Lying sucks. I’m not good at thinking things up on the fly. “I like to read.” Total lie unless it’s hockey stats. “Long walks on the beach.” Another lie. I hate sand getting into places it shouldn’t be. “And going to the movies.” This isn’t a lie, but it’s as mundane as life can get sometimes. “What about you?”
“When I have some free time, I love exploring the Palace. I also love reading and watching films. And I really love to travel, especially to the US. You never know when you’re going to end up at a masquerade ball and meettheBruce Wayne.”
“I’m not gonna lie. I think you know more about Bruce than I do.” I step closer and remove most of the space between us. I lean toward her and whisper. “Is Bruce your fantasy hook-up?”
Her breath catches and I feel her nod.
“Apparently, he is. Although, I never knew so until I met you.”
“Interesting.”
I rise and pick up my drink. “What do you say, Jessica, shall we go dance?” I want to feel her body against mine, in any way I can. I’m confident the night is going to go how I want, but a little foreplay never hurt anyone. I grab our drinks and hold my arm out for her to take. I want to send the message now to anyone who thinks they have a chance to get to know her—she’s mine.
After I dispose of the red cups and toss my suit jacket on the closest chair, I take her hand in mine and pull her onto the dance floor where my friends are having the time of their lives. I only recognize Hogan and Stephanie, and that’s because I know what they’re wearing. Everyone else is anonymous, which makes tonight nothing but a mystery.
ChapterFour
Charlie
Bruce’s hand in mine feels . . . perfectly matched. How is that possible? His hand is huge, his fingers long and callused. It’s a complete contrast to the small, dainty hands I inherited from my mother. And yet, weirdly, they fit together.
He leads me to the middle of the dance floor, and I willingly follow. Even if dancing wasn’t my scene, I’d still have followed him. He has something about him. It might be his height: tall, imposing, yet inviting and protecting. It might be his voice: deep and throaty, yet warm and comforting. Or it might just be him. Completely captivating. There’s a myth about British men, that they’re all like Viscount Bridgerton and have an air of aristocracy about them, or they’re a perfect gentleman by day, and a dirty talking mouth at night. Alas, not the ones I’ve had dalliances with in the past, or who share my classes at uni. They’re cocky and loud, and they love wearing their silly skinny jeans, paired with loafers and no socks. But Bruce? Bruce is sophistication personified. All wrapped up in his built, six-foot-whatever frame. I’m all for it. Jessica Rabbit would like a nice big slice of her very own Batman, please and thank you. It’s the film universe crossover no one expected, but everyone should want. I know I do.
Without loosening his pleasantly tight grip, we weave in and around the sweaty, tipsy people on the dance floor, and find ourselves next to Hogan and Steph, who are currently impressing everyone with their synchronised moves to the syncopated beats of Calvin Harris. Bruce looks over his shoulder at me, flashes me his all-American smile and, in a swift, smooth move, lifts his arm, twirling me underneath it as he does so. He gives my hand a small tug and my body is now right in front of his, the smallest of slivers separating the pair of us. We start moving to the music, and within seconds, Bruce shows me that being impressive while brooding is not his only talent. He’s got some moves and can hold his own when dancing. His body moves effortlessly to the beat of the music and there’s a fluidity in the way it does so. I see it in the way his shoulders dip and bob to the bassline. I feel it in the way his hands hold on to mine and he flexes his arms when he wants to pull me closer. I want it in the way his hips sway against me, the slightest contact sending a shockwave right through my body and straight to my core. It’s exhilarating, hypnotising and it has me wanting so much more.
Without wasting another second, he places his hand on the small of my back and guides me forward, so I’m straddling one of his firm, muscled legs. Immediately a vision springs to mind of those legs pinning me against a bed as his tongue does wicked things to my body. Any previous inhibitions I had are lost as I relish the feel of him against me. His thigh dangerously close to my pussy, promising me of what I could expect, yet punishing me because I haven’t earned it yet. His hand splays against my back, firm and domineering, yet gently caressing the base of my neck. It’s an exhilarating feeling, one of wanting and yearning for someone I only met only hours ago. It’s insta lust. It feels dangerous, intimately dancing with a masked stranger. Yet I feel safe, protected, and it gives me the urge to submit to the desire building inside me.
Bruce holds eye contact with me, his dark chocolate orbs almost an inky black. With his right arm still tightly around my back, he moves his left hand so his fingers slowly trace a featherlight line up my thigh, their pace both tortuous and pleasurable. He repeats the movement, once, twice and a third time, each pass just as light and teasing as the one before. It’s maddening. It’s provocative. It gives me a thirst for wanting more.
The beat changes to something a bit less R&B as Dua Lipa starts singing and within seconds, I’m whisked away from the cocoon of Bruce’s embrace and Jamie, Allie and Steph are dancing next to me. Dua is our queen and any time one of her songs starts playing on the radio, all bets are off as the four of us stop what we’re doing, grab our hairbrushes and sing our hearts out, so it’s no surprise we’re doing the same here. Every so often, I steal the odd glace at Bruce and my ego is boosted as I see him watching, his eyes roaming appreciatively all over my body. As the four of us girls form our own small dance troupe, Hogan leans over and whispers something in Bruce’s ear, which causes a grin to appear on his perfectly formed jaw. What I wouldn’t give to have that jaw nudging my thighs apart in a prelude to him showing me just how masterful he can be.
I don’t know who this new me is—the one who’s seemingly left any inhibitions at the door—but I find myself liking her. If taking on a persona brings out the vixen in me, one who feels invigorated and powerful, then I’m going to be that person more often. If my dad could see me now, he wouldn’t recognise me. To him, I’m his quiet little girl, tucked away studying or reading. And sure, Iwasdoing just that. All I’m saying is the contemporary romance novels of today are a far cry from the Mills and Boone era. They’ve evolved, becoming the fictional karma sutra for the modern-day adult.
The last few bars of the song finally fade into a new track but before I can seek out my superhero once more, Jamie places her hands on my hips and leans towards me. “Sooooo, anything you need to tell me?” she says, indicating to Bruce with a subtle tilt of her head.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I reply coyly.
“Oh, don’t give me that BS. We all saw you getting cosy with the Bat. What gives?”
I can’t stop the smile forming on my face as I reply. “Let’s just say, I’m taking your advice to heart. Not quite sure where I am when it comes to ‘dunking the spunk’ as you so eloquently put it earlier, butJessicais enjoying getting to know him.”
“And what about you? Are you having fun?” Jamie asks.
“Yeah. I’ll admit it. I am. Lots of it.”
“Aw,” Jamie says as she places her hand dramatically to her chest, “I feel like a proud mama watching her little bird fly. Go get ya man!”
With a wink, she gives me a gentle push in Bruce’s direction before heading off to find Javi.
“I thought I’d lost you to your fluffle for a moment,” Bruce says when I reach him.
“My fluffle?”
“Fluffle of bunnies. So, you’re saying the four of you all chose to dress with a bunny theme, yet you didn’t know a group of bunnies was also known as a fluffle?”
“Oh,” I say, a giggle emitting from my lips, “Yeah, I mean, I guess . . .?”
“What’s so funny with that?”