Forbidden Never Felt This Good

~ 16

0016

~ Aria ~

The bass from the club’s sound system hit my chest before we even stepped onto the dance floor. It was a slow beat that vibrated right through the soles of my heels and into the floorboards.

Jean-Paul took my right hand and placed his left hand firmly on the curve of my waist. His palm was warm against the bare skin exposed by the deep cut of my black dress. He was polite about it, not grabbing too hard, but holding me close enough that anyone looking would think we belonged together.

We fell into the rhythm without saying a word.

He was a good dancer. Smooth, steady, the kind of man who knew how to lead without stepping on your toes or making a fool of himself. He smiled down at me, his dark eyes bright under the dim lights of the club.

Then, I turned around.

I turned my back to him, stepping back until my shoulder blades pressed flat against the front of his jacket. I let my hips drop into the beat, moving side to side in slow, heavy rolls. I raised both hands, running my fingers through my hair, lifting the dark waves off my neck and shoulders.

The move pulled the dress tight across my hips and left my entire back bare, all the way down to the small of my waist.

Jean-Paul sucked in a breath.

His hands tightened on my hips instantly. He pulled me back hard against his front, his thighs slotting behind mine to match my pace. His chest rose and fell fast against my back, his warm breath hitting the skin right behind my ear.

A few seconds later, I felt him get hard against my lower back.

It was solid, thick, and unmistakable through his trousers and the thin fabric of my skirt. He didn't pull away or try to hide it. He just leaned down, his mouth near my ear, letting me feel exactly what he wanted.

I didn't care.

It meant nothing to me.

Because across the dark club, standing by the edge of the VIP booth, was the only man I wanted to break.

Luca had not moved from his spot, but everything about him had changed.

The calm, cold expression he wore during the day was gone. His wide shoulders were locked tight. His chest rose and fell with short, rough breaths that pulled his white shirt tight against his chest. His large hands were clenched at his sides, his knuckles pale under the low lights, his fingers twitching like he wanted to wrap them around something and snap it in two.

His gray eyes were black. And they were fixed right on my hips.

I looked straight at him through the crowd, met his eyes, and rolled my hips again.

Slower this time. Deeper. I ground my ass right against Jean-Paul’s groin, letting my head fall back against Jean-Paul's shoulder like I was lost in the feeling.

Across the room, Luca’s jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumped in his cheek. His hand went into his pocket, his thumb hooking over the edge of his suit coat.

Good, I thought. Watch.

Watch me let another man hold what you claim is yours in the dark.

I wanted him to feel the exact same burn I felt every single morning. The burn of waking up sore, marked with his bruises and his bite marks, only to watch him put on his tie and act like I was just a job. Just Vittorio Santoro’s daughter. Just a problem to keep alive.

I spun back around to face Jean-Paul, slipping my arms up over his broad shoulders. I hooked my fingers behind his neck and kept my body moving to the music. Jean-Paul’s hands spread wide on my bare back, his fingers digging into my skin as he pulled me in until there was no space left between us.

"You are incredible, Aria," Jean-Paul said, his voice low and raspy over the music.

"You're not bad yourself, Jean-Paul," I said, giving him a small smile.

He moved his hands down to my waist, then slid them up along the sides of my ribs, his thumbs brushing right against the swell of my breasts. I didn't stop him. I arched my back slightly, letting out a soft sigh between parted lips, never taking my eyes off the man standing twenty feet away.

Luca went completely still.

People around us were drinking, laughing, and dancing, totally blind to the bomb about to go off in the corner.

My heart started thumping hard against my ribs. A mix of fear and dirty excitement flooded my blood. I knew what I was doing. I was playing with fire, pouring fuel on a man who was already burning.

I saw the exact second his restraint broke.

It was small at first. He shifted his weight forward onto his toes. His head tilted down. His right hand came out of his coat, dropping flat to his side, fingers open and ready for a fight.

Jean-Paul leaned down, his lips brushing the soft skin of my jaw as he whispered something in French. His hands gripped my bare waist tight, holding me in place like he owned the right to be there.

Luca took a long, heavy step forward onto the dance floor.

He shoved past a couple without looking at them, his eyes locked onto Jean-Paul's hands on my body. His face was set in stone. He wasn't watching anymore. He was coming to rip Jean-Paul off me, snap his neck, and drag me out of this club by my hair in front of everyone.

Time to cut the wire.

I stepped back fast, putting my flat hand on Jean-Paul’s chest to push him away gently. I forced a polite, sweet smile onto my face, catching my breath.

"I have to call it a night," I said, keeping my voice loud enough to cut through the speakers. "I have an early meeting tomorrow."

Jean-Paul blinked, looking surprised and disappointed, but he quickly got his manners back. He let go of my waist, smoothed down the front of his jacket, and took a small step back.

"Of course," he said, taking my hand and lifting it to his lips. "I understand. Tonight has been... remarkable, Aria."

"It really has," I said.

I leaned up on my toes and kissed his cheek. I did it slow, letting my lips brush the corner of his mouth just enough to leave him wanting more.

"Until next time, Jean-Paul."

"I'll call you tomorrow," he promised, his eyes tracking my lips.

I turned on my heel and walked away.

I didn't run. I took my time, keeping my chin high, my shoulders back, and my spine straight. I walked right past Luca, close enough that the skirt of my dress brushed his pants leg. The heat coming off his body felt like an open furnace.

I didn't look at him. I just kept walking toward the exit, my high heels clicking loud and steady against the wood.

Behind me, I heard Jean-Paul say something polite to Luca.

Luca answered with two short words in Italian. The words were flat, harsh, and sounded like a death threat.

Then came the heavy sound of his dress shoes on the floor behind me.

Fast. Hard. Unstoppable.

He didn't say a word as we moved through the crowd, but I could feel him right behind my shoulder blades, clearing a path through the people by sheer force. The cool night air hit my face the second we pushed through the heavy glass doors of the club.

The street was quiet, dark, and empty except for the line of black cars waiting along the curb.

Jean-Paul’s driver was standing by the Mercedes, ready to open the door, but Luca didn't let us get that far.

He didn't ask. He didn't open the door for me.

His hand clamped around my upper arm like an iron band, his fingers digging deep into my skin. He spun me around and shoved me toward the back door of our own car, parked fifty feet down the curb in the dark.

"Get in," he rasped.

His voice was raw, low, and completely wrecked.

I looked at his face in the yellow light of the streetlamp. His jaw was set, his breathing loud and rough, his eyes pure black.

I didn't fight him. I didn't say a word.

I pulled my arm free, opened the car door myself, and slid into the leather seat.

Luca slammed the door shut behind me with enough force to shake the frame, then rounded the back of the car like an animal hunting its prey. The driver's door opened, and he got in, pulling the door shut with a heavy click.

The locks engaged.

He sat in the front seat for five long seconds, his chest heaving, his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard the leather groaned under his palms.

Then, he turned around to face me in the dark.

"You think this is a game?" he growled, the words low and dangerous in the quiet car.

I leaned back against the seat, crossing my legs, my heart beating hard in my throat. I looked right into his angry eyes and tilted my chin up.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Luca."

He let out a short, harsh sound that was half laugh, half snarl. He unbuckled his seatbelt with a fast snap, his eyes never leaving mine.

"You're about to find out."