Her palms are all over my abs while her cheek skims against mine. She’s so close I can’t help but catch her lavender scent as it blows across my skin. The moment she lifts her body to stand upright, I’m aching for more. It’s like she knows my deepest desires because she’s walking back around me until she’s right in front of me.
I can get a good look at her now that she’s illuminated under the purple light and not cloaked in the darkness of the hallway. She’s swaying her hips, her eyes closed, but I still remember the jolt that went through me when her gaze latched on to mine for that brief second earlier. My reaction to the woman has been so visceral, and I don’t know why.
She’s more than a mystery now. She’s real, and that might be worse.
She steps between my legs and turns so fast that her skirt blows up enough for me to catch sight of her bare ass cheeks around a razor-thin thong. My cock jumps when I think about what her skin would feel like in my greedy palms.
Not a second later, that same ass comes down on my front, gliding against me, rubbing me, and successfully bringing my cock fully to life in a way that’s almost painful—in the sense that the relief that normally comes with the rise of the beast is an impossible feat in this situation.
I can watch but not touch.
Get hard but feel no relief.
Fuck this.
I’m a prisoner at the mercy of the bunny stroking me between her ass cheeks like she has every intention of finishing me off. But just as I feared, she rises at the precise moment I begin to lose myself to the hope of a release. She only makes it worse by ripping off her skirt and flinging it across the floor.
Cheers boom from the onlookers who are watching with sinful eyes, probably getting as hard as I am from watching the sexy woman tease me to near death. A hint of a smile tugs at her lips as she turns back around to face me. She steps over my legs, each step as fluid as the last, precise and timed perfectly to the beat.
There’s no denying that the woman is a beautiful dancer. Hypnotizing, even. But only one other dancer in my life has ever been able to completely stun me in such an intoxicating way.
Violet Hart was my best friend growing up. She loved to dance so much that she studied it in college, knowing it would be practically impossible to make a decent career out of dance unless she moved to LA. Still, that didn’t stop her from breathing in the knowledge from wherever she could get it. I still remember the effortless way she glided across the floor like she was floating. And how she was able to bend her body into impressive shapes.
Not even a sexy woman in a glittery bunny mask can chase away that haunting memory.
Not now, not ever.
The recruiting dancer who pulled me into the spotlight walks by, eyes raised in warning. “You’ll have to tip her if you want more, honey.”
Shit. I forgot. I scramble for my pocket, which is quite an effort to get into with my hard dick taking up all the extra space. Pulling out the first bill I feel, I cringe internally when I realize it’s a hundred.
The woman doesn’t even flinch as she leans in until she’s brushing my ear with her lips. “Mind tucking that into my leggings for me?”
Jesus. Even her voice is sinfully hot. I do as she says, careful not to touch her more than I have to. Once the bill is securely wedged between her skin and knee-high fishnets, I try to relax a little. Everyone else is enjoying a little entertainment. Why can’t I?
The woman continues dancing, but her movements become even more seductive. She’s rolling her body and giving the people a show as much as she’s giving me one. It isn’t until she plants herself on my lap and begins to bend backward that I realize there’s something far too familiar about this woman.
The way she bends.
The sexy dips and curves of her body.
Her intoxicating lavender scent.
Her stunning dark-brown eyes.
But more than anything else… it’s the way she feels against me that triggers that sense of familiarity I can’t quite explain.
When her fingers float to the top button of her deep-cut vest, I panic. It’s not like I haven’t seen a pair of breasts before. I’ve seen plenty, and I’m certain hers are spectacular. But something about this woman is beginning to feel too close for comfort.
“You’re a beautiful dancer,” I tell her. I guess I hope the compliment will serve as a distraction to ease my nerves while simultaneously encouraging her to meet my gaze.
She freezes for a millisecond but continues with the next button until her vest is one button away from exploding open and baring all.
My eyes lift to her perfectly pouty pink lips. That’s when I notice the rounded bow shape of them. The full-on pout. Somehow, I already know exactly how they would feel against mine.
My heart beats faster, and I begin to study all the parts of her that I can see. I’m hyperaware of her features and nearly oblivious to the way she’s riding my cock. Meanwhile, she’s toying with that last button on her vest, threatening to unleash her breasts. But I’m too focused on her long mane of silky hair that’s so black it’s almost purple—hair that reminds me all too well of a girl I once knew.
Violet Hart.
My childhood best friend. The one I took all her firsts from. She was also the first and only woman to ever break my heart.
But this woman can’t be her. The Violet I knew growing up had her whole life in our small town planned. She got married. To one of my best friends, for fuck’s sake. She wouldn’t need to be here doing this. Not when I know her husband is deeply loaded and far too controlling to allow her to be this… free.
Not only that, but I’m not wearing a mask. If it is Violet, she would have recognized me. She surely wouldn’t have chosen me for this dance. Not after everything that happened between us… and the devastating end to our friendship.
No, I’m convinced it cannot be her. But the image of her in the mirror haunts me now, twisting something in my gut. It’s as though my senses are trying to tell me something that I simply don’t want to believe.
I push away my thoughts again and focus on the woman who rolls her body against my lap again. But this time, her eyes flicker to mine, effectively stealing my breath. I know that buttered-chocolate gaze better than I know my own because I’d often get lost in the depths of them.
My heart is racing furiously, but before I can utter a word out loud, she plucks her final button and begins to pull the vest apart.
That’s when I see it.
The dark mole on her left breast—a mole that once made Violet incredibly self-conscious.
It is her. It has to be.
“Violet?”
Lids flip up, and shocked brown eyes find mine just as her shirt comes apart, revealing her bare chest.
“Stop.” Instinct has me reaching for her, gripping the edges of her vest, and pulling it back together, shielding her from a sea full of horny men. A boo hisses through the crowd along with a string of comments I choose to ignore.
“Hey,” booms a deep voice from nearby. “No touching!”
Violet scrambles off my lap, and I reach out for her, taking her by the hand. “Wait!”
She jerks free and takes off running. I’m right behind her, desperate to understand what the fuck is going on. Why is she here? Why did she choose me? But before I can take another stride toward her, the same security guard from earlier slams an arm into my chest, knocking the wind out of me and sending me straight to the ground.