Page 17 of Bound By Crimson
He stood beneath a crystal chandelier that dripped gold and shadow. Tall. Sculpted. Lethal in his beauty. His suit was black as night, tailored within an inch of sin, with a deep crimson handkerchief blooming from his breast pocket like a secret he dared you to ask about.
Girls surrounded him.
The kind Lyric had never belonged to—laughing too loudly, whispering with lipsticked mouths, twirling their hair as they tried to feed him attention. He didn’t feed back.
He looked bored.
Until his gaze lifted. And found her.
It happened in an instant—like the air left the room. Like the music bent to him.
Lyric froze. Her heart slammed into her ribs. She wanted to look away. She wasn’t that girl. She didn’t have that power.
But his eyes locked her in place like a spell.
He moved.
Through the crowd, through the perfume and tulle and silk, he walked straight toward her. The women wilted in his wake.
He didn’t smile. He didn’t speak.
He stopped inches from her. His breath brushed her cheek—warm and slow.
Then, with one gloved hand, he reached out and ran a single finger from the hollow of her throat to the tip of her chin. Slowly. Possessively. Like he already owned her.
He lifted her face. Their lips barely apart.
She felt his breath on hers. Her body screamed. Her thoughts disappeared.
Just before she could unravel, his arm slid around the small of her back and pulled her flush against him. Her chest pressed to his. Her breath caught.
And he danced.
Without asking. Without warning. He moved like a shadow and a storm. His hand controlled her hips. His body commanded hers.
She’d never danced like this with a man before—but she didn’t have to know how. She only had to feel.
And God, did she feel.
He smelled like sin dressed in sweetness—warm vanilla over bare skin, a whisper of spice, a breath of something sharp and clean that made her knees weaken. It wasn’t just a scent—it was a spell. It curled into her lungs, wrapped around her nerves, and dragged a low, aching heat through her. It clung to her skin, soaked into the satin of her dress, branding her from the inside out.
It stirred something she hadn’t known was there.
She’d come close to Eric before—sweet, clumsy closeness, born of first love.
But this was different. This was heat and hunger and something she’d only ever felt in dreams—the ones that left her aching when she woke.
Every movement he made was deliberate. Commanding. Erotic in its restraint.
His thigh slid between hers, guiding her closer. Her breath caught as her body brushed his again, and again. Her pulse was wild, but her body responded without thought.
Every time she moved, she brushed against his arousal. And he didn’t move away. He pressed harder.
Her lips parted. A soft gasp escaped her throat.
Her breasts brushed his chest—again, again—and her nipples peaked beneath the satin bodice of her dress. She didn’t know if he could feel it, but God, she hoped he could.
Her thighs clenched. The fire low in her belly had ignited now, spreading like molten silk through her core.
