He’s not asking.
He’s demanding.
He grabs my hand and leads me onto the dance floor.
There’s something in the way he carries himself that I find highly attractive, like he knows what he wants and goes for it.
He’s not a boy. He’s every bit a man.
Aurielo pulls me close as we dance, his hand pressed against the small of my back. His breath tickles my ear when he asks, “What’s your real name?”
An unmistakable shiver courses through my body.
“How did you—”
I don’t finish my sentence. I want to pull away, run, and make sure Ivy isn’t in trouble, but he doesn’t let me go. His hold is strong and firm.
“Etta is my ex-girlfriend. You’re definitely not that witch,” he says with a smirk. “What’s your real name?”
“Karina,” I whisper, my gaze falls downward.
Shame burns me inside for lying to the stranger. And more so because he saw right through the facade.
He keeps one hand pressed to my back, and the other he lifts my chin to meet his stern gaze. “Micetta, do not be embarrassed.”
Before I have time to react to his words, his mouth descends onto mine. His hold around me tightens as the kiss deepens.
His touch has stoked a fire burning inside of me that he started. He backs me up several feet until I feel the wall at my back.
Aurielo presses himself against me, and his leg pushes up between my thighs, giving me the perfect amount of friction to drive me insane.
Warmth floods through my body.
We shouldn’t be doing this. Certainly not in a room full of people.
While I may never see them again, doesn’t he care what they think?
Music continues to blare through the room, but my mind is in a haze as he ravishes my neck. “Aurielo,” I whisper.
He lifts me, my legs wrap around him, and he carries me around the corner and down the hallway. He opens a nearby door and shuts it forcefully, pushing me up against the door.
We’re alone.
Just the two of us.
He puts my feet back down on the ground. His hands guide the hem of my dress higher, inch by inch. His touch is rough and commanding, with a man on a mission.
Aurielo’s eyes bore into mine. “Tell me you want this, Micetta.” My dress is already hiked up to my waist.
His fingers tease the hem of my black lace panties.
I don’t want him to stop.
“Micetta?” He whispers against my neck and pulls back to meet my stare.
“Yes,” I rasp, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart.
He smiles, pleased with my declaration.