“Fort Knox.”
“Even Fort Knox was penetrated.”
I wince as soon as the word leaves my mouth and Kane’s eyes flicker in humor.
“I’m not much into penetration myself, except if I’m the one… doing the penetrating.”
I cough, creamy, wine-infused sauce shooting down the wrong way. I have no doubt whatsoever that Kane Alexander will be great at performing penetration.
I look around the room, keen to avoid the intensity of his stare, only to find every woman either subtly glancing over their wine glasses at Kane, or not-so-subtly ignoring their dinner dates so they can ogle the man sitting across from me. He draws attention everywhere he goes, and I wonder if he ever gets tired of it.
“You seem to shy away from my desire for you, Blythe. Why is that?” He pulls a piece of steak off his fork and sits back in his chair doing what he does best, assessing my every move, my every breath.
“Um… I guess I’m just not used to it anymore. It almost feels foreign that someone thinks of me like that.”
He frowns, confused over the words he wasn’t expecting to hear.
“Are you telling me you don’t know what it’s like to be lusted after?”
“Not for the last year. No. It actually feels strange to suddenly have that kind of attention again.”
Kane sits forward, eyes narrowed. “If I told you every dirty, kinky, fucked-up thing I’ve imagined doing to you on a daily basis, you wouldn’t be sitting across from me right now having a civilized dinner date.”
Fuck…
“Where would I be?”
“Getting pounded by my cock while I fuck you back to church.”
Oh, sweet hell… I shift uncomfortably in my chair, hoping my arousal isn’t obvious to anyone who happens to glance my way. Kane, however, can sense every bit of it the same way a dog would a bone.
“Come on,” he says, throwing his napkin on the table and downing his glass of whiskey. “Let’s go dancing.”
Dancing? After all that build up?
“Oh, don’t look so worried. We’ll get to that,” he says sensing my confusion. “I love the tease, especially if it entails you grinding that ass of yours against my cock.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, we’re skipping the line to the Ophelia nightclub, the bouncer nodding as we enter. The club’s only a few blocks away from the restaurant, yet worlds apart, strobe lights already flashing before we set foot on the main floor. We dined like royalty, and will now be dancing or grinding to Snoop Dog. Not that I mind, my Spotify account can attest to that. And besides, in my current state—the state that Kane has worked me into—it doesn’t matter where he takes me, everything and everyone blurs in the background, becoming white noise whenever he’s around.
“Not my usual type of club,” he admits, as if reading my thoughts, lips grazing my ear so he can be heard over the music. “But, I’m not one to shy away from a bit of dirty dancing.”
I’m hardly dressed for the occasion, but I can already feel the music coursing through my veins. Kane takes my hand and leads me through the crowd, some nodding to him the same way the bouncer did, others—especially the women—eye-fucking his body from head to toe.
We stop in front of the booth while a server in black booty shorts and a lace bra, unhooks the red rope and allows us through. She smiles wide while entering in after us and unscrews a bottle of tequila. She pours us each a shot and steps back down to accept an ice bucket with a bottle of wine and two glasses before placing it on the small table in front of us.
Kane hands me the tequila, and without making a toast, we clink glasses and down the alcohol, all while keeping our stares locked on each other. I wince at the afterburn, yet Kane simply grins like we swallowed flavored water.
Everything seems so effortless for this man. Those around him practically bow when he enters a room. Every woman wants to fuck him and every man wants to be him. Whatever control he has over this town, it’s got to be massive.
“To get the night started,” he says with a low growl, and I’m tempted to throw myself onto his lap when he talks like that. How dare he be so damn fine in every damn thing? Taking my hand, he leads me to the dance floor where he pulls me close, his knee between my legs so my groin rides his thigh in the most wanton way. But I don’t care. I lose my breath at the sensation, at being held so intimately by him, one hand on my waist, the other sitting on my arm. I become lost in a Kane-induced daze, my breasts rubbing against his chest, his cologne making me heady to the point where it feels like we’re the only two people in the room.