Page 27 of Break Me Beautifully

There's not much of a sign, just two big points sticking off of the awning like ears. The huge bouncer is stationed at the door with a clipboard in hand, opening the door every few seconds to let people in or out as they shriek with laughter or stand on the corner and smoke cigarettes in their tiny skirts and rickety heels.

"Well," Marshall says next to me, "Here we are. Shall we?"

I scan the crowd with a wince. "It'll take us forever to get inside. Maybe we should ..."

"Turn around?" His lips curve into that unfairly tempting smirk he wears so well. "No. Let's give you the experience you so obviously crave. Follow me."

"Marshall, wait!" I chase after him as he strides past the rows of waiting people, not stopping until he's in front of the bouncer. The large man has a bald head that glows blue every time the club door swings open.

I don't know what I expect to happen. Marshall bends close, speaking into the other man's ear. The guard stiffens, jumping towards the door, holding it open expectantly like Marshall is some sort of celebrity.

Still wearing his knowing smirk, Marshall takes my hand, tugging me along as he enters the club. Music assaults my ears. It's loud enough that I know we'll have to shout to understand each other. Strobe lights flash all over the ceiling and walls.

Marshall keeps a firm hold on me. His skin is deliciously warm. That plus the club's heat makes me start undoing my jacket. "Where are we going?" I yell.

Shaking his head, he guides me around the throngs of sweaty bodies. The club has a few levels; he's taking me deeper and deeper. I nearly slip on the stairs in the darkness. He catches me, looking into my eyes to see if I'm okay. When I smile, he smiles back, and we're off again.

We make our way to booth separated by a velvet rope in a far corner of the club. The space is still thrumming with people but less claustrophobic. Marshall undoes his jacket and tosses it on the plush looking rounded couch. His eyes catch the flashing lights, the rich blue makes them look like sapphires. "Here we are," he says.

"Here we are," I repeat, swallowing nervously. "Now what?"

Lifting his chin, he studies the chaotic room. I swear he's checking it for any evidence of danger ... like he's committing the place to memory, a man fully aware of his surroundings.

I gasp when he grips my coat, sliding it off of me in a single jerk. It lands on top of his in the booth. "Wait, what are you doing?"

"The point of coming to a club," he says, speaking next to my ear so I can hear him over the music, "is to dance."

My heart beats violently with his body so close to mine. He scoops up my fingers in his, pulling me even closer. "I told you I've never come to a club before."

"Are you telling me you can't dance?" he asks.

"Barely. I might hurt you, honestly." I laugh nervously, but his face is starkly serious.

Marshall drags his fingertips down my bare arms, creating a swirl of lightning in my belly. "Yes," he says, a quiet voice without a hint of humor. "You might."

He slides against me, rocking his body in gentle waves. Rhythm is easy for him; it comes like breathing. I warned him I was bad, but he should have warned me he wasincredible."Did you take lessons?" I ask.

"My father made me. He said a man has to be able to dance if he expects to make a woman fall in love with him." The front of his dress shirt rubs against my breasts, my nipples hardening from the pressure. I think he knows what he's doing to me because he grins and sandwiches against me once more.

I don't have his grace. He places his hand on the middle of my back, leading me, taking control. His mouth is near my temple, letting me hear how ragged his breathing is getting. Nothing he does is unintentional.

The pounding music moves from the air to my blood. I'm lost in it, in him, the world a swirl of flashing lights and his hands as they explore me. One rests on my hip, driving me against his muscles. This heat that's growing between us is maddening.

He makes it easy to forget who he is.

He makes sure I'll remember what he can do to me.

"Oh!" I cry when he spins me, his arm around my waist, his fingertips brushing the top of my plump ass. He stares at my face, lips parting, the music stealing anything he's saying. I don't need words; I know what he wants.

He kisses the side of my neck. It thrills me and my panties are slick. I should stop him but fuck, I don't want to. I don't know if I even can. We move together, my rhythm at its best as I ride his wavelength.

He runs a finger around my collar bone. Then further, dipping between my breasts. My skin buzzes. I watch him through hooded lids. "Marshall ..."

His lips are ready to taste mine. I'm vibrating down to my bone marrow, my pussy hot, throbbing, eager for things I've never had, but I could, with him.

"Shit," he growls, backing away. I have the perfect view for watching his lust melt into torment. Something has changed. "We have to stop."

"We do?" I ask uncertainly.

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