. I stay here, letting him lead me in our languid motions, feeling the heat of his body against me, the firm pressure of his arm wrapped around my back, the delicious definition of his muscles where his arm presses close to my side.
Another couple bumps into us, and I lose my footing. I stumble briefly, and it makes me grind close against Tuck, my waist pressing into a semi-hard length below Tuck’s belt.
Sparks of arousal spread all over my surface. A tight, needy feeling twinges at the apex of my thighs. Involuntarily, a throaty groan escapes my lips.
I look up to see Tuck looking down at me, his eyes hooded and simmering with heat.
“I heard that,” he says, the words a raspy and knowing tease.
The cocky, suggestive twang of his voice makes that tight feeling between my legs even worse.
Now’s really the time I should step away. I feel like I did that night I was reading the romance book Summer recommended me, when I first started touching myself with Tuck on my mind.
I feel like I’m right at the precipice of a steep fall; like I still have time to step away, but if I wait any longer, I might find myself tipping over the edge …
