I know the students have spiked the punch. I can smell it from a mile away. And, honestly, it feels like I drank my own share of liquor tonight.
Zane Cross is a special kind of drug as he guides my body to the swelling rhythm of the live orchestra. The way his hips pulse into mine with the beat is downright vulgar.
And yet there’s something so enticing about it.
Like a tease of what’s to come.
A display of unapologetic sensuality.
I can’t help feeling like this is the perfect representation of us.
Bodies covered from head to toe in long-sleeves and a voluminous skirt to my ankles. Music that heralds from days when the rules were strict and proper decorum was a must, not a suggestion.
And yet here we are.
In the middle of that cold, unforgiving world.
Bodies pressed together, throbbing with the beat of the music and moving in a way that’s neither proper nor decorous.
Zane’s hands are on my waist, burning me through the fabric. Each step is deliberate as he takes the lead.
He spins me and, when he wraps his arms around me again, I’m closer to him than I was before.
Zane leans in and puts his mouth near my ear, the soft, tempting curve of his lower lip grazing my lobe.
“It was a mistake to wear this dress, tiger.”
“Because it was so expensive?” I smile sharply.
I really hope that hurt his wallet.
His lips curve down my shoulder and move up the side of my neck, drawing out a full-body shiver.
“Because now I want to keep spending all my money on you.”
“What money? You act like you have so much, but aren’t you just spending daddy’s cash?”
His expression becomes a cold, cruel thing. I squeal when I feel him dip me and latch around his neck to stay balanced.
Zane grins behind his dark red mask. It’s the color of blood and passion. “Push me again and we’re going to postpone the plan as long as it takes to get you naked inside your classroom, do you understand?”
My body hums at the threat. I dig my nails into the fabric of his collar, my breath coming in hard, harsh pants.
Zane sets me upright. His smile this time is touched in victory.
I want to punch it off his face, but I’m too busy shaking.
He’s knocking me off balance again, incinerating my good sense and making wrong feel right. I know it’s not. I can feel when the light crawls away and becomes darkness. So why is it so much easier to accept the shadows and wrap myself in a black as thick as night? Why is it starting to feel warm here? Sweet there? Reasonable even, to live a life that most would shun and shame me for?
“I have my own money, tiger. You think we went on tour with Bex Dane and got a thank you note?”
My eyebrows arch.
He chuckles, but the sound is chilling. He runs his fingers down the base of the dress’s spine, following the threading of my corset. “Let’s not talk about something as boring as money.”
“How about we don’t talk at all?” I snap.
“Fine with me.” He dips his head and flicks his tongue against the base of my throat, right at my thundering pulse. “There are more exciting things you could be doing with your mouth.”
“Like praying to save your soul?”
“I’m afraid there’s no saving me.” He slides his hands up my waist, singeing everywhere he touches. “But you’re welcome to try.”
I’d fail.
I know that.
In the movies, good always wins.
But in real life…
It’s the opposite.
Zane’s darkness is the kind that envelops. Traps. Pulls you in before you even realize you’ve been devoured.
That’s why I can’t run away from him.
That’s why every attempt has failed.
Because that darkness has already become a part of me.
The music changes. The orchestra is playing along with a hip-hop track now, giving the song a modern, sexy take. It reminds me of when Cadence performed at the summer showcase. I attended the show before I got the job here at Redwood. The moment I heard the piano player, I knew it was Mulliez’s prodigy.
Just like Cadence was in disguise that day, I’m wearing a mask too. So why aren’t I taking advantage of it? When will I ever get to stand in the light with Zane Cross, amongst all the students of Redwood, and be free like this again?
The mental shift makes me bold.
Without warning, I press up and dance against Zane, moving my fingers over the back of his neck and skirting through his hair.
Surprise flashes in his blue eyes, but it only lasts a moment before he growls and moves his body in a way that snaps the breath out of my lungs.
I feel him against me and I gravitate to that heat.
Lips tilting up, I stare into his eyes. Gold and blue. The ocean at night, swirling in shadows. Eyes darkening with lust by the second. Power trips through my veins as I work my hips, showing him exactly what experience and confidence looks like.
Our bodies wrap together, two flames burning as one.
Decorum is out the window.
I’m a wild thing.
And there’s no mistaking how much I’m affecting him.
“Are you making love to me?” he growls in my ear.
Laughter spills from my lips.
“This is not making love,” I whisper.
He curls his head down and bites my shoulder. Hard.
I cry out in pleasure, hardly believing he has me losing my mind in the middle of a Redwood dance. We’re absorbed into the crowd, half-hidden from the eyes on the outer edge of the dance floor, but people are starting to notice.
The way we’re dancing, it’s not a surprise.
“We need to cool down,” I say noticing that teachers are looking our way.
“No.”
“No?”
“You don’t rile me up like that and tell me to cool down, tiger.”
My smile is wicked.
Zane acts so strong, so in control.
But he’s not.
Not right now.
Not with me.
Sweat beads on his forehead and a wild sheen turns his eyes to black flames. Before I can speak, he takes my hand and pulls me from the dance floor.
Our steps are loud in the empty hallway.
I have to lift my skirt to run with him.
My heart is pounding and it feels like I’m shedding a ton of weight as I go.
Redwood after dark is a completely different beast.
The lights are low. The hallway freakishly silent.
But I’m not afraid.
Zane’s hands are warm and calloused and anticipation buzzes when he pulls me into a classroom.
Not mine.
It’s almost like he can’t wait long enough to go all the way to my Lit class. Like he can’t survive if he’s not touching me.
The door slams shut. I hear the click of the lock and, in a blink, Zane is on me. His hands are everywhere and his hot, desperate lips clamp against the side of my neck and down to my chest.
I moan when his lips brush my skin, consuming me with a pleasure that balloons and swells inside me.
Zane drops to his knees, bunches my voluminous skirt and shoves it at me. “Keep that out of my way.”
I do.
He rewards me by obliterating every thought from my mind.
I groan, panting hard as he teases me.
The bright, hot thrum of agony tightens.
I dig my fingers into his hair, breathing in desperate, quick spurts.
The depravity of the moment consumes me.
The utter forbidden nature of being here with him… in a classroom like this…
It builds a steady pressure that has me quivering and then breaking into pieces, lights exploding behind my eyes. I don’t realize I’m being loud until Zane shoots up and smothers my screams with his kisses, keeping his hands occupied even as he sucks on my lips and pins me against the door.
When he pulls back, my hair is a mess and my body is throbbing.
It’s not enough.
I crave him.
All of him.
I don’t care about anyone passing by.
I don’t care about Harris or Jarod Cross.
Or even the mission.
But Zane’s phone rings before we can go any further.
He looks annoyed when he checks the screen.
And then he goes pale.
I lean forward and he turns the phone toward me.
A cold wash of ice runs over my back when I read Dutch’s message.
Hall is here. I think there’s going to be trouble.
