Page 45 of Dance Omega Dance

“There you go,” Zach said, low and warm. The words curling against my skin. Not just praise. Something deeper. Something meant for me alone.

The air around us crackled with energy, with the give-and-take of instruction and need for his touch. I didn’t mind him holding me against the wall, or gripping my neck and tying my hands to his. I almost didn’t want to try to break free, needing his touch, his sweet, soft lips.

I moaned when he came close, the heat from his breath tickling my earlobe. “Oh, you like that, do you princess?” he joked, sucking my earlobe into his mouth. I groaned some more. “What about this?” he said, placing butterfly kisses down my neck while holding my hands in his. I leaned into his sweet kisses, breathing heavier, wanting, no... needing him all over me. Then he pulled away.

“You didn’t get out of that hold very well, did you?” he teased.

I pouted and turned to him, slapping his arm. He laughed. “I’m going to need to show you how to throw a punch too!”

Laughing, I followed him over to the punching bags. He put a pair of boxing gloves on me, tightening them. Then stood behind the bag, holding it. “Go on, princess, give it everything you’ve got.”

Of course, my first hit was half-hearted. Zach’s brow lifted, a smirk tugging at his mouth as he exaggerated an eye-roll. Asshole.

I pivoted, digging my heel into the mat, let my weight twist through my hips, and drove my fist forward with everything I had. A sharp thud echoed through the gym as it landed hard, pushing the bag into Zach. He staggered back, arms windmilling, and crashed into a workbench with a grunt.

I blinked. Then grinned.

“Yes!” I shouted, leaping up and throwing a fist into the air like I’d just knocked out a heavyweight champ. Laughter bubbled out of me, wild and electric.

Zach sat up, shaking his head as his own laughter took over, low and genuine, his eyes bright with surprise.

“What’s it like,” I said between breathless chuckles, “getting your ass handed to you by a girl?”

He stood slowly, still grinning, and crossed the space between us in two long strides. Before I could react, his hand curled around the back of my head, tugging me toward him.

His mouth crashed into mine.

There was nothing tentative in it. Just heat and adrenaline and the press of a body still humming from the blow I’d landed. His tongue swept into me, hungry, confident, claiming the moment the way I’d claimed that punch.

My hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer, tasting triumph and lust in the same breath.

Zach didn’t answer. He just stalked toward me, laughter dying on his lips as something darker took its place. His hand slid into my hair, firm but slow, and then his mouth was back on mine.

The kiss hit like a lightning strike... sharp, hot, impossible to ignore.

His lips parted mine with practiced ease, tongue slipping in, not asking, just taking. He tasted of sweat and spice, breath warm, breathless, like he’d been holding it back for too long. My knees weakened under the pressure of it, and I reached for him instinctively, clutching the front of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me from unraveling.

He kissed me deeper, drawing a moan from my throat as his other hand slid down my back, settling low on my waist. I melted into him, the strength of his body pressing against mine, the heat between us building into something dangerous.

His tongue tangled with mine. Slow, deliberate strokes that made my thighs clench. He drew back just enough to bite down on my bottom lip, dragging it between his teeth before devouring me all over again, this time with a hunger that made my skin flush.

My hips moved of their own accord, brushing into his, and I felt him, hard. Hot and ready, pressed tight against my stomach.

Still kissing, still devouring, he walked me backward until I hit the padded wall. His thigh wedged between mine, opening me to add the pressure I craved more of. I gasped into his mouth as he rolled his hips against me, just once, testing, teasing.

Zach groaned, low in his chest, the sound vibrating against my lips like a promise.

“Still think I got my ass handed to me?” he whispered, voice rough and amused against my cheek, his breath fanning my skin.

I barely managed a nod, dazed, drunk on the taste of him.

His hand slipped under the hem of my shirt, palm hot on bare skin, and my breath hitched again. The kiss wasn’t over. It was deepening, drawing me under, taking me apart with every slow slide of his tongue, every inch of space he refused to leave between us.

His hand traveled higher, fingertips grazing the underside of my sports bra, knuckles brushing the swell of my breast. My breath caught, back arching, offering more without words. His mouth never left mine, deeper, wetter, hungrier. The kiss turned into something feral, something that clawed its way through both of us.

I slid my hands beneath his top, tracing the hard lines of his stomach, the dip between his abs, the trail of hair that led lower. His body tensed beneath my touch, hips grinding into me, the bulge in his pants nudging between my thighs like a question I was dying to answer.

A whimper slipped from my lips, swallowed by his kiss, as his thumb brushed over my nipple through the thin fabric. My legs parted wider, inviting the pressure of his thigh, the friction that made me ache.

---