Dance For Me (Strip in the City, Book 2)

23 • Hot Ride

Tan

My lips tingled from the kiss, my cheeks burned from the scrape of his stubble, and my mind was reeling from the ramifications of what I'd just said.

This was a date. A real date. And I felt wholly unprepared for what that meant.

As someone who worked really hard to be the best at damn near everything I did, it was impossible for me to be the best on a date with Dominick. I obviously wasn't the cool chick who went along with everything the guy wanted to do because, hello, he'd seen me angry one hundred percent more times than any other guy I'd dated.

I was past wanting to impress him or trying to convince him I was cooler than I was, which only left me with being myself. And having him reject me, the real me, was somehow more terrifying than him rejecting the version of me I usually showed guys I liked.

"Stop thinking so damn much," Dominick said, pressing another kiss against my lips. Wrapping his arms around my waist and lifting me up on my toes. "Let's just take this one step at a time. Okay? There's nothing you can do to push me away. I want to be here."

How did this man know the exact right thing to say when I was trapped in a thought spiral? It was like he was giving me permission to be myself and to live in the moment. Not to worry so much about being the person everyone else needed me to be. So, I committed to doing just that.

Leaning away from me, Dominick grabbed the helmet hanging off the handlebar of a motorcycle and offered it to me. "Safety first."

I stared at the thing with a blank expression until my brain restarted, and I realized that the motorcycle we were standing next to was his. "Why is it so on-brand for you to have a motorcycle?" I asked, taking the helmet.

He chuckled as he slid his own helmet on and swung his leg over the seat. Patting the few inches of leather behind him. "I got the bike before the tattoos, which means it's not cliche."

I gave him a wry smile. "This sounds like a, what came first, the chicken or the egg, debate, and in that case, I'm still right. The tats, the bike, the attitude. I know your dick isn't pierced, but who knows what other cliche thing you're hiding."

He lifted the visor so I could see his piercing green eyes, which held a hint of humor. I wondered if he was smiling behind the safety of his helmet or if his beautiful mouth was pulled tight. Inappropriate humor was my brand, and it wasn't something I shared with guys I was on a date with. I waited with bated breath for him to get mad, even though he'd seen this side of me before. Things were different now.

"You're acting like a brat who wants to get punished later, and here I thought you were only into praise."

He paused, staring into my eyes, holding my gaze, while I silently came undone right there on the sidewalk. The things that came out of this man's mouth did something to me that I couldn't explain. Memories of the night we hooked up flooded my system, doing nothing to stop the deluge of hormones that had me squeezing my thighs together.

"At the ballet studio, you were upset that I wasn't giving you enough attention. Don't deny it. You couldn't stand the fact that I wasn't looking at you. Well, you have all my attention right now, and I just asked you a question. What turns you on? Is it praise or degradation?"

Right after that, he'd asked me if I wanted to be his good girl or his dirty little slut.

At the time, the only thing I wanted was to be paid attention to and told I was good. Or maybe that's what I'd been conditioned to believe men wanted since birth. How many times was it impressed upon me that it was wrong to sleep around before I was married? I'd been told all my life that men want chaste girls who'd never been with anyone before. A virgin. As much as I hated everything that word represented, that was the hope. That I should be as inexperienced and pure as possible, and that was desirable.