His hands shot up.
Stopped me mid-motion. Palms flat on my hips, holding me suspended, ass hovering just inches above his lap. I could feel the heat radiating off him, could see the bulge straining his slacks, but his grip was iron.
“No,” he said.
Voice so low only I heard it over the music and the cheers.
Then he stood.
Pushed me gently but firmly back a step. Adjusted his shirt. Looked around the booth once—like he was checking for witnesses, like he was done playing. Without another word, without even glancing at me again, he walked out.
Straight through the velvet rope.
Past the bouncers.
Out of the VIP.
Out of the club.
The whole friends group went silent for a beat. Then the blond one laughed.
“He’s still not changed, huh?”
Another guy shook his head. “
