Page 15 of The Heart Breaker

She yanks the stack of singles out of my hand, folds them, and tucks them into her bra. Before I even realize it, she shoves me back into the nearest chair, hard enough to knock the air out of me for a second, making it clear that this sure as hell isn’t for my pleasure.

She doesn’t move right away. Just stands there, looking down at me like she’s daring me to flinch first. Like she wants me to be the one to back out. When she realizes I’m not changing my mind, she steps between my legs, sliding a hand up my chest. She barely meets my eyes, keeping me at a distance even this close, making it clear this is on her terms and not mine.

That doesn’t stop my breath from catching, or the sharp hit of her perfume cutting straight through the haze in my head.

She swings one leg over and straddles me, leaning in close enough I can almost taste the poison on her lips. “You know how this works, right?” she murmurs, her voice low enough to make the hair on my arms stand up. “No touching.”

She turns, grinding the heel of her palm into my thigh as she spins before backing into me and dropping down hard on my lap, crushing my balls in the process.

I bite out a curse, the breath punched from my lungs as pain shoots straight through my gut. My hands go to her waist on instinct, digging my fingers into her bare skin, and she throws me a look over her shoulder that’s sharp enough to draw blood.

“No touching,” she repeats, “unless you want security dragging your ass out of here.” The look in her eyes says she’d enjoy that way too much.

My jaw locks as I let my hands fall away. “I paid for a dance,” I bite out. “So give me a fucking dance.”

I watch the tension settle into her shoulders, the way her jaw tightens before she faces forward again and starts to move.

She grinds back against me, rolling her hips to the beat so slowly that it feels like torture.

This is payback. I know it even as my pulse starts pounding harder, even as my jaw aches from clenching it. If she can make me hate every second of this, she will. And if she can make me hate myself for wanting it, even better.

And it works. Christ, it works. My pulse is pounding, my jaw locked so tight it aches, heat crawling under my skin until I’m convinced everyone in this place can see it. She leans forward, arching into me, that scrap of black lace hardly any barrier as her ass rubs against my cock.

I grip the sides of the chair, my knuckles turning white, and force myself to remember why I started this. This was supposed to be about power. About getting under her skin. But the longer she moves against me, the harder it is to ignore the truth.

She’s the one in control.

And I’m the one getting fucked over by it.

She lifts off my lap, turns, and straddles me again, facing me this time. Then she sinks down, grinding against my cock hard enough to drag a rough sound out of me. Her mouth curves into a smirk, those blue eyes locked on mine, knowing exactly what she’s doing to me.

I shouldn’t want this. Idon’twant her. But when she presses down on me again, all the anger I walked in with turns into something hotter, burning straight through my chest.

I paid for this dance to get under her skin.

All it’s done is make her get under mine.

She keeps it up, putting on a show just for me, arching her back, tossing her hair so it skims my jaw, my cheek, every place she knows will get a reaction.

I hate her for it.

I hate myself even more when I feel my cock start to harden, every nerve lighting up, every muscle pulled tight with the urge to grab her, shove her off, or do something. But I don’t move. Ikeep my hands locked on the chair and force myself to take it, grinding my teeth.

Her breathing shifts. Only slightly, but I catch the way it turns a little heavier, the way her chest starts rising faster, the way her jaw tightens when she rolls against me again. Still, she doesn’t crack. Not once. She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t give me a single thing that tells me whether this is affecting her anywhere near as much as it’s affecting me.

She stays in control, driving me out of my goddamn mind, right up until the song finally bleeds out and the music changes.

Then she lifts off my lap like none of it happened. Like she wasn’t just grinding on my cock.

She looks down at me, her expression bored, that untouchable ice-queen act sliding right back into place.

Her brow arches, her gaze dropping to my crotch. “Looks like you enjoyed the show.”

I glance down at the bulge straining against my pants, my stomach twisting at the sight of it after having her grind her lace-covered pussy all over me.

Before I can say a word, she turns and walks away, slipping through the crowd and disappearing into the back hallway without a single look back.

I’m left there alone, with my fists clenched and my pulse hammering in my throat, wound so tight and so angry I can barely see straight. I drag a hand down my face, breathing hard, staring at the empty space where she was.