Page 35 of Damaged & Deadly
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The thudding bass resonates through my entire body until my heart rate matches the rhythm as we push through the dense crowd at Toxic.
“Two shots of tequila,” I shout at the barman when we finally reach the bar. I can’t seem to fight the goofy grin on my face, which only grows wider when I see Dante's uneasiness. He’s so far out of his comfort zone right now, it’s unreal. However, even out of his suit, he still has an air of authority about him and one deadly glare that has the patrons vacating the stools around us.
I roll my eyes while he helps me onto the empty seat, standing like a sentry beside me. Leaning in so I can talk into his ear, I say, “Relax. This is supposed to be fun.”
The frown that’s been stuck on his face since we pulled in only deepens.
“Tequila will help.”
“I don’t drink tequila,” he shouts as the barman places two shot glasses in front of us and fills them with a pale-yellow liquid. Dante pays, and I hand him one of the glasses, waiting until he takes it before lifting the other and tapping them together.
“Tonight you do.”
Grinning, I knock back my shot. It’s my only one of the night since I have to drive, not that I would allow myself to drink much more anyway. I’ve never been one to get blind drunk somewhere like here, where anyone could take advantage. The only place where I’ve really let my guard down and allowed myself to let go is at the clubhouse, and I’m happy to keep it that way.
Hesitantly, he brings the glass to his lips before downing it. His face scrunches in disgust and I throw my head back, laughing. Ever since we arrived, it’s like watching a kid experiencing everything for the first time. I can’t stop observing him. When I meet his gaze again, I find him looking at me too with an expression I’ve never seen on him before. Something between curious and intrigued.
Grinning, I jump down from my stool and grab his hand. “Come on.”
“What now?” he grumbles.
“It’s time to dance.”
The second the words leave my mouth, he pulls me to a stop. “I don’t dance.” His face is deadly serious, and sensing I can’t just goad him into this, I step closer to him. Lifting my hand, I brush it through his cropped, dark brown hair. “Sure you do. You just don’t know how.” I tug on his hand, encouraging him to move, but he remains steadfast.
“Okay, you don’t have to dance. You can just stand there, and I’ll dance.” With another encouraging tug, he relents, and I pull him into the thick of the writhing bodies. No one is paying attention to us, too lost in the heavy bass of the music and the hot body they’re grinding against. Once we’re in the middle of the room, I stop and wrap my arms around his neck, swaying my hips. Like a statue, he just stands there, his gaze darting between me and the bodies pressed against us.
Chuckling, I lift his hands and place them low on my hips, so his fingers brush the curve of my ass. Once again, linking my arms around his neck, I start to move again. It’s slow and not at all in rhythm, yet Dante doesn’t seem to mind as his eyes bore into mine, and I feel him hardening against my stomach.
“Push your thigh between mine,” I whisper in his ear.
He does as I say, and I grind against him. His fingers flex over my ass, and I know he’s enjoying what he’s seeing as I work myself into a frenzy using just the rough fabric of his jeans.
As the shooting pangs of ecstasy radiate outward from my core, I throw my head back, my eyes drifting shut. After a second, I feel his lips press against my neck, and he leaves open-mouthed kisses along the column of my throat before licking along my collarbone. By now, I can feel his rock-hard length digging into me, and I’m desperate for my own release.
Untangling myself from him, I drag him through the crowd toward the bathrooms at the back of the building. Skipping the queue, we head further down the corridor until I find an empty supply closet and we slip inside.
I pounce on him before the door is even fully closed, wrapping my legs around his slim waist. I suck and nibble my way along his neck while he grips my ass in his large palms.
“So this is what happens on a date,” he grunts in a low, sex-dipped voice.
“Only the good ones.” I slant my lips over his, driving my tongue into his mouth and cutting off any further conversation. His posture remains rigid as he leans against the door, holding me in his arms. “Fuck me, Dante.” I damn near groan, so fucking gone for this man.
It’s as if my plea obliterates every reason holding him back, and in the next second, I’m thrown against the opposite wall as he pulls on the button of my shorts until they give. Planting my feet on the floor, I shimmy out of my shorts, all while unbuckling his belt and shoving his jeans and boxers over his ass.
His lips claim mine again as he palms the back of my thighs and lifts me. I feel the brush of his cock against my clit before he sinks into me, the two of us moaning. Pressing me into the wall with his hips, Dante grinds against my pelvis until my orgasm slams into me with all the energy of a lightning storm.
“Oh fuck,” I gasp, throwing my head back as I clench around him.
He buries his head in my neck, groaning as he finds his own release, and the two of us are sweaty and panting in each other’s arms.
“That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” he says while I search the shelves for something to clean myself with before righting my clothes.
“Oh, thanks,” I chuckle, faking offense.
I see the second he realizes how that sounded. He grimaces. “That’s not what I meant. I just… I…”