I close my eyes, letting out a slow breath like it’ll somehow save me.
“Did it help?” he asks, leaning in even closer, his breath on my neck. “Did you find the space you needed to think?”
A wave of chills runs over me at the feeling of him being so close, and thinking is about the last thing I can do.
“Let’s dance,” I say instead of answering, and I grab his hand, pulling him deep into the middle of the dance floor.
I know immediately that it was a mistake.
I didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to answer his questions, didn’t want to look him in the eyes and admit that I’m more confused than ever. I didn’t want to confess that I still love him, that just like he told me — I never stopped. Because I also love his brother, and it just doesn’t seem fair or right or sane for both of those things to be true.
But now that we’re on the dance floor, his hands snaking around my waist and pulling my back flush to his chest, I realize that talking or crying or literally anything else would be safer than this.
The music seems louder out here — thicker, heavier, like a physical presence pulling both of us in. Jarrett grabs my hip hard with one hand, the other splaying over my midriff, and then he’s moving us, hips swaying slowly at first before finding the beat.
We haven’t even had a drink yet. I can’t blame it on the alcohol that the moment his body lines up flush with mine, I moan, biting my lip and letting my head fall back against his chest. I reach one hand up to hook behind his neck, the other covering his hand where it spreads across my stomach. Lights pulse overhead, blinding me from time to time as we dip and sway and move together.
It’s intoxicating, that buzz of desire that shoots through me with every new touch. His hand moves from my hip to my thigh, and I gasp. His other hand slides up just an inch, his thumb pressing into the hollow space between my breasts, and I arch my back, grinding my ass against him.
He’s hard as a fucking diamond, and the way he rolls that impressive length against me, I know he couldn’t care less about me or anyone else in this club knowing it.
“Your costume is very fitting,” he rumbles in my ear, sucking the lobe of it between his teeth. “My little witch, spinning her web, keeping me under her spell.”
His words stroke me like expert fingertips, and I grind against him more, grabbing his hand and moving it up until it fully palms my breast. His moan is guttural, a menacing growl as he bites down on my neck like it’s the only thing he can do to keep his composure now that he’s touching me.
In front of everyone.
But who cares? Who’s looking? And even if they are, maybe I want them to. Maybe I need to feel this connection again, to remember what we had, to let myself have everything I once took for granted like I never lost it at all.
It’s selfish and fucked up, but I can’t find it in me to care.
Before I can talk myself out of it, before the angel on my shoulder can get a peep out, I whip around in Jarrett’s arms, crushing my mouth to his.
He catches the kiss with intention, one hand coming to the back of my head to hold me there. My witch hat flies off in the process, which only gives him permission to fun his fingertips more through my hair, to grab the back of my skull and kiss me like it’s his chance to mark me, to claim me for good.
His arm wraps around me like a boa, squeezing tight, holding me to him so I can feel every breath, every muscle, every inch of his rock-hard length. And the moment our lips meet, I feel every memory rush back in a furious wave.
I remember that first time in his truck, and that last time in the hotel — the time I didn’t realize would be our last. I remember him caring for me when I was sick, remember him taking all my friends out for dinner, remember how every time his fingertips ran along my skin, my entire body came to life. I remember how fiercely I loved him.
And how utterly destroyed I was when he left me.
I wince against the pain that memory brings, and Jarrett seems to sense it, because he kisses me harder, slicking his tongue along my lips until I open up and let him inside. We both moan, and I press up on my toes to get more, Jarrett’s hand sliding along my ass, my thigh until he hooks his hand behind my knee and hikes my leg up.