Page 129 of Painted Scars
“Last call for the stage, girls,” the stage manager announces, and the dancers bustle out, silk and lace swishing with them.
I drag August behind the procession and watch from the wings as the dancers form a pattern on stage, and the club falls silent.
“Stay here. Drink, dance, have fun and do everything I would.” Harper blows me an air kiss, her heels clicking as she gets into formation, claiming the stage like she owns it.
August’s mouth twitches. “I’ll show her fun.”
The music starts, and hips sway in time with the bassline, gloves sliding off, one finger at a time. The crowd eats it up, and August’s jaw clenches. I’m absorbed in the music pulsing in my chest, entranced by every motion and flutter of feathers. When the music shifts to a sultrier beat, he’s behind me, hands on my hips, moving them.
“Dance with me?” His breath tickles my ear.
I glance back at him. “You took that dare from Harper.”
“We’re having fun because you want it, not because she said it.” He clasps my hand and spins me in a circle.
I let him move me, his palm firm on my hip, guiding me like he’s mapped out every beat in his head—which, knowing him, is accurate. Our bodies inch closer, the brush of fabric a thin wall between us. Heat sparks where we touch each other. A graze of my arm. Me holding his sides. He’s smiling for the first time since we walked in, and it’s not the polite kind. It’s warm and devastating, making my heart beat faster.
I loop my arms behind his neck, fingertips glancing the hair at his nape, swaying with him to the pulsing beat. The rhythm threads through my veins until I’m not sure if I’m moving to the music or to him. His hand slides along the curve of my hip, fingers flexing and wrinkling my dress, anchoring me like he’s scared I’ll drift away.
He pulls me closer, our chests pressed together, my nipples hardening. His breath fans my cheek as he leans in, saying nothing, letting the proximity work its way into my head. My dress brushes his thighs with each shift, and his hand tightens on me. Every slow roll of our hips is a promise neither of us is ready to say aloud yet, but both of us are feeling. The crowd roars at something Harper does, but the sound is distant compared to the thrum of my heartbeat. I can feel every inch of him, hard and unapologetic through his trousers. We’re both waiting for the other to make a bad move.
Betrayal sits between us like a loaded gun, and the smart play would be to keep it chambered and aimed at his chest. Then I won’t be blindsided again. Yet the guarded part of me is losing to the part who remembers how it feels to trust and love him. The part that knows without a doubt that he feels the same way. His hand on me doesn’t feel like control, it’s giving me the choice and power to decide which way this goes… the end for us or the next chapter. I’m not ready to entirely forgive him, buthere, now, in this stolen moment, in this den of sin, I don’t think I want to hold back.
I lift my head and stare into his eyes, communicating my desire.
“You keep looking at me like that,” he says low, “and I’m going to forget we’re in public.”
I give him a dare of my own, knowing he’ll snap at the bait. “August Kelly forgetting where we are. Never.”
He turns me gently until my back is to the wall, the heavy curtains hiding us from everyone but the stage crew. One hand braces beside my head, the other hooks into the slit of my dress, driving up my thigh. August thickens into my belly.
“Tell me to stop, Glitter Bomb,” he says, his voice thick with smoke.
No fucking way. Tonight the world is ours. Tomorrow, we paint it with color, glitter, and war paint. My fingers knot in his shirt, dragging him down to my mouth. The kiss is deep and claiming, tasting fruity like my cocktail and the bite of danger I’m addicted to. His thigh slides between mine, my breath hitches, and I swear the music’s tempo syncs with my pulse.
“You’ve been driving me insane since the moment you stepped into this dress,” he growls into my lips. “Every step you take in it is hell.” His hand cups me through the scrap of lace I call underwear.
The music muffles the noise I make when he slips the fabric aside and finds me wet for him.
His smile is pure sin. “That’s my good girl.”
My head tips back, catching the faint glow of the stage to my right. The whole damn club can erupt into gunfire, and I won’t care while his finger is inside me, stroking the spot he knows too well.
“Keep quiet, Glitter Bomb,” he murmurs into my throat. “Or I’ll make sure Murder Spice knows exactly what I’m doing to you backstage.”
He swallows my smile in a kiss. I grind against his hand, my fingers scrabbling for his zipper, needing him to fill me with more. He helps, freeing his cock through the fly. In one rough lift, my leg is hooked over his arm, his knees are bent, and he’s driving inside me in a thrust that knocks the air out of me. We move together in a frenzied tempo, the heat and tension of the night spilling over into something messy and spontaneous. Totally against August’s cautious and methodical brand. That’s why I lean into it.
This is the part that wrecks me. This isn’t him losing control. This is him surrendering it to me to decide how close we get, how far we go, and I feel it in every brush of his fingers over my body. Him trading his instinct to protect me for my happiness.
Damn him, he’s making it impossible to remain angry at him and call time on our relationship to gather hindsight and perspective. If I’m honest with myself—I wanted possessive, obsessive love from a morally gray man who bends the truth until it breaks—and he’s delivering. But if I’m going to keep him, I want all of him. Secrets, truth, and shadows. Nothing left between us.
“If you forgive me, Glitter Bomb,” he pants. “I swear I’ll never make you regret it.”
It’s a vow, and for once, I believe him.
He steals my breath, balance, and my control, holding me in place until I break around him, hiding my cry in his shoulder. He follows with a low groan, burying himself deep before stilling. We stay like that, clinging to each other in the shadows, slowing our breathing while the world on the other side of the curtain cheers for the entertainment.
When he lowers my leg and kisses the top of my head, I know this is the eye of the storm, and when it breaks, I’m going to fight like hell to keep what I’ve found with him.
