Page 110 of Beloved Beauty

The funky song fades, giving way to something slow and seductive.

She stands with her back to my chest, her hips already moving to the slow, sultry rhythm. One arm lifts, graceful and deliberate, curling behind her to thread through the hair at the nape of my neck. She tugs me closer, her head tipping back enough for her lips to graze my jaw.

“You’ve never played this song. What is it?”

“‘Red Light Special.’ TLC,” she murmurs, her voice low and loaded.

“You need to play this one at home.”

She rolls her ass against my cock—slow, steady, knowing exactly what she’s doing—and any coherent thought I had goes up in smoke.

I groan low in my throat. “Fuck, I would bend you over if we weren’t in public.”

She turns in my arms, brushing her lips along my jaw, teasing and lethal. “You mean if we weren’t on a very specific timeline? You’ve got to put the brakes on, big guy. I’m ovulating.”

And just like that—ice water.

Of course she is. Tonight of all fucking nights.

We only need to avoid pregnancy for one month. One. Fucking. Month. But right now, with her swaying against me, lips close enough to taste—I want her so badly it hurts.

I pull her in tighter anyway. “We’ll have to get creative tonight.”

She hums low and promising. “Oh, we will.”

We hit the bar for round two, then three and so on. Old-fashioneds slide into our hands like clockwork. The bourbon burns in the best way. We’re tipsy but not lost. Loosened. Dialed into each other in a way that sharpens everything—every glance, every smile, every graze of skin.

She laughs at something I say, tossing her head back, and it’s all I can do not to lean in and claim her mouth right there. Her fingers drift to my leg casually, but the spark it sends up my spine is anything but. Everything between us is heat now—smoldering and slow-burning. The air, the silence, even the way her foot brushes mine under the table—it all hums with anticipation.

And when she looks at me like that—eyes low, mouth tipped in a secret—I know exactly where the rest of this night is headed.

“I want to dance some more.”

“Whatever you want, Mrs. Sebring.”

Her body fits against mine like memory, like instinct. Her hands trace up my chest before looping behind my neck, pulling me closer until her mouth brushes mine. The music doesn’t matter anymore. We’re not dancing to it—we’re moving to something else. Something we’re barely holding back.

My hands slide lower, anchoring at the dip of her spine, pulling her against me until there’s no room left between us. She shifts her hips enough to drive me insane.

Her laugh is soft and dangerous. “You’re getting grabby.”

I lean in, lips brushing her ear. “You’re not exactly discouraging me.”

She tilts her head up, gaze locked on mine, mouth parted like she’s daring me to kiss her right there. I do—slow and unhurried––tongue brushing hers long enough to forget where we are.

“Maybe we should get out of here.”

I don’t even hesitate. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

We head back to the table long enough to say our goodbyes. “We’re calling it,” I tell Elias, clinking the last of my drink against his. “Catch you two later?”

Violet grins, slipping her arm through his. “We’re right behind you.”

Then we’re outside, flagging a cab. The second the door shuts behind us, Magnolia slides in close. We’re not all over each other—but tangled enough that no one would raise an eyebrow. But her thigh is pressed tightly against mine, and her hand settles high on my leg. Definitely not innocent.

She leans in, voice low. “I can’t wait to get you home.”

Her dress has inched up enough to test my self-control. I let my fingers drift over the inside of her knee, slow and casual.

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