EMBER'S POV
I turn my back to the VIP section, let my hips sway in slow, sensual circles. Let my hands trail down my own body—over my breasts, my stomach, my thighs.
Let my head fall back like I'm lost in the music, in the pleasure of my own movement.
When I glance over my shoulder, his jaw is tight and his knuckles are white around his glass.
Good.
"Oh my god," Queenie cackles. "You're trying to kill him."
"I'm just dancing."
"You're performing a mating call and you know it."
Maybe I am. Maybe I want him to want me so badly he can't stand it.
Maybe I want to drive him crazy the way he's been driving me crazy since this whole thing started.
The song changes to something heavier, dirtier. The crowd responds with increased intensity—bodies pressing closer, movements becoming more
