Page 75 of Dance with Me
He gave a surprised laugh and leaned over the armrest to cup her jaw. Caressing her cheek, he captured her gaze. His eyes were like black holes in the dim lighting of the club, and she was caught in his pull. What was it about this man that made him impossible to resist?
He drew her in the rest of the way and laid his lips on hers. Instead of fire, he met her with sweetness. His lips nibbled and his tongue soothed. His fingers slipped into her hair, massaging.
The contrast between this kiss and how he usually kissed her disarmed the last of her defenses. She sank into it, letting his mouth calm her racing heart. The adrenaline from her encounter with Rob faded. Everything faded—the music, the nerves, the worry over what Dimitri would think of seeing her here.
He was here now, with her, and he’d just been the best kind of hero. The kind who let her stand up for herself.
Stupid hope starting fluttering again. This time, she didn’t tamp it down. Let it flutter, if it wanted. Maybe there was something to be hopeful for.
When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For what just happened. For men being assholes. I shouldn’t have made you come here tonight.”
If they’d stayed home, she might have never realized she still had unfinished business here. “Thank you for letting me handle it.”
He exhaled and eased back. “I didn’t want to. I wanted to drag his ass outside and pound him into the ground. But then he was so pathetic, I just felt sorry for him.”
“I kinda did, too. But not enough to let him touch me.” She cringed. “His hands were so sweaty.”
Dimitri scowled again. “Maybe I will pound him into the ground after all.”
“Don’t.” She grabbed his elbow. “It’s over. We can’t draw attention to ourselves. And the show’s going to start soon. Hey, what happened to our drinks?”
“They’re still on the bar. I looked over and saw him sitting with you, so I came back.”
“Thank you.” She twisted in her seat and got the attention of one of the waitresses. Once they had their drinks, she turned back to the stage.
“That used to be me.” She gestured with her glass toward the pole dancer working her ass off. “But my boobs were smaller then.”
“She’s good.” He sent Natasha a sidelong glance. “If I got a pole installed at home . . .”
“Maybe.” Heat flooded through her at the suggestion. She’d love to dance for him. The performative aspect of pole dancing, even stripping, made her feel powerful and in control. But the impulse to hold back with him was still too ingrained. “For you, maybe.”
He groaned and shifted in his seat.
She bit back a giggle. “Pants suddenly a little tight?”
“Yes, damn it.”
The lights went down, the music lowered, and the pole dancers slunk offstage. The show was starting. Despite everything that had happened so far, she was excited.
Dimitri leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Sit in my lap.”
She wanted to do it, wanted to feel his strong thighs underneath her, his cock pressing up against her ass. But anyone could be watching, and they’d already come close to making a scene.
“Tasha . . .” He breathed her name in her ear, sending delicious chills down her back. She shook her head.
The show began. The first two acts were fun and flirty, using the classic feathers and fans. Then Renee came out, and she blew them all away, doing a burlesque and pole routine that mimicked rhythmic gymnastics, but with whips, leather, and chains.
Natasha kept her eyes on the stage, but watched Dimitri in the periphery. His gaze drifted from the stage, to her, and back again. Knowing he was there with her, watching the performance, maybe thinking about her doing these things, made her senses sizzle with awareness and her body throb with need. She sucked on her lower lip, wishing it was his mouth, his teeth, scraping against the sensitive flesh.
Renee’s act finished. Natasha cheered louder than anyone, and Dimitri threw some fifties onto the stage. Renee winked at them as she tucked them into the string of her thong, then sauntered offstage, her fabulous ass and hips swaying.
The next act involved two women, who interspersed the burlesque stripping with making out, and Natasha couldn’t take it anymore. She needed to touch him, needed to be touched.
“Fine, I’ll sit on your lap,” she said, like she was doing Dimitri some great favor, like she wasn’t about to jump out of her own skin with longing for him. “But promise we can still go for dinner afterward. I don’t want you getting too worked up and depriving me of food.”
