DIRTY MONEY

CHAPTER 3:DANCE

The silk pooled at her feet like a shadow surrendering to light. She stood before him in nothing but he dim glow of the Onyx Room, her skin painted a shape of amber and shadow. She hadn't planned for this, any of this, but here she was, stripped bare by her own hands, and still she felt more clothed than she had in any performance.

Liam didn't move. His eyes traveled over her with an excruciating slowness, not like a man assessing a possession but like a man witnessing something scared. His hands at his sides, fingers curled, as if he was physically restraining himself from reaching out.

"Anya." Her name was a exhalation, barely sound at all. She should have felt exposed. Vulnerable. Instead, she felt seen in a way that terrified her. The silence stretched between them, electric and unbearable.

"You wanted a dance," She said. Her voice steadier than she felt. "Sit down."

He didn't obey immediately. His eyes met hers and in them she saw the war in them. The battle between a civilized man and a beast, the husband fighting the obsessed. The husband lost. He moved to the chair and sat, but his posture was different this time. Leaned back, Legs widely apart, his arm griping the chair like he needed something to hold onto.

She approached him slowly, letting him watch. Every step was deliberate, every sway of her hips, a question. His jaw tightened. A muscle jumped on his cheek. She stopped right between his legs, close enough to touch but not touching. His cologne filled her senses, cedar and something sweet.

She lowered herself onto his lap.

The contact was electric. She felt the sharp intake of his breath, then the sudden tension of his thighs beneath her. She was naked and he was fully clothed, the barrier of his suit a cruel joke between them. She placed her hands his shoulders, feeling the heat of him through the fine wool.

She leaned forward, her breast brushing against her lips near his ear."You can touch me," she whispered, "Anywhere.''

His hands slid up her sides, thumb grazing the undersides of her breast, and she gasped. He didn't grab or squeeze, he explored, learning the weight of her, the way she arched into his touch.

She ground him harder, feeling his response through the layers between them. He was aroused, unmistakeable, and the knowledge sent liquid pooling low in her belly. His mouth found her neck, hot and open, teeth grazing her pulse point. She moaned, unable to stop it, and his hands tightened on her hips, pulling her down against him with more force.

"This," he breathed against her skin."This is what I've dreamed about. Every night since you walked away."

She should have stopped.Should have remembered the wife, the hospital, the door. But his hands were under her now, gripping her ass, guiding her movement against him, and thought was dissolving into the sensation.

His mouth found hers. The kiss was not gentle. It was despirate, consuming, claiming. His tongue slid against hers, she tasted whiskey. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to her, and he groaned into her mouth. When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, his hands were already moving. He reached between them, found the button of his trousers, freed himself. She felt him, hot and hard against her thigh, and her body clenched with anticipation.

"Wait," She gasped, even as her hip rocked against him. "We can't-I don't."

He stilled immediately, his eyes searched her and saw the effort it cost him to stop.

"What do you need?" he asked, his voice strained."Tell me."

She didn't know. Didn't know what she wanted, what she was allowed to want, what would destroy her beyond repair. She only knew that if they stopped now, she might never feel this alive again.

"I'm scared," she whispered. The cost of admission cost her everything.

His expression softened. He cupped her face in both his hands, thumbs brushing away tears she hadn't realized were falling.

"I know." he said. "me too." And then he moved. Not rough, but inexorable. He lifted her easily, positioning her above him against her entrance. She could stop this. With just one word he would stop and let her go, she knew it certainly.

Instead she lowered herself onto him. The sensation was overwhelming, the stretch, the fullness, the way he filled her completely. She cried out, and he swallowed in with another kiss, his hands gripping her hips, holding her steady as she adjusted to his size.

"Look at me," He commented softly.

She did . His eyes were almost black, pupils blown wide, but the depth she saw something that made her heart stutter. Not just lust or obsession but something far more dangerous.

"You are mine." he said. Not a question but a statement of fact.

She could have denied it, tried to push him away. Instead she began to move. He let her set the pace at first, his hands guiding but not controlling. She rose and fell against him, each movement sending sparks up her spine, his head fell back against the chair, a groan escaping his lips.

Then his hands tightened on his hips, and he took control back. He drove into her from below, hard and deep, making her gasp at the force of it.This was not the man that had asked for permission. This was the man that had bought the club, had fired her and waited in the dark until she had nowhere left to run or hide.

"Liam."

"Say me name again." Another thrust, deeper still. "say it when you come."

She was close already, too close, the pleasure building like a wave she couldn't out run. He felt it too, she could tell by the the way the rhythm faltered, the way his breath came in harsh pants against her throat.

"Not yet," he commanded. "Wait for me."

But she couldn't. Th wave of pleasure broke and she shattered around him, crying out his name as pleasure ripped through her. He followed moments later, pulling her tight against him, burying his face in her neck as he spilled inside her.

For long moments neither of them moved from their position. They stayed tangled together, breathing as one, the silence heavy with everything they hadn't said. Then reakity crept back in. The weight of him still inside her. The slickness of her tighs. The gold band on his left hand, glinting in glowing light, that she hadn't noticed until now.

She tried to pull away. His arm tightened.

"Don't," He murmured against her skin. "Not yet."

"I have to." Her voice was raw. "This was a mistake."

He lifted his head and the vulnerability in his eyes nearly undid her."Was it?"

She couldn't answer. Couldn't tell him that it was the realest thing she had ever felt, that this was exactly why it could never happen again.

He seemed to understand. Gently, he helped her off his lap, separating their connection. She retrieved her dress with shaking hands. She dressed in silence, not looking at him, not trusting herself to speak at the moment.

At the door, his voice stopped her.

"Anya."

She didn't turn around. She only paused.

"I meant what I said to you. You're mine now. Whether you want to be or not."

She walked out without answering. But as she made her way through the empty club, into the cold night air, she felt the trith of his words settling into her bones like a brand.

And the most terrifying part about it was she didn't even want to run from it.