Which is another reason why I chose to stalk Addisyn in the hopes of finding Alex. He can’t take it that far. I’ll pay the price for Ericson when the time comes, but I won’t go down for Alex’s crimes also.
I spend most of the day reading a thriller on my phone, hopping from coffee shops to bars, while keeping tabs on Addisyn’s menial life. After two full days of this, I’m becoming agitated and nervous that I chose the wrong mark.
Where the hell are you, Alex?
It’s this frustration and doubt that almost makes me abandon Addisyn. But as I follow her toward a dance club, I decide a few drinks to soothe the burn isn’t the worst idea. Then I’ll start fresh. Move on to the next target on the list.
I dress in a black tank top and jeans, low profile but able to blend. I keep my small crossbody bag hooked around my shoulder rather than checking it. I lose the hat and decide to wear my hair in loose waves, obstructing part of my face. But really, in a dark and lively atmosphere like a club, where most patrons are inebriated, no one looks too closely at facial details.
With this in mind, I have a drink in my hand at all times, sipping slowly. I want the warm, comforting buzz to dull the sharp edge of tension, but I need to stay alert.
I turn down a few offers to dance. I’m not here seeking the distraction of sex. I haven’t had sex since that night on the waterfall cliff with Alex, and the thought of being intimate with another person feels…wrong.
Rationally, I’ve been avoiding the physical act out of fear of feeling those same heightened and torn emotions. Scared of losing myself to the deep end. Terrified they’re tied only to Alex and what that could mean—a connection that belongs only to him.
A wisp of fury curls within my veins.
How am I supposed to understand myself and what I actually feel if I don’t test the theory?
I can’t isolate myself forever. And I can’t live in fear of my feelings for Alex.
I toss back the rest of my cocktail and leave Addisyn gyrating with some loser near the bar. I do a quick scan of the men within the vicinity, and I walk up to one with a cute smile and nice build.
“You’ll do,” I say, as I grab his flashy button-down and tug him onto the dance floor.
He doesn’t protest as I turn my back to him and press up against his body, swiveling my hips erotically as a haze of club smoke mists the air around us.
I force his hands on my hips and thrust my ass into his groin, allowing the heated shot of alcohol to fuel my actions.
Don’t think. Not about Alex. The experiment. Fucking feelings.
Nothing.
Impulse and carnal need only.
Bag pushed to my hip, I raise my hands and let them drape his shoulders as I move and undulate to the rhythm. I used to enjoy dancing. I still do, I find. Maybe even more so. The music is a living force as it careens through my system like an electric charge. I feel every intense beat, piercing octave, moving lyric.
The act of seduction is empowering. I was good at it; I had studied what men and women wanted, and I knew how to lure them in. I turn to face my dance partner, ignoring the smug smile on his face, and instead focus on my pleasure.
Somewhere inside me pulses a dull ache of doubt—a truth felt at my core that this isn’t what I want, that it doesn’t compare to what I’ve experienced. But I close my eyes and embrace the crescendo, focusing on the euphoric stream flowing through my body. I throw my head back as I’m swept away in the sensation.
He sweeps his hand over my ass, and I try not to recoil. I grip his shirt and rotate my body provocatively, holding on tight as if I have no choice, like it’s my fucking salvation.
I feel the press of a warm body from behind. Ignoring the impulse to look, to push away, I stay in the moment. Strong hands seize my waist, and a charged current arcs over my skin. I allow myself to lean back into the stranger as his hand trails my hip purposefully and slips between my thighs.
I’m fire and brimstone, searing around the edges. The hazy smoke creates a canopy above, cocooning us and fusing our bodies together. I’m coming undone at the feel of his fingers curling into my shirt to grip me closer.
If I don’t act now, I might lose my nerve. I open my eyes and latch on to the guy in front of me. “Kiss me,” I demand.
His dark brows knit together in a confused expression, and I realize he can’t hear me over the music. Before I’m able to act on my impulse, a hand collars my neck—the guy at my back. His fingers slide along my jaw and force my face sideways. Then I feel the brush of his mouth against my ear.
The scent of sandalwood and aquatic cologne spikes my adrenals, triggering a visceral reaction.
My body stills. My heart constricts in my chest to the point of pain.
“I missed you, my goddess, my Peitho,” he whispers, his breath teasing the shell of my ear. “Don’t make a scene.”
His arm fastens around my waist, caging me in, anticipating my response to flee. “She was a force,” I say, reiterating a point I’ve made before. “Not a goddess.”
The guy in front takes the hint that I’m no longer interested and coasts away, taking up the backside of another woman. Leaving Alex and me alone in a haze of smoke and tension.
The strobe lights slow to the tender beat of the house music as it dulls into a quiet roar inside my head.
“It was torment staying away from you,” Alex says.
His voice is a ghostly whisper from the grave. My nightmares and fantasies colliding. I close my eyes, my skin aflame. A riot of emotions war within me, and all I can do is sway within his arms.
I was right…and so was London.
I hunted him to this place, and he found me.
“What is it about night clubs that makes you unable to resist me?” I ask.
He nuzzles his face in my hair affectionately, pushing the strands aside and placing a delicate kiss behind my ear. “No one can resist you, Blakely. But I’ll be damned if I stand back and watch another man touch what’s mine.”
I clasp my hand over his on my belly, my nails digging into his skin. He doesn’t react. Instead, he tightens his hold and leads us away from the crush of bodies, guiding me off the dance floor toward a more secluded section of the club.
Panic flares in my veins, roiling my blood into a frenzy. Logic battles to the surface of my chaotic thoughts as I try to remember my plan.
More than any torture Alex has subjected on me, I hate the weak and unsure person he’s reduced me to.
So I let him take me. I press against him and feel every inch of his body. I drag my hands over his arms and chest, his hips and thighs, searching for any weapons or syringes. As I move up his body, he grips my biceps.
He levels me with those killer blue eyes. His intense gaze sinks right through my skin. “I didn’t come here to hurt you,” he says, seeing through my seductive full body search.
I arch an eyebrow. “Just making sure you’re not carrying,” I say mockingly, reminding him of the time he tried to sneak a knife into an MMA fight. My gaze shifts to the bandage around his hand.
He notices my interest. “Consequences of touching the fire.” His tone conveys a double entendre, but all I hear is he’s wounded. He has a disadvantage.
He maneuvers us to the side of the DJ booth where he presses my back to a wall. He flattens his palm above my head, his body leaned into mine, as if we’re merely having an engrossing conversation.