Page 7 of Brushed and Buried
I turn to him, the chair standing between us, and the air thick in the room.
I sit backward on it again, legs spread, and lean forward until we’re nearly eye-level. I sway my hips to the beat in deep, hypnotic arcs, like I’m not dancing for him, but at him.
“This is for you,” I say quietly.
His gaze drops to my chest, then lower. He doesn’t look away. His breathing hitches, just once, but I catch it.
I reach behind me, arch again, and drag my pants just a bit further down my hips, still technically decent, but barely.
He shifts in his seat but says nothing. The storm in his eyes is building, judgment and hunger creating a volatile mix.
I place one hand on the chair back, the other running from my neck down my stomach. Vince’s eyes track it like he’s starving, like he’s angry at himself for wanting it. He exhales, sharp and rough, his restraint fracturing just enough for me to see the want underneath.
I rise from the chair and hover over him, still dancing and moving, slow like syrup. I turn around, my back to him, and bend low, giving him the full view. Then, cruelly, I walk away.
The spell breaks like a crack of lightning, and the others realize I’m back.
Trevor reaches for my hand with a wide smile. I spin around him, tugging Lance from the couch, his interest transforming into hands-on exploration. I pull George into my orbit as I dance between them, his mask replaced by pure, unguarded desire. The police pants stay low, clinging to half my ass, sweat glistening on my back.
They touch me now, tentatively at first, then bolder. Light brushes become lingering caresses. Palms on my waist, hip, and shoulder. We’re laughing again, but no one’s joking anymore.Each touch is a small rebellion against everything they thought they knew about themselves.
Lance snorts nervously. “Man, I don’t know if I’m turned on or having a crisis right now.”
Trevor moves to smell my neck and groans when I gasp at the closeness. George stands behind me, hands steady on my hips, finally giving in to want.
Suddenly, all these straight men are clinging to me like I’m their personal salvation, but I’m not. I can feel their certainties cracking, their conventional masculinity bending under the pressure of interest and desire.
But even with all of them around me, I feel his stare.
Vince is still seated and silent, but wound tight, buzzing like a live wire ready to snap. His pupils are blown wide, his mouth tight. That measured breathing is now completely abandoned as he watches me tempt his friends, making them want something they’d never imagined wanting.
I end the dance by dropping into the chair again, facing away from them this time. Legs spread, chest heaving, with every inch of me alive and vibrating.
The music fades, so does the moment, but not the tension.
The boys are flushed, restless now, like I’ve awakened something they can’t put back to sleep. And Vince hasn’t moved, but his eyes burn with a hunger that makes my skin feel electric.
“Shit,” George says, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. Now I gotta jump in the ocean.”
Trevor laughs, but it’s breathless, uncertain. “That was…fuck.”
Lance hands me a towel and says, “You win. MVP of the goddamn year. But also, I think you broke something in my brain.”
I smirk, catching Vince’s eye.
He doesn’t smile back. But I see the tightness in his face, the tremor at his temple, and the heat in his gaze, all mixed with something that looks like fury directed at himself, at me, and at the situation.
Good.
Let him burn.
Because I’m already on fire, and I’m not done yet.
3
Adrian
I go back to my beer and take a long sip. I think I should just sit down and enjoy the rest of the night with drinks and their company, my accidental party-crashing enough to be the memorable element of this night. But I feel like I should do more, with Vince here. Especially because he is here.
