Page 202 of Knot So Lucky
I'm already grinning, my body wanting to move to the rhythm pulsing through the space.
"Stay close," Cale says directly into my ear, his hand tightening on my waist. "This place is packed. If we lose you in this crowd, it'll take forever to find you again."
"Yes, Daddy," I reply sweetly, just to watch his eyes darken with want.
Luca moves to walk in front of me, apparently taking the protection role seriously despite his earlier complaints. His broad shoulders cut through the crowd, creating a path that Cale and I can follow.
We make our way toward the main stage, diving into the thick of the dance floor where bodies press together and individual identity becomes secondary to collective movement.
Luca stops maybe fifteen feet from the stage—close enough to feel the full impact of the sound system, far enough to have some personal space. He stands there looking awkward, hands in his pockets, clearly uncertain what to do with himself in this environment.
The contrast between his usual commanding presence and his current discomfort is adorable.
I step in front of him, swaying my hips to the beat, letting the music guide my body in ways that are deliberately provocative. My arms come up to wrap around his neck, pulling him down closer to my level.
"Let loose a bit," I say against his ear, having to raise my voice to be heard over the music. "Dance with me."
"I can't dance," he admits, and there's something almost vulnerable in the confession.
I giggle—the sound bright and uninhibited in ways sobriety would have made impossible.
"Then bob your head like a bobblehead. Just feel the music and move."
I reach up and pull the teal-and-black glasses from his jacket pocket, sliding them onto his head where they catch the neon lights and create beautiful refractions. Then I adjust my own black shades, making sure they're secure.
Behind me, Cale moves closer, his body pressing against my back in ways that create delicious pressure. He's already moving to the music, hips finding the rhythm naturally, hands settling on my waist with possessive certainty.
And slowly, Luca starts to move.
Tentative at first—just small movements, testing the waters. But as the music builds, as I press closer and guide his hands to my hips, he finds his rhythm.
We're dancing.
The three of us moving together in sync, our bodies finding coordination that speaks to pack bonds and biological compatibility. Luca's hands on my hips, fingers flexing with every beat. Cale's breath hot against my ear, his chest pressed to my back, hips moving in counterpoint to Luca's.
The sexual tension that's been building for days explodes into physical expression.
We're not just dancing.
We're grinding, touching, claiming each other through movement in ways that bypass words entirely.
My skin is slick with sweat and glitter, the heat of the crowd and the exertion making my dress cling to curves usually hidden by baggy clothes. The holographic material catches the lights, creating rainbow effects that make me look like I'm made of light itself.
Luca's scent intensifies—dark chocolate and gunpowder mixing with something muskier, more primal. His pupils are dilated behind the teal glasses, tracking every movement of my body against his with hungry focus.
Behind me, Cale's burnt-cedar-and-coffee scent wraps around us both. His hands slide from my waist to my hips, occasionally dipping lower to where dress meets bare thigh, testing boundaries in ways that make my breath catch.
The bass drops, the music shifting into something heavier, more aggressive. The crowd responds with collective enthusiasm, the energy in the room ratcheting up to almost manic levels.
I'm lost in it.
The sound, the movement, the buzz from the edibles and alcohol creating a state where consequences don't exist and only this moment matters.
I pull Luca closer, eliminating what little space existed between us. Our bodies are flush now, moving together in ways that are absolutely indecent for public spaces.
We share a look—his dark eyes behind those teal glasses meeting mine behind my black shades. Understanding passes between us without words.Permission. Want.The acknowledgment that we're past the point of pretending this is just innocent dancing.
I lean up on my toes, my lips brushing against his.
