The three of us head inside and order drinks from the bartender. Vodka cran for me, a screwdriver for Ains, and a bottle of beer for Bentley. By the time we’re nursing our third round, we’re all on the edge of the temporary dance floor, swaying to the music.
When “Dark Side” by Bishop Briggs starts blasting through the speakers, Bentley grabs my red cup and sets it on the nearest surface. “C’mere, girl.”
As he drags me to the center of writhing bodies, I make eye contact with Ains. She raises her drink and smiles knowingly. The last two times Bentley and I danced together, I wound up locked in a room naked with her brother. I shiver, trying to squash the memories.
Bent pulls my back to his front, wrapping his arm around my middle. We move our hips in time with the sensual beat, getting lost in the rhythm. My life doesn't revolve around dance like it does with Ainsley, but it's still one of my favorite things. Closing my eyes, zoning out on the beat, I allow the music to direct my body. It's one of the rare moments when I don't think; I just do.
Now, dancing with Bentley is a different story. The boy can move, which I can't help but relate to sex. With him, I tune in, rather than out. I’m aware of every little touch. Every lyric. Every breath. Most of all, I’m conscious of the dichotomy between my body and brain.
My brain knows I'm leading him on. I know Bent's developing feelings for me that veer into girlfriend territory, whereas mine end at friendship. Then, there's the part where I'm antagonizing Kingston every time I'm tempted by his best friend. I don't want to drive a wedge between them, yet more and more each day, that seems to be the case.
The thing is, I've grown to care for Bentley. I genuinely feel he could be one of the most important people in my life, but not if we screw this up. We're at a crossroads, and we need to figure out which way to go. The problem with that is our fierce attraction to one another; it's palpable, almost as strong as the pull I feel toward Kingston. I don't know how to achieve balance, and when I'm dancing with Bentley like this, I don't want to.
I have a moment of déjà vu when Bent's erection presses against my back. I'm so tempted to reach back and touch him, and I'm sure he wouldn't object.
“You look so fucking hot in this thing, Jazz,” his deep voice rumbles in my ear as his fingers flirt with the short hem of my red minidress. “I know I’m asking for trouble, but I don’t fucking care right now.”
My lids flutter when he grinds into me harder. More purposefully. Damn, the boy is blessed.
“Bentley...” That’s all I’ve got. My brain seems to have short-circuited.
“You have no idea how badly I want to peel this dress off.” His fingertip brushes my inner thigh beneath the stretchy fabric. “Touch you. Run my tongue all over your pussy.”
He’s so close to my panties—it’s not a difficult task in this dress, considering there’s not much material. I’m so wet, the satin is soaked through. If his finger moved up another inch, he’d discover this.
“We shouldn’t.” My voice is breathy, not very convincing. I doubt he can even hear me over the music.
Bentley groans before removing his hand and placing it in a more respectable place. We're crammed in the middle of so many people, it's unlikely anyone saw his hand up my skirt. Even if they did, couples are doing a lot worse on this dance floor, so I doubt they'd care.
“You don’t know what you’re missing if you don’t try.”
“He’s your best friend,” I argue.
Bentley runs the bridge of his nose up the side of my neck. “He is, which is exactly why he knows what a big deal this is.”
I turn around to face him, but I stay close. “What’s a big deal? That you want to screw me? You’re not exactly a monk, Bent.”
He gives me a soft smile. “Not even close to what I was referring to, but that’s a story for another time. Besides, I think it’d be good for him if we gave him some real competition.”
I chuckle half-heartedly. "I don't think Kingston would agree."
Bentley leans down and presses his mouth against my ear. “I know you want me, Jazz. I’d bet my fucking Porsche that your panties are soaked right now. That your clit is throbbing, begging for attention. I'd barely have to touch you before you were coming all over my tongue." I gasp when his fingers curl under the hem of my dress, and he licks the shell of my ear. "Davenport may think he has a claim on you, but not once have you confirmed that. Isn’t that right? You don’t belong to anyone?”
“I belong to myself.”
“Exactly. So, why can’t we—”
I dig my nails into his forearms when I get a prickling sensation at the back of my neck. On instinct, my eyes scan the room, looking for the reason why. When I find him, he’s marching toward us like a man possessed. The crowd parts, desperately trying to avoid Kingston’s wrath. Bentley tenses when I turn around and shake out of his hold.
“Shit,” I mutter.
When Kingston finally reaches us, his eyes slowly travel the length of my body, taking in my minuscule dress and heeled sandals. His eyes are so heated, flames lick my skin everywhere his gaze touches. After getting so worked up from dancing, and the way Kingston's looking at me right now, I know Bentley's right. If anyone touched between my thighs right now, I'd detonate in seconds.
Kingston scans me once more before drilling his gaze into the man behind me. “What the fuck’s going on, Bent?”
I hold up a hand, trying to diffuse the situation. “Now, hold on, you two. Why don’t we—”
“Reed! What are you doing? Stop it!”