29
Val (Gianna)
Derek and I sat in a dimly lit corner booth draped in purple velvet at Club Revolution. His arm around me, he held me close, allowing me to snuggle into his shoulder. How I missed him since last seeing him was completely out of proportion with the time we’d known each other. I just him that morning during my self-defense class, yet it seemed like we’d been apart for days. I should have been alarmed, but for some reason, it felt right.
I sipped on a Lemon Drop martini while Derek favored a gin and tonic with a twist of lime. It felt good being out in this sort of setting. Derek had been right. This was a pretty hopping place. The last time I did anything like this was with Natalia during my pre-shitty days, as I’d come to dub them. After my slight panic attack over the toothpaste incident and the nightmare I’d had last weekend, I began mentally referring to my life before, during, and after Ethan as pre-shitty, shitty, and post-shitty to keep myself from thinking his name. I’m pretty sure a psychologist would have a field day with that, but whatever. It was helping to keep me sane, and that was all that mattered.
I glanced around at the sea of dancing people as the DJ transitioned to a new song. Nothing to Lose by Vassy began to play, and I tapped my foot in time to the beat. Her lyrics about starting from the bottom and rising up got to me in an unexpected way. She sang of independence, yet wanting love. The lyrics were emotional in a sad way, but they also gave me hope. Perhaps it was the martini running through my veins, but the song made me aware of something else as well.
I wanted Derek—I really wanted him—and that was perfectly okay.
I still wasn’t sure why I froze up a few nights back at Camilla’s. I’d analyzed my reactions for days afterward. Derek didn’t deserve the mixed signals I was sending. He deserved better—so did I. It was okay for me to give in to my desires, and I was committed to doing exactly that going forward.
“Do you like this song?” Derek asked, pointing to my tapping foot.
“What’s not to love about it?”
Smiling, he placed a chaste kiss to my forehead.
“Come on. Let’s go dance then.” Without giving me a chance to respond, Derek grabbed my hand and dragged me out onto the dance floor.
“Derek, what are you doing? I can’t dance!”
“Sure you can, Sparky. You danced with me on the dinner cruise.”
“But that was slow dancing. This is different. Trust me, I can’t dance.”
“Everyone can dance,” he insisted, his laughter clear despite the loud music in the club.
“Not this girl. When I come to places like this, I people-watch. That’s it.”
Ignoring my protests, he pulled me close to his body. He pressed another quick kiss to my forehead, took my right hand in his, and flashed me a wicked, melt-worthy smile.
“Just follow my lead.”
With his chest hard against mine, we began to move. His motions were effortless, making me appear to be a much better dancer than I actually was. He moved in a flawless rhythm, sexy and confident, before extending his arm to spin me around. Pulling my hips against him once more, long-dormant hormones came to life and sent sparks flying south. When the DJ transitioned and announced a throwback tune, Derek began to tease me with a slow, circular grind to the sexually charged lyrics of Too Close by Next.
Holy hell…who knew dancing could be so erotic?
After thirty minutes of hard dancing, sweat began to form on my brow. I glanced at Derek, and he was sweating as well, his hair falling in damp waves over his brow.
“Ready to get another drink?” I asked, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand.
“Sure.”
Derek ordered me another Lemon Drop Martini but surprised me when he got himself a bottle of water.
“Water?”
“Yeah, I’m not much of a drinker. I usually stop at one,” he explained.
I frowned in confusion.
“But you had a couple of drinks last weekend and had two glasses of wine the other night at Camilla’s.”
“I did. That’s why I’m limiting myself today.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Is this a ‘my body is a temple’ sort of thing?”
“No, Sparky. This is an ‘I don’t want to be under the influence of anything but you the next time I kiss you’ sort of thing.”
Oh, wow…
I licked my lips.
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
The deep timbre of his voice caused a shiver to course through me. There was no mistaking his unspoken promise as he turned my body until my back was pressed against his front. His hand splayed across my midsection, and we moved to Sia’s electropop ballad of soaring synthesizers and militant drums. In my semi-buzzed state, I found myself shamelessly gyrating against him, needing to hang on to this moment—this feeling of being happy and free. I wanted to bury the shame and pretend I was a woman who didn’t have a past, someone who wasn’t always afraid of things that went bump in the night. I placed a hand over Derek’s and squeezed as though I was hanging on for dear life. I never wanted this moment, no matter how inconsequential, to end.
Glancing down at my half-empty glass, I impulsively threw back the rest of the contents and placed the glass on the bar. Turning around to face Derek, I used the liquid courage to kiss him long and hard. The heat of his lips against mine spread like wildfire through my veins, and my heart hammered an erratic beat in my ears. He pulled my body tight to his and returned my kiss, his lips passionately pressing down on mine. When a passerby let out a loud wolf whistle, I felt Derek’s lips turn up in a smile.
“What do you say we get out of here and go back to my apartment?” I suggested. Derek pulled away, his eyes dark and hungry yet hesitant.
“Your apartment?”
“Yes. I want to be with you.”
He studied me for a long moment before nodding.
“Okay.” He cupped my cheek and leaned in to kiss me once more, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips, coaxing them open. Our tongues danced together for the briefest of moments before he pulled away. “But remember, you need to set the pace.”
30
Val (Gianna)
I silently thanked the gods, the club was right next door. I didn’t think we would have made it through a cab or subway ride back to my apartment. Derek and I crashed through the door in a tangle of lips and limbs. When Derek kicked the door closed behind us, I didn’t even pause to barricade the door or check the windows. The only thing that mattered was him and his touch. I needed him like I never needed anything in my life.
Pinning me against my living room wall, he ravaged my mouth. His hand skimmed up my waist, under my shirt, and brushed over my ribs. Shivers raced down my spine, and heat crashed between my legs. The arousal was all-consuming.
“God… your skin. You feel so good,” he murmured against my mouth, his voice low and husky. I pulled my shirt up and over my head with frantic need. He groaned and pushed down the cups of my bra to circle each nipple with the pads of his thumbs and forefingers. I gasped when he bent his head and latched on with his teeth, leisurely suckling each one and coaxing them to straining, aching peaks.