Page 6 of Flirting with Trouble

“It gets better. He swaggers over to me and says, ‘Hey, baby. I noticed you when I was in the ring. You looked good holding up those numbers.’ I was like…numbers? And then it dawned on me that he thought I was a ring girl!”

I bark out a laugh. “The perils of being beautiful. I bet you look great in booty shorts.”

“I do, thank you very much. I work hard for this ass.”

“And I appreciate that hard work.” We finish our drinks, and I push to my feet. “Come on. Let’s give that ass a workout.”

“Wells.” The surprise in her eyes wars with the desire brimming in them.

I take her hand, pulling her up to her feet in front of me. “It’s no secret I want to get my hands on you, but I meant, let’s hit the dance floor.” I slide my arm around her waist. “I’m not an animal. I’ve got better lines than that to get you into my bed.”

Victory

Yes, you do, and I’m enjoying them far too much.

Wells keeps me close as we weave through the crowd. He’s striking in a short-sleeve fitted gray shirt and jeans, and I don’t miss the women checking him out. Little do they know it’s his wicked sense of humor, dirty mouth, and unnerving confidence that make him dangerously seductive. I’ve been hit on many times, and a few men have crossed the line and needed to be set straight. But never have I encouraged it or wanted to take it further.

Until now.

Something about Wells and his delivery makes it feel less skeevy, which makes no sense, given that he’s a self-confessed player. He’s also several years younger than me, and some of his lines border on cheesy, all of which should have me rolling my eyes and coming up with an excuse to leave, but I’m having fun. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been turned on by nothing more than words, and God is Wells good with words. His slick-tongue promises are still taunting me. I’ve missed the edgy high of anticipation that’s been humming through me for most of the evening.

He claims a spot on the dance floor and sets those piercing dark eyes on me as we move to the beat. I love to dance, but it’s been a long time since I’ve danced with a man. Harvey was a good slow dancer, and I loved being in his arms, but he wasn’t great at dancing to a faster beat. Wells moves like the music is part of him, and it’s as powerful and seductive as his penetrating gaze as we fall into sync on the crowded dance floor.

All around us, people are lost in each other, bumping and grinding, giving the night a dark, erotic feel. I miss that, too, and I chase the feeling—the escape—as we dance to one song after another, bodies brushing, hips swaying, and eyes taunting. As Zendaya’s “Repeat” blares through the speakers, Wells’s hot hands skim down my waist, his eyes drilling into me like he wants to play me on repeat.

His attention is addicting. I give myself over to the beat and to the desire mounting inside me, dancing more provocatively. He flashes a devilish grin, matching my moves, his hands roaming over my hips and up my sides, bringing a rush of desire. As Gracie Abrams sings about burning for him and wanting to be closer, every graze of our bodies makes me want that, too.

I can’t stop thinking about how good it felt to touch his face, neck, and chest. My fingers itch to do it again. I throw caution to the wind, letting them travel over the hard planes of his pecs and down his abs, dancing like I did with men in my early twenties, loving the way his eyes flame and his muscles flex beneath my fingers.

His eyes flicker with a wickedness that tells me he’s a man who knows how to fulfill his dirty claims. He draws me against him, pressing one hand on my lower back. I feel every hard inch of him and oh, how I’ve missed this, too. He dips his face beside mine, speaking low and gruff. “Like what you feel?” He nips at my neck, and my entire body prickles with desire.

Yes is on the tip of my tongue, but I keep it to myself. “Maybe.”

“It’s okay to admit you like it,” he coaxes. “I like your hands on me.” He holds me tighter. “I bet I’d fucking love your mouth on me.”

Not as much as I’d enjoy yours on me.

The thought is so brazen, it should slow me down, but it has the opposite effect, emboldening me.

“You’re an incredibly sexy woman, and you deserve to have some fun.”

I haven’t felt sexy in forever, but in his arms, with his body moving tantalizingly against me, I not only feel sexy, but I’m greedy for more. He brushes his scruff along my cheek, and my body floods with desire.

“A beautiful woman like you should never go years without being pleasured.” He slicks his tongue along the shell of my ear, sending shivers of heat down my neck and chest. “You deserve to be touched and teased.”

I cling to him, craving his affirmations, as he slides his hand lower, palming my ass, and he nips at my earlobe. I gasp a sharp inhalation at the shock of pain and pleasure it causes.

“You deserve to be cherished,” he says huskily, and sucks my earlobe into his mouth, grinding his hips slower, more purposefully, setting off fireworks beneath my skin. “You should be kissed and licked and thoroughly fucked.”

The breath rushes from my lungs.

He pushes one hand beneath my hair, grasping the nape of my neck and angling my face up. The look in his eyes is primal, mirroring the visceral need inside me. I’m used to being in control, but I’m so lost in the heat between us, I have to fight to regain a shred of it.

“And you’re just the man to do it?” I challenge.

“We both know I am.” His thumb strokes the edge of my jaw. “Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you.”

My body is on fire, anticipation clawing at me. For the first time in years, I shut off my brain and lead with lust. “Why would I lie?”