Page 90 of Tangled In Tinsel & Knots
Noel reaches the front of the stage first, and he drops into a crouch so smoothly it looks choreographed. His hands run slowly down his chest, over his abs, down his thighs. Every movement is deliberate, sensual.
Kane mirrors him on the other side, and they’re feeding off each other’s energy.
They rise together, circling each other like predators, and then Noel drops to the floor in a perfect push-up position. He does a slow, grinding thrust that has me burning up, his muscles taut behind his clothes.
The crowd loses their minds.
Kane follows suit, their bodies moving in waves.
They roll onto their backs, then flip over again with this fluid grace I didn’t know they possessed, and spring to their feet.
“Holy shit,” I breathe. “When did they practice that?”
Ruby is fanning herself with her hand. “They’re incredible. My Alphas need to take lessons for my private sessions. This is professional-level.”
We’re both transfixed.
They start peeling off their tactical vests now, slowly, teasingly. They turn their backs to the audience and look over their shoulders with a wink before pulling their vests off andtossing them toward the back of the stage where they hit the stage with a loud clunking noise.
The long-sleeved compression shirts come next. Noel grabs the hem and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion, and the reveal of his body makes me forget how to breathe.
Muscles everywhere. His chest is sculpted, abs defined in perfect ridges, shoulders broad and powerful. The stage lights make his skin glow, highlighting every line and curve.
Kane’s shirt comes off next, and I’m drooling. Maybe even more so with how his muscles ripple as he moves.
Women are throwing things onto the stage now—money, definitely, but I also see what looks like a bra land near Kane’s feet.
Noel turns and does this slow ass-wiggle thing that should be ridiculous but somehow isn’t. Kane drops low, grinding against the floor, showcasing the strength in his arms and chest as he rolls back up.
They’re moving around each other, doing body rolls that highlight every muscle. Noel’s rhythm is perfect, hitting every beat. Kane’s style is different, more power-based, but it works.
They toe off their boots, kicking them to the back of the stage, and they’re barefoot now in those low-hanging tactical pants.
Noel does something I’ve only seen in videos, the worm move where his entire body undulates in waves across the stage floor. It’s mesmerizing, and the way his muscles contract and release is hypnotic.
Kane drops into a one-armed push-up position and lowers himself slowly, his bicep flexing, then pushes back up and spins on his back.
My pulse is racing everywhere, but especially between my thighs.
The music builds to a thundering crescendo, bass vibrating through the floor, and they spin around in unison to face away from the crowd.
Hands go to zippers.
The entire auditorium holds its breath.
They shove their tactical pants down at the same time, bending at the waist to step out of them and unknowingly giving the audience a front-row view of two very unfair asses. The crowddetonates.
Women are on their feet, shrieking, drinks sloshing. The chant starts up again, louder, wilder. “More! More! Take it all off!”
They kick the pants away and turn around in their boxer briefs. Tight. Clinging. Completely, devastatingly unhelpful.
Kane’s are bright green with tiny gingerbread men printed all over them—and every single cookie is frowning with its little iced arms crossed and the wordsBite Mestamped across the waistband.
Noel’s are deep red, covered in cartoon snowmen wearing sunglasses and Santa hats. Across the front, in glittery gold script, it saysJingle All The Way.
I slap a hand over my mouth, a laugh bursting out of me anyway. Oh, they are never living this down.
The audience, however, eats it up like it’s the best thing they’ve seen all year, cheering.
