His entire body tensed. His gut clenched tight, like it was being held by a ruthless fist. He needed to stop her, had to convince her somehow, someway, to stay. At least for a little while longer.
Because he needed her. So badly it shocked the hell out of him.
She swept out of the cabin. “I need to go dancing. Now.”
She threw his car keys at him and he barely caught them before they fell over the edge into the thick brush. “You're not leaving?”
The words came out before he could stop them, before he could delete the pathetic undertone of need, of fear beneath them. She stopped running down the stairs to look back at him with a frown.
“Not without you, I'm not.”
The rush of relief, of joy, nearly knocked him over.
By the time he got down to the bottom of the stairs she was standing in the gravel parking lot looking disapprovingly at his Porsche. Every other woman he'd ever been with had practically wanted to do his car.
Somehow it was fitting that Janica seemed annoyed by it instead.
“Why can't you just drive a truck?” Before he could answer, she shot him an irritated glance, and said, “Because let me tell you, it's going to be hell trying to do it in this stupid sports car.”
He laughed out loud and got hard all at the same time. “I thought we were going to go dancing?”
She rolled her eyes. “Dancing. Fucking. One leads right to the other. How can you not know that?” She opened the passenger door, got in, and slammed the door.
He was going to have a hell of a time dancing with a hard-on like this. Not that it really mattered, however, since he didn't dance. In any case, he seriously doubted they'd find a place to dance in this fairly remote coastal mountain town.
Which meant they could just focus on the fucking, he thought with a grin that he had a feeling he was going to pay for later.
But maybe she was a little witch. Because they had barely hit the two lanes of Highway 1 when she had him pull over in front of a biker bar. The parking lot was packed with motorcycles and big trucks.
He could hear the music blaring before he'd even turned off his ignition.
Still in the front seat of his car, she turned and looked at him with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “You are going to absolutely hate this, aren’t you?”
“Fuck, yes.”
She threw her head back and laughed, then got of the car and all but skipped inside the bar.
Wondering why he was even bothering to lock his car in a place like this – it would only be more fun to steal if it was a challenge, wouldn't it? - he headed inside after her. She was already in the middle of the dance floor by the time he got inside, shaking and shimmying and writhing with everything she had.
Quickly noting he wasn't the only one drinking her in, knowing without a shred of doubt that every guy in there—and probably half the women—wanted to drag her into a back room and take her, a swift burst of red-hot jealousy rushed him. Without thinking, he pushed through the crowd to lay claim to her.
As if she'd expected him to do just that, she spun into his arms and wrapped them around his neck, pulling his mouth down to hers.
If there was a better feeling than claiming Janica like this, he sure as hell didn't know what it was. Something took him over then, a feeling of deep release. Similar to how he felt when he was pouring himself into her body, but different at the same time. It was the most natural thing in the world to dance with her there in the middle of a biker bar to country songs about drinking too much and sleeping with the wrong guy.
Maybe it was the way her eyes shined as she looked at him.
Or maybe it was just how right it was to be with her, doing anything.
Anything at all.
Song after song they danced, Janica moving in and out of his arms, her hips brushing and swaying against his, her breasts slipping and sliding against his chest, his arms, his hands, until he couldn't take it anymore. Because she was right, dancing and fucking were practically the same thing, only he couldn't take her in a crowded bar in front of a roomful of strangers.
Without a word, he grabbed her hand and pulled her off the dance floor, past the bar, and out to his car. Only taking the time to open his door, he practically threw her across the car onto her seat.
He could scent her as he peeled out of the parking lot, her sweet smell of heat and arousal and pleasure completely obliterating any remnants of the beer and smoke that had surrounded them inside the bar. Neither of them spoke, not even her, and barely a minute later he was pulling off the road onto a dirt track that led to a beach trail. In the thick of the woods, he yanked his keys out of his car, shoved his seat back as far as it would go, and grabbed her out of her seat by her hips, pulling her on top of him.
“You make me crazy,” he said, and then his lips were on hers and he was ripping at the thin straps of her dress, pulling them down past her breasts. She shifted up on him and he sucked one hard, pink nipple into his mouth, swirling around it with his tongue before taking it between his teeth.