The Dare Collection: April 2018. Stefanie London
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a nearby table and took her hand. No explanation. But she didn’t need one. She followed him, her pulse thrumming between her legs as their bodies weaved through the crowds. Heat curled inside her. She couldn’t be sure if it was shame that she’d sidelined her concerns and succumbed to her constant physical need for Jack, or the heat that rarely dissipated from her body when he was around. Either way, she offered no resistance, which was how, moments later, she found herself in a darkened corridor off the club, the chill of the air and the dulling of the music shutting out everything but Jack, his body warm and insistent against hers.
He crowded her and she tugged him with her as she leaned back against the wall. He scooped the hair from one shoulder, his fingers brushing her skin as his eyes held her captive.
‘Tell me...’ a small frown dulled the searing intensity of his stare ‘...did I imagine your cries, your satisfaction yesterday?’ He slotted one leg between hers, the scrape of denim against her inner thighs firing her nerve endings to screaming life.
She rubbed herself shamelessly on him, her hips undulating as he found the sensitive skin beneath her ear and caressed it with his mouth, waiting for her answer.
Her head hit the wall behind her, eyes rolling back.
‘No,’ she whispered, uncaring of the needy catch in her voice or the way her nails clung to his rippling shoulders as he pinned her to the wall.
His hand eased between her legs, which parted without resistance, his fingers slipping beyond the scant barrier of her panties, fingertips strumming her clit.
She pulled him closer, her mouth finding his. The hollow ache between her legs intensified. She wanted him. Here. Now. Her sister or her ex could come searching for her any moment, but all she could think about was Jack inside her, fucking her against the wall. The ecstasy she knew he’d deliver, the sex, between them so easy.
The only easy thing in her life right now.
She scrunched her eyes closed, willing the rapture she knew was out there. But it hovered just out of reach, her mind warring with the needs of her body and, for once, coming out on top. Her timing sucked, the need to prioritise answers over her body’s demands.
‘What’s wrong, chérie?’ His eyes cleared. His fingers stilled. He removed his hand from her panties and smoothed her skirt over her hips, hands lingering there.
She looked away. Still confused. Still balanced on a tightrope, afraid to look down for fear of what she might see. She shook her head.
Outside their business deal, she had no right to probe. But their conversation about Isabel and her doubts about the Morris deal dragged up questions.
Did he hate her family enough to deliberately conceal facts about the Morris Building? Her mouth opened and closed. She folded her arms across her waist. She had no right to answers when she herself kept a secret from him. And did she really want those answers when they could mark an end to the best sex of her life?
‘I—’ Her throat scratched. How could she question his motives without telling him the full story of the reasons for their families’ rift? Demand complete honesty from him, while concealing something so enormous herself?
He sighed, adjusting himself before putting his hands in his pockets. When he looked at her again, she shivered.
‘Are you letting me down gently, this time?’ His mouth tightened a fraction, or she might have imagined that because his tone stayed light. ‘Are you done with our little game?’ His neutral expression gave nothing away, as if he didn’t care either way. As if he could walk away, right now. Tonight. No regrets.
But could she?
His hand scrubbed his stubbled cheek as if he was about to say more, but held back. What would he say? We were just fooling around...? Au revoir?
Harley shrivelled inside.
His jaw bunched and then he smiled an unconvincing smile and shrugged. ‘It’s your choice.’ He swiped a kiss over her parted lips. And without a backwards glance, he left her reeling, as confused as ever.
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