Page 71 of The Second Dance

She never was mine.

I grip her hips and sink inside.

She’ll only break my heart.

I thrust in again, pressing my forehead to hers.

Too late for that. This heart is done for.

40.

Andy

This man scrambles all rational thought.

With a single touch, my sensibilities scatter and I’m at his mercy.

It hasn’t taken him long to figure out what I like. What I need.

There’s nothing gentle or sweet about the way our bodies buck against each other. This is what temptation looks like. This is naked desire.

He’s rougher than usual, and more emotional, too. Maybe I should be turned off, but that pent up passion is a burning flame and I’m a moth bent on destruction.

Somewhere in the dance hall, a sad country song echoes through the rafters, but in this little storage room, the only sounds are our ragged breath and muffled groans.

His hips thrust against mine, hard and fast, contrasting with the gentle way his arms hold me. He tugs the straps of my dress down my shoulders. Dragging the front of my dress down, he exposes me, lowering his head to kiss the soft flesh beneath my nipple. When he takes it between his teeth, the mounting tension in my core expands and I come hard, with him deep inside me.

He plays me like a fiddle and only after I’m shaking with bliss does he pull out and finish on my thighs.

I perch on the edge of the desk, limbs like Jell-O, watching him tear a strip of paper towels from an industrial roll on the shelf.

“You can’t keep fucking with me like this.” He says, turning back to me.

It’s like he dumped a bucket of cold water over my head. I straighten, attempting to pull my skirt down.

He grips my wrist, moving my hand aside. “You want to get this pretty little dress wet?”

No. I do not. “I can do that myself.”

“Just sit still. Please.”

I ease my wrist out of his hand, letting him push my knee open. His touch is brisk, but tender. Between that, and the wrecked expression on his face, I’m feeling fairly off balance.

At some point, the tables turned, and I went from being the victim to being the bad guy.

I thought I could be one of those people who takes what they want, no strings attached.

But looking at Bo, I’m realizing I’m not capable of that.

We’re not capable of that.

It would be so much easier if he was one of those guys who went for one-night stands.

I’m surprised that he isn’t. But there’s a lot to this man I didn’t get a chance to figure out.

Maybe I fell back into old patterns. It’s amazing how this town turns back time so that I feel like a helpless kid again.

This place isn’t good for me.

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