All the Bold Moves (All The Right Moves 2)

I can feel his low chuckle in the pit of my stomach as he replies, “Maybe just to throw off little Mitchell Decker. That kid would piss his pants if I showed up to practice looking like Jack Sparrow.”

I nod and my nose accidentally brushes his cheek. “The Johnny Depp look is hot… but, on the other hand, it would just reinforce their theories that you’re, you know…”

“Chasing the GLAAD rainbow?” He looks over my shoulder, and gives a brief nod to someone behind me. “Kevin and Jenna sure seem to be hitting it off.”

“Yeah, I figured they would. He’s totally her type. Quirky and fun.”

“Quirky. I guess that’s one way to describe Kevin…”

We stand there awkwardly, him twirling his beer bottle, me fiddling with my glass - you could cut the sexual tension with a dull knife. It’s the best kind of tension in the history of mankind.

And I never thought I’d be saying this, but I’m actually relieved to see Molly and Weston weaving their way back towards us, new drinks in hand. Surprisingly, they are both carrying two drinks, and when they reach us Molly hands me a large frosted glass full of ice and….

“Here. I got us both water with lemon.”

How thoughtful, since I need to keep my wits about me.

Weston hands a beer to Matthew, then looks in between us. “So. How are you two kids getting along?”

Molly rolls her eyes. “Clearly my brother has no game since they’re just standing here staring at each other.”

Oh. My. God.

Weston laughs. “You got that right. Babe, wanna show them how it’s done?” He grabs her by the waist and swings her around, grinding his hips against hers to the beat of the music and planting his lips on her neck. It’s so painfully awkward standing here watching them grind against each other.

Worse, they’ve started sucking face to How Far Do You Want to Go, by Gloriana (which happens to be one of my favorites) and apparently theirs too, because it looks as if they want to go pretty damn far.

On the dance floor.

In front of everyone.

It’s pretty hot – and revolting – all at the same time. I can actually see their tongues from here as they make out.

They’re totally doing it on purpose to torture us.

What’s worse…? It’s actually working.

Red faced (I quickly thank God for all the make up on my face) I glance at Matthew. His lips are pressed together in a line so tight I can’t tell if he’s outraged by their behavior, or turned on by it. Counting to three in my head, I take a chug of water like it’s a shot of liquid courage, then set the glass down on a nearby bar table. Before I lose the resolve, I position myself close enough to Matthew that the heat radiating from his large body warms my insides.

Slowly Matthew dips his head to the side, his entire body acknowledging my presence as he lowers his face a fraction so we’re eye-to-eye. Our noses almost touching. I’m not sure how long we stand there – it could have been seconds, it could have been minutes – but all we do is stare at each other, our hot breath mingling and our chests beginning to heave up and down like we’re trying to bring our heart rates down after a race.

Matthew’s clear green eyes are starkly contrasted by the dark charcoal black eyeliner rimming his lids – he gazes, unflinching, bores into me – so intently that I lick my lips and nervously bring a hand up to brush a stray hair behind my ear.

He is so close that if I stuck out my tongue it would end up in his mouth.

He’s not holding me. Or touching me. But I can feel my legs trembling just the same.

Matthew tips his head so his cheek brushes mine, and, without saying a word, he gently nuzzles my hair, and I can feel him inhaling my scented shampoo as he pushes my locks aside with his nose.

Slowly… excruciatingly slowly… he parts his lips and brushes them along the side of my neck, inhaling and exhaling in short, uneven breaths.

The barely perceptible touch of his lips against my neck feels like a hundred thousand butterfly kisses, and, no longer having control over my own body functions, I tip my head to the side to give him better access.

And, because it feels incredible.

My eyes flutter shut.

My body shivers.

Moaning from the easy exploration of his mouth, pleasure zips through my body like an electric shock and I swear if I didn’t know any better, you’d think I was having an orgasm right there in the middle of the dance floor.

I feel greedy and selfish.

My body wants more.

I want more.

I am limp, putty in his capable hands.

With his lips still on my neck, he exhales, his warm breath coming out in a long, drawn out groan that melts my insides like butter.