I stop speaking when he steps toward me and takes my face in his hands. “I’ll take care of it. I promise.”
My eyes widen. “How?”
His thumbs brush down my cheeks. “I won’t bore you with the details, but I want you to trust me. Can you do that?”
Nodding is stupidly simple, if seriously unwise.
I taste his approval in the kiss he seals on my lips. And when he links his fingers with mine and leads me into the nightclub, my fear is reduced to dregs.
He takes me to his personal roped off VIP area, and we order burgers and fries. I’m sipping a glass of champagne and checking out the glitterati on the dance floor when we’re joined by a dark-haired, drop dead gorgeous hunk of beefcake. With his gelled back hair, carefully cropped stubble and sharp designer suit, he looks like he’s just finished a photo shoot for GQ magazine. Except the deadly look in his eyes and the granite-set jaw tells me he would chew up and spit out anyone who dares come near him with a camera.
He nods and rumbles a response when we’re introduced. I catch his name as Axel Rutherford, owner of the club, but not much else. He conducts a low, terse conversation with Quinn, then leaves.
From across the lounge, Quinn stares at me.
Something about the way his head cocks to the side tweaks a brain wave. But then he starts moving and I’m lost in the animal grace of him, the sheer sexiness of the man who seems as absorbed in me as I am in him. He reaches me, cups my shoulders and leans down to whisper in my ear.
“Tell me what song you like.”
My smile is a little shy. “Why?”
“I want you to dance for me.”#p#分页标题#e#
Not with me. For me. Way to throw a self-conscious vibe on a girl. “I don’t really—”
“Please.”
My eyes goggle at the intensity behind the plea. I blurt out something like Maroon 5. He beckons the bouncer and relays the information. Two songs later, the club mix of Animals pounds through the speakers. I recall the lyrics and inwardly grimace.
But he’s looking at me, expectant.
And I start to sway. He takes my glass from me, steps back and gives me a little room. I should be cringing with embarrassment.
The look in his eyes won’t let me. It’s like he needs me to dance. He slowly circles me as I move, throw myself into the throbbing beat. I feel his eyes everywhere. On my throat, my arms, my ass, my breasts. Halfway through, he lifts my glass and gulps down half my champagne. The sight of him drinking from my glass is so intimate, my breath catches. On his next rotation, he drifts his fingers down my arm.
The touch singes me right to my pussy.
Fuck. I bite my lip and circle my hips to the beat. He’s behind me when the music blends into another tune. Firm fingers plunge into my hair, and he kisses his way from my neck to my jaw to the corner of my mouth.
“You take my fucking breath away,” he croons into my ear.
Flushed with horny vibes, I turn and throw my arms around his neck. Our kiss is what force ten gales are made of. Mouth-fucking at its most intense, we go at it until a throat clears loudly from the lounge doorway.
I hide my face in Quinn’s jacket and let him deal with the intrusion. His chest rumbles with whatever he’s saying. After a minute, he whispers in my ear. “Our food’s here.”
Food. Okay. I can do food. He leads me to a small bar area where our plates are waiting. I can’t quite look him in the eye after attacking his mouth like it was my favorite toy, so I concentrate on sating my other hunger. I polish off the burger and fries in minutes, then look up when I hear his dark chuckle.
“Always knew you were a voracious little thing.”
I glance at his plate. He’s barely taken more than a few bites. Such a waste. “I have a great relationship with food.”
He picks up a fry, dunks it in ketchup and holds it to my lips. I take the food and give an exaggerated little moan. I’m rewarded with something that vaguely resembles a half smile. He shares the rest of his food with me, feeding it to me like he fed me in his office what feels like a lifetime ago. God, was that only last week?
When we’re done, we head back to the edge of the lounge. I work off some of the calories over the next few songs. Quinn doesn’t join me in dancing, but he stays close, eyes always on me. More drinks are served. We take a break an hour later, and head to the sofa, where we mouth-fuck a whole lot more.
At some point, I end up in his lap. His big hands cup my ass and he grinds me into the thick rod of his hard on. But by mutual agreement we don’t take it beyond that, although I know deep down, if fate and circumstances allow, it’s only a matter of time before I fuck him.