Persephone

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CHAPTER TWELVE

Goddammit this guy can shred.

Dexter leaps to center stage, feet apart in a power stance. He leans back as his fingers work their magic on the fretboard, showing off the glisten of sweat along the taut ridges of muscle on his chest. At some point he’d lost his shirt, of course, because thrashing around under those lights is sweaty work.

The V of his hips peeks out over the top of his Les Paul and his eyes lock with mine. I’m caught. Fuck. Whatever, let him catch me drooling. Yes, watch me gagging for it, you bastard.

I’m starting to think we’re both losing this game.

I wish Lily were down here in the mosh pit with me with that responsive little body of hers. But she’s back at the sound booth with the house tech, making sure he’s doing his job.

I could snatch the arm of someone from the myriad of guys packed around me… but that just doesn’t feel right. I don’t want any of them.

I want this god of rock flinging his sweat-soaked hair around as his magic fingers lick a complicated dance along the strings. He sinks to his knees for the epic crescendo of the solo, tight thighs supporting his muscular frame.

I might actually die. Why are musicians so fucking sexy?

After their set, Patrick gets us a round of beers as the next band sound-checks. I take a long swig and stare at Dexter as I lick the foam from my lips.

He smirks, but his eyes are tortured as he takes me in. My crimson form-hugging mini dress. My thigh-high suede boots. My tousled hair, damp from the sweat of the mosh pit.

I don’t even know what the score is anymore.

The band launches into a bass-driven grunge, that kind of crunchy drawl that’s perfect to fuck to. I drain my glass and grab Dexter’s arm, pulling him out onto the dance floor.

“You might be king of the ballroom,” I purr and take his hands in mine. Slithering against his torso, I stand on my tiptoes to breathe into his ear. “But this is my fuckin’ kingdom.”

His chuckle reverberates through his chest. It’s a low vibration that shoots straight to my core.

I’m already winning, he’d said, that sassy fuck. Maybe he is.

I slip around, crossing my arms so that I’m still holding his hands. I’m lost in his embrace. I’ve never considered myself one for the damsel-in-distress routine but this guy is bringing out some kind of caveman shit in me. He makes me feel so tiny, so breakable.

And I like it.

Why do I like it? Feeling like something that needs to be protected?

I grind my ass against his sizable bulge and lean my head back against his chest. I’m drowning in this heady aura of manliness. His hips move fluidly with mine and his breath tickles my neck.

When are you going to just surrender already?

He growls. “Your torture will end if you just ask,” he says, his mouth hovering so close to my skin.

I lean my head to the side, baring my throat to him. He pulls my hands tight, using my arms like a straightjacket. My lips part, eyes sliding shut, anticipating contact, but it doesn’t come.

He ghosts his mouth back up to my ear, using my arms to keep me flush against the now-steel rod stabbing me in the back.

“Maybe you like the torture,” he muses, and I stifle a whimper. “Maybe I should just tie you up and tease you until you ask me to touch you. And maybe I won’t… maybe I’ll make you fucking beg.”

I’m a squirming mess of wet pussy and hard nipples and I can’t take it anymore. I need him so badly that I could ride a conga line of dick and be left unsatisfied. I can’t do this.

Dexter wins.

“Please,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

He lets go of my hands and wraps up my torso in his suffocatingly sexy embrace. “Please, what?” His voice has a dangerous edge to it, and a thrill runs up my spine.

“That’s as good as you’re getting,” I say, proud of the conviction in my tone. I twist in his arms and push away from him. He let’s me go, and I revel at the shock on his face. If I’m throwing the game, I’m not going to make it fucking easy. “Take it or leave it.”

I spin on my heel and stalk out of the club, hair fluttering in my wake. I make it to my car, but before I slide my key out of the top of my boot, a brick wall slams into me from behind.

I’m facedown on the hood. By the epic hard-on pressing into my ass and the massive hand holding my wrists behind me, I know it’s him without turning my head.

He slides his free hand underneath me, avoiding my tits in favour of resting on my throat. He doesn’t squeeze, just pulls me up to a standing, pressing my thighs into the car with his own.

“I’m not taking it,” Dexter growls. “But I’m not fucking leaving it, either.” He lets go of my neck to slip the car key from its spot. There’s a clickclick as he unlocks the car with the remote, and then jerks me backwards.

In a swift motion he throws open the passenger door and shoves me down into the seat. He’s in the driver’s seat so fast, and reaches across me to secure my belt.

“Where are we going?” I breathe. I’m about to spontaneously combust over here.

He punches the clutch. “Your place. I apparently need to teach you how to beg properly.”

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