Untamed (Unbeautiful 2)

“Where are we going?” Emery hollers over the sound of the music.

I turn my head toward her and mouth, To dance. She instantly grows fidgety so I pause. Releasing her hand, I sign, “Unless you don’t want to.”

She shakes her head as she skims over the rowdy people around us, grinding against each other and crying out the lyrics to the song. “No… I want to.” The florescent ceiling lights reflect in her pupils as her gaze resides back on me. “It’s just that I’ve never gone to a club or anything. I went to prom, but,” she shrugs, “Evan hates dancing. The only reason we went is because we were homecoming king and queen.” She sticks out her tongue and makes a gagging gesture—I’m pretty sure she only has the courage to do it because she’s buzzed.

“I never went to any dances,” because I was in juvie, “but I’ve been to a shitload of concerts, and I’ve learned one thing about dancing from all the experience.”

“And what’s that?”

“If you want to dance, dance. There’s no judgment at these things, which makes them pretty awesome.”

She smiles, and then threads her fingers through mine. “Okay, let’s dance, then.”

I don’t bother mentioning that dancing can be extremely sexy when done under the right circumstances—circumstances that usually include alcohol and sexual tension.

At first, Emery is cautious, keeping her distance from me as she rocks her hips to the music. I move with her. I’ve never really been into dancing, but I can rock out to a little garage rock any day. The longer the song goes on, the more into it she gets, until she finally spins around and presses her back against my chest. That’s when the two of us decide to start playing a dangerous game of Want But Can’t Have. A very, very dangerous game that is really fucking tortuous to play yet impossible to give up.

Emery starts grinding her hips to the sultry beat of the song. With each movement, her ass brushes against my cock, making me go rock hard. I grip the curves of her hips and my hands unnecessarily slip underneath the bottom of her shirt. My fingers delve into her soft flesh, and I bite back a moan. Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve forgotten just how soft her skin is, how amazing she smells, how incredible she feels against me.

She shivers from my touch and presses closer, rolling her hips and driving my body absolutely mad. She repeats the movement over and over again, until finally, I damn near lose my mind.

Gripping her waist, I spin her around to face me. “I thought you didn’t know how to dance?”

“No, I said I haven’t been to a club before. I’m actually a very good dancer. So good I made the cheerleading team.”

“You’re on the cheerleading squad?”

“No, I said I made it! I didn’t want to be on it, though, so I didn’t join. It reminds me too much of home where I’m…” She bites down on her lip to stop herself, but the alcohol must get the best of her because she ends up sputtering out, “of home where I’m always controlled.” Her gaze drifts to the ceiling as if she’s pondering something deeply.

My soul aches for her, but I don’t say anything, knowing it’ll only spook her more. I wait for her to bail out and leave me here, standing alone, like she normally does when she starts talking about her past, but the alcohol must overcome her fear, because she starts dancing again.

This time she goes wild, completely untamed. She flips her hair around and spins, even though there’s barely any room to move. The throng seems to part for her, some watching her in awe, amazed by her flawless movements and striking perfection.

After about five minutes of me standing there, gaping at her, she seizes hold of my hands. “Come on, Ryler. Dance with me.”

I chuckle lowly then join her, knowing that somehow I’m going to end up paying for it. But fuck it. If I’m going down, then I guess I might as well go down in flames.

I wrap my fingers around her arms and yank her closer until there isn’t an ounce of space left between our sweaty bodies. Then I move with her, grinding against her, touching her body, and kissing her neck with every opportunity I get. She plays with the hair on the nape of my neck and nibbles on my earlobe a few times, eliciting a few groans that get swept away in the music.

If I had my way, we’d go on forever, but forever only lasts about an hour. Then we find a table to take a break, catch our breath, and drink more. Violet brings a double shot for each of us, then she and Luke wander back to the bar and end up chatting with their friends, Seth and Greyson, while waiting for more drinks.

Emery crosses her legs and fans her hand in front of her face. Her cheeks are flushed, her skin is damp with sweat, and her eyes are sparkling with excitement. “I haven’t had this much fun since the last time we hung out.”

“The last time we hung out?” My hands move as I cock my head to the side in confusion. “We hang out almost every day.”

“I mean the last time we hung out when you were just you and I was just me.” She spins the empty shot glass between her hands. “Before all the crazy stuff happened and life sucked again.” She frowns as glass tips over, and she clumsily stands it upright again.

“Emery…” I’m uncertain what to sign to her. “You know we can still be friends, right?”

“No, we can’t.” She offers me the most emotionless smile I’ve ever seen. As beautiful as she is, I’ll admit the emptiness behind the smile is sort of creepy. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to be my friend if you really knew who I am.” Her speech is starting to slur, which more than likely means she’s not thinking before speaking. I raise my hands to cut her off, but she keeps mumbling. “I’m kind of crazy. Did you know that? Did my father tell you?”

I shake my head and scratch my neck uncomfortably. “He doesn’t really talk about you that much.”

“That’s a really good thing.” She props her elbow onto the table and rests her chin on her hand. “You’d hate me if he did.”

“I could never hate you.” Which is the truth. Wherever Emery comes from, I truly believe she’s a good person, no matter what her father says about her.

“Yes, you could, if you knew who I am.”

“Well, maybe you’d hate me if you knew who I am.” Fuck, maybe I’ve had too much to drink as well.

She shakes her head lethargically. “No way. I could never hate anyone after all the things I’ve done. I’d be a hypocrite.”

“Maybe I’ve done bad things, too,” I sign. “Everyone probably has when you really think about it.”

Her head slumps deeper into her hand. “What bad things have you done, Ryler? Do you… do you have blood on your hands?”

I pause, wondering if she somehow knows about my past. Know about Ben. How could she, though? “Do you?”

“I don’t know…” She yawns, her eyelids drooping. “You’re really pretty.”

I resist a laugh. “No, you’re really pretty.”

She wobbly shakes her head, sits up straight, and extends her arm across the table toward my hand, but ends up missing and tips over the glass again. This time she leaves it alone. “No, I’m being serious. You’re like the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen.” Her mouth droops to a frown. “No, I shouldn’t say pretty. Evan’s pretty. You’re… like a gorgeous piece of art… with all your tattoos…” She finds my forearms and traces the lines of a skull tattoo. “And your piercings.” She reaches for my brow to touch the metal loop in it, but misses and ends up poking me in the eye. “Sorry… Your eyes are so pretty, too. It looks like you’re wearing eyeliner.”

I bite back another laugh, finding her way too amusing right now. “You’re making me sound really girly.”

“No, you’re not girly at all.” Her expression is dead serious. “You’re just so… sexy...” She stares at my mouth. “I really like your tongue piercing. In fact, it might be my favorite part about you. Well, looks-wise.”

I have to bite down on my tongue just to keep myself from slamming my lips against hers. The way she’s looking at me now, with lust in her eyes, is just plain agonizing n

ot to act on.

Just when I think I can’t take anymore of her kind words and desire-filled looks, she laces her fingers through my hair and plays with the strands. Like a magnet, my lips glide toward hers. I’m fully ready to suffer all the consequences just to feel her lips against mine again.

Right before our mouths connect, though, she suddenly pulls back, slapping her hand across her mouth. “Think I’m going to be sick.” She springs from the chair and pushes her way to the bathroom.

My head flops back, and I release a deafening breath. Goddammit, what the hell was I thinking? Not only is she drunk, but I’d be in some serious shit with Doc if he ever found out. And the guy seems to know everything.

I send Violet in to check on Emery. Ten minutes later the two of them wander out. Emery looks tired; her eyelids are heavy, and her skin is pale.