All the Pretty Lies (Pretty #1)(45)
Author: M. Leighton

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

I look over my shoulder to meet Hemi’s eyes. They’re dark and mysterious in the flickering club lights. They’re also telling. He wants me. He’s not trying to hide it. And I don’t want him to.

“I’ll be waiting,” I tell him, holding his gaze until the crowd swallows him up.

I tip my head back and revel in the thud of the bass. The music is loud and consuming. It drowns out everything else. Everything except what I want to let in. And that’s Hemi. He’s all I want to let in tonight. Him and every experience and sensation he can show me.

I raise my arms above my head, enjoying the way the bodies around me bump and sway in time with mine, in time with the music. The rhythm directs the night. And I lose myself to it, lose myself to the dance. The dance of the clubbers. The dance of me and Hemi. I just give in to it.

And I’ve never felt so free.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO – Hemi

I make my way back to Sloane, carrying our shots. A bottle of water is tucked in my waist band. She’s gonna need it.

I weave through the tightly packed crush of bodies until they part enough that I can see her. Her eyes are closed and her body is moving to the deep thump of the music. I stop to watch her. I’m captivated by the gentle swing of her shoulders, mesmerized by the suggestive sway of her hips. The way she moves… Damn, it’s so sexy! I don’t think she realizes how much innate sensuality she has, how much appeal she exudes without even trying. I’ve known a lot of women. A lot of women very practiced in getting what they want, in enticing a man, but none of them have made me ache like Sloane does.

I want her. I want to take what she’s given to no one else. I want to be the first to show her everything. And to be the one she can’t forget. She’s like the blank slate I so crave for my art. I want to be etched onto her. Permanently. Something about that thought appeals to the primal man in me, to the animal and the conqueror.

I take a step toward her and, as if sensing the stalk of a predator, she opens her eyes and they focus immediately on mine. Her lips curve the slightest bit. A provocative half grin that makes me think of pushing her onto a bed, rolling her onto her stomach and ramming into her from behind.

I grit my teeth. My patience is stretched to the point of breaking.

When I stop in front of Sloane, she takes a shot glass from my hand and grabs the salt from the bend of my arm. “I’ll go first again,” Sloane says, a dangerous glint in her eyes. Before I can argue, she’s wiggling her tongue over the skin of my throat then standing back to shake a little salt on it. I feel it sprinkle down my arm and chest, doubting that much hit the spot she prepared, and not caring either way.

With her lips and tongue, she licks salt from my neck, tosses back her shot and sucks on the lemon wedge. I see the challenge in her eyes as she watches me over the yellow slice she’s holding between her lips. My patience dissolves like the salt on her tongue.

“You know what?” I ask, pulling her close so she can hear me. And so I can feel her.

“What?”

“I’ve got tequila and lemons and salt and music at my house.”

I lean back to look down at her. Onyx eyes search mine. She knows what I’m saying, what I’m asking. “Then let’s go.”

I hand my shot to the guy standing behind me and I take Sloane’s hand, leading her to the door. I can’t get home fast enough.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE – Sloane

When I opened my eyes and saw Hemi watching me, I knew tonight would be the night we’d take the next step, whatever that might be. But I want it. More than anything.

I want him. I want tonight. I want right now. I want the impulsive, the spontaneous. I want the passion. And I’m about to get it.

The music is just loud enough that we don’t speak the entire way back to Hemi’s house in the posh Atlanta suburb. When he cuts the engine, he gets out, comes around to my side and helps me out, leading me quietly to the front door. Once inside, Hemi takes my purse from my fingers and throws it on the sofa. He turns back to me, cupping my cheek with his palm. “How’s your head?”

“It’s fine. It’s perfect,” I answer with a smile.

“Not too fuzzy?”

“No, it’s just a little…light.”

“Then how about the sauna? The heat will intensify the buzz you feel now, but I’ll take some water so it doesn’t get out of hand.”

“The sauna sounds good,” I say. And it does.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Hemi confesses with a grin. “Be right back.”

A couple of minutes later, Hemi returns with an ice bucket full of ice and an assortment of other things. He takes my hand and leads me down the hall and through a door. The hardwoods turn to beautiful travertine tiles that lead into a short corridor that’s filled with big pots filled overflowing with exotic plants. I can smell chlorine, so I know the pool is close.

Hemi stops in front of a solid wood door with a tiny window at the top. He fiddles with a dial on the wall and then sets the bucket down.

“Have you ever been in a sauna before?”

I shake my head. “No, but I know what they are.”

“Then you know they’re hot and humid. And we’ll sweat.”

“I know.”

“So it’s better to go in with no clothes on.”

I feel like smiling and moaning at the same time. Something about Hemi’s face and his voice and this night is pleasing to me in so many ways, I’m almost confused by the onslaught of feelings and anticipation.

“Well, it’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

His eyes darken, from cool blue to dark, steamy midnight. “How can I forget?” He reaches for the hem of my shirt. “Let me help you,” he says, raising the material.

Hemi pulls my shirt over my head and drops it onto the floor. Beneath it, because of the cut of my top, I’m wearing a strapless bra. Hemi’s eyes rove over me like I’m wearing nothing. Taking me by the shoulders, Hemi turns me to face the door and presses me up against it, raising my arms above my head, palms flat against the wood.

I feel his fingers tickle down my sides, skating to the center of my back to release the clasp of my bra. I gasp when he runs his hands up my stomach and cups my br**sts where they’re smashed between bra and door. I groan and arch my back. When he moves his hands away, taking my bra with it, he leans into me, pressing my naked skin against the cool wood of the door. I gasp. “Does that make your ni**les hard? The cold door against that hot skin of yours?”