Unblinking. Hunger filled her, gnawed at her. Sleepless nights and aching need swirling through her. She forced herself to turn her eyes away. Hearing the end of the tune, she thanked Sebastian for the dance and began to move back to the table.
"Not yet."
She turned. Chase's arm wrapped around her waist as a heavy Latin beat fired up, and she stared into his eyes.
She felt his body move to the dance, and she followed. Her hips twisted into his, swayed. One hand gripped her hip, the other clasped her hand. Sensuality washed between them with tidal force, locking them together as she felt him around her, moving her.
The hard beat of the music flowed between them like sex, like the hunger raging between them. They were hip to hip, then she was turning, twirling him, his arm going around her waist, bringing her back to his chest as his other hand gripped her just beneath her breast, and they swayed. Hips rolled and rubbed and against the sensitive tip of her nipple she caught the quick flick of his thumb.
She felt lost within him. When the music slowed and spilled into a slower tune he turned her in his arms, locked her to him as he brought her hand to his neck and clasped it to him.
"I need you." He half snarled the declaration, his eyes narrowed and fierce. "It's going to happen, Kia. You know it is."
Her lips parted as she forced herself to breathe, tried to fight past the raging arousal spreading between them. She could feel him hard, thick, against her lower stomach. His body was tense, his arms possessive and strong around her as he bent his head to her.
"I'm dying for you." He brushed the words against her lips.
"You're going to kill me," she whispered back, swaying with him, helpless in his arms.
"I'm dying to touch you." He moved his lips across her cheek as her lashes closed. "I dream of taking you again, Kia. Thrusting inside you. Spilling inside you. It's more pleasure than I've ever known in my life."
"Don't. Please," she murmured the plea as she felt herself melting into him, felt more than the wine and the dance filling her.
She felt Chase. Felt him over her, inside her, caressing her, taking her. The memories washed through her, and she had to blink back tears.
"You can't keep doing this," she half sobbed as his lips caressed the soft skin beneath her ear. "You pull me to you, then push me away. I can't do this, Chase."
"I can't let you go." His hands tightened at her back. "I won't let you go, Kia." He lifted his head, his expression savage.
"You don't have a choice." She was breaking apart inside now. "I'm not a toy, Chase. A pretty little doll. I can't be that for you."
The music eased and broke, struck into a hard, violent clash of sound and lights as she turned away from him and rushed from the dance floor.
She could feel him watching her, feel his eyes on her, feel him following her. She felt him, even when he wasn't touching her, and that sensation speared through her, tightened her womb and spilled the silky warmth of arousal between her thighs.
I need you, he had whispered. If only it were need rather than mere want. Need she couldn't have denied him. But want? Wanting was a hidden little fling, nothing of substance, nothing to warm either of them. She would rather do without want. She dreamed of need. Because she needed—
He watched them. He had followed, just to be certain. To see them together. He couldn't be certain unless he saw them together. And he saw them. He watched the dance, the sensuality in their movements, and in Falladay's face he saw something that evidently the woman had missed.
As she walked away from Chase, he saw misery flicker across his face, then determination, then savage possessiveness.
And he nodded, his chest heavy, his heart filled with grief.
Chase followed her. He hadn't meant to be here tonight. He had meant to stay as far away as possible. Nothing good could come of it, he told himself, even as he drove to the club. Hurting Kia further wasn't fair. He was hurting them both, and he couldn't turn back.
She was his. She would have to learn to live with the consequences of that, because tonight he had every intention of claiming her, of holding her through the night and waking with her come morning.
God help them both. Living with him wasn't easy; he'd been assured of that time and time again.
For now, he'd let her run while he followed. She deserved that, to be able to hurt him back, for a time. And fuck if it didn't tear at him, seeing those tears in her eyes, the suspicion, and the lack of trust.
He told her he needed her. He wondered what she would think if she knew he had never told another woman he needed her. That he had never asked another woman to live with him. The few times he had managed to share homes with one, it had been at their insistence, not his.