That view was for me, not every horny asshole in the bar. When the guy moved behind her, placed his hands on her hips and started to grind against her ass, I was done biding my time.
There was only one thing on that guy's mind. Her pussy. And that pussy belonged to me.
I tossed some money on the bar and walked over to the dance floor. Emma's eyes were closed and she moved to the music as if she had an internal beat. When I stepped close, the guy looked my way. I angled my head, telling him, without words, to get lost.
Perhaps it was because I was right in his face. Perhaps it was the look I gave him, but he let go of Emma's hips, held up his hands to show me they were off her, and stepped away.
The man had a good instinct for self-preservation because he'd gotten his dick as close to Emma as it was ever going to get.
Settling in behind her, I put my hands on her for the second time. I was glad the music was loud because it hid the groan I couldn't hold in. She was so warm, her body so soft and lush. I stepped up close and moved against her, my cock pressing against the soft swell of her ass. Leaning in, I breathed in her scent at the side of her neck. When she angled her head to give me better access, I kissed her sweaty skin and licked the taste of her from my lips.
The scent of lemongrass and sugar drifted up from her still damp hair, but her neck tasted salty and sweet and I wondered if her pussy would be the same. My mouth watered to find out, but not here. Not now.
Now I reveled in holding her, to feel her writhing, completely uninhibited, against me. I saw Tori approach, watched her brown eyes widen in surprise at the sight of me dancing with Emma in my arms. The woman wasn't going to keep me from my Emma. She wasn't going to interfere with me getting what I wanted. Fuck no. Because Emma was already mine. From the way Tori smiled at me, she knew. When she angled her head toward the entrance, I nodded in reply. She was leaving and knew I was the one who was going to keep Emma safe tonight. Yes, the woman was a genius and she was getting a fucking raise.
When the song ended, Emma spun around, put her hands on my chest. When she looked up at me through her long lashes, saw who'd been dancing with her, she froze. Her hands came off my chest as if I'd burned her, but I grabbed her wrists, pressed her hands back where they belonged.
“Carter,” she breathed, and the sound of my name on her lips made my balls ache. She’d never said my name before, and suddenly I wanted to hear it over and over, preferably as she begged me to stretch her open on my hard cock. Her eyes were wide as she licked her lips. I doubted she knew what that little gesture did to me. “I’m sorry. I mean, Mr. Buchanan. What are you doing here?”
“Dancing with you.” I smiled then, but it only made her more nervous.
“I don't think… I mean, we shouldn't.”
“Dance?”
She nodded, looked around. The crowd swirled around us, unaware of the electricity arcing between us.
“All right, Emma. We don't have to dance.”
Releasing one of her hands, I tugged her along behind me toward a VIP room they kept open for their top tier clients, like the Buchanan brothers.
“Wait!” she cried, all but digging her fuck-me heels into the hardwood dance floor.
I looked back at her, took in her wide, wild eyes, the frantic breathing that only made her breasts press invitingly against her dress.
“Where are you taking me? I need to find Tori.”
I stepped close, tucked a stray curl behind her ear, watched as she licked her lips. I stifled a groan.
“Tori is a big girl. I’m sure she can take care of herself.”
“But… but where are we going?”
“Somewhere private,” I replied.
“But… you can't. I mean, I shouldn't. I need to—”
She bit her lip when I stopped moving. I pulled her out of the way of the constant flow of bodies to and from the bar and cupped her jaw. I placed my thumb on top of that lip, right over her dented flesh and tugged it free from her teeth. The lingering wetness there nearly made me groan. Fuck, I wanted to taste that. Now. Right fucking now.
But she was already running scared. I had to tone it down a notch, or my sweet little virgin was going to bolt like a gazelle running from a lion.
“Need to what?” I asked, watching as my thumb stroked over her plump lower lip, spread that bit of wetness all over her mouth. “Get laid? Get rid of your V-card?”
Even in the dark club I could see a flush creep up her cheeks. She looked away.
“Let me go,” she countered, lifting her chin in a stubborn gesture. Anger made her pale eyes a stormy sea blue. I had never seen her riled like this before; she was always so pleasant and controlled, as a professional in the office should be. But now…