Page 11 of Dirty Play (The LA Panthers #2)

Chapter eleven

~LIVIA~

The bass thrums through my chest, but it’s Rowan’s touch that truly shatters my focus. His hand presses against the curve of my lower back, heat seeping through the thin fabric of my dress like a brand. His fingers don’t move, but their weight is enough to send a shockwave of awareness through me.

I swallow hard, keeping my eyes fixed somewhere, anywhere, but on him.

“Stop being unprofessional,” I say, but the words sound thin and unconvincing, even to me.

Rowan chuckles at my words, his head still bent down, and I hate how it sends a shiver down my spine. My body betrays me at every turn, my skin tingling where his thumb starts to move, just barely brushing a small circle against my back. The sensation is maddening and electric, making me hyper-aware of every point of contact.

He’s too close. Too solid. Too…Rowan.

“You don’t have to babysit me,” I try again, my voice sharper now, edged with the last shred of defiance I have left.

“Babysitting?” His words are lazy, but his hand isn’t. It slides just a fraction lower, tracing the line of my spine with a deliberate slowness that makes my breath hitch. “This doesn’t feel like babysitting to me.”

The heat in his voice matches the heat pooling low in my stomach, and I want to scream at my body for reacting this way. My pulse races, my thoughts scattering into chaos. I try to pull back and put some distance between us, but Rowan tightens his hold, subtle, firm, an unmistakable message.

His hand shifts again, this time brushing just below the hem of my dress, and I bite down hard on my lip to keep from gasping. The roughness of his palm against my bare skin sends a rush of heat spiraling through me, and my knees feel like they might buckle.

I hate how aware of him I am. His heat, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with whiskey and mint, and the sheer size of him towering over me. It’s too much. He’s too much, and yet, I can’t bring myself to move away.

The lightness of his touch is unbearable. It feels like he’s testing me, playing with me, and winning effortlessly.

“Your heart’s about to fly away.” His voice drops even lower, almost a growl against my ear. “Do I make you nervous?”

“No,” I choke out, though it sounds more like a gasp.

“No?” He pulls back just enough to look at me, and his gaze is molten, all dark heat and dangerous intent. His thumb moves again, one last slow, agonizing stroke along my waist. “Then you don’t mind if I do this.”

I feel the ghost of his lips against my neck. It’s not quite a kiss, but it’s close enough to send a spark shooting through me.

The sensation is enough for me to lose my balance, making me take a step back.

“That’s enough dancing,” I shout over the music now that there’s distance between us. I can’t do this. I can’t have him this close to me.

His eyes narrow, but they’re full of wicked amusement.

I bolt from the dancefloor before I combust. I get to the stairs and start taking two at a time, giving the bouncer a small nod as I hurry past him and into the private bathroom.

As soon as I close the door behind me, I lean back against it, trying to calm my breathing. I can still feel his fingers on me, his breath against my ear.

The bathroom is blissfully cool, the thrum of the music muffled behind the thick door. I walk over to the sink and grip the edge of the counter, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed, my lips parted, and my eyes…God, my eyes look wild.

I twist the faucet, letting cold water rush over my trembling hands. The shock of it against my skin helps a little, but not enough. My heart is still racing, my body still humming from his touch.

Rowan’s voice is in my head, dark and teasing, wrapping around me like a velvet chain I can’t break. His hands…his lips so close to my ear…

I splash some water on my neck, careful not to ruin my makeup.

“Get it together,” I mutter under my breath. “He’s just trying to mess with you.”

The door opens, and I look up to see his large frame.

I freeze as we lock eyes in the mirror.

His black shirt is still unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up, his tattoos crawling up his arms and neck. My mouth waters, and I work to swallow.

“This is the ladies’ room,” I say, my voice steadier than I expect.

“And?” He steps inside, locking the door behind him with a soft click that seems to echo in the small space. Oh, no. My heart is already jumping with excitement, my traitorous body rejoicing at the sight of him.

His broad shoulders hide the door behind him, and the look on his face sends a shiver down my spine. He’s calm, but his gaze tells a different story. It’s dark and smoldering.

I narrow my eyes, trying to muster some kind of indignation, but it’s hard when he looks at me like that.

“ And you can’t be here.”

“I can do whatever the fuck I want.” His voice is low and rough, and it cuts through me like a blade. My breath catches as he takes a slow step toward me.

“Rowan,” I warn, but it comes out more like a plea.

“Yes?” he drawls, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk.

He moves closer, his steps deliberate, unhurried. The air grows thicker with each inch he closes between us.

I try to take a step back, but the counter is at my hips, trapping me.

“This is very inappropriate,” I say, my voice thin and shaky.

“It is.” Rowan’s lips twitch, his amusement only adding to my frustration. “But you love it.” He places his hands on either side of the counter, caging me in. Again.

The movement forces me to tilt my head up to meet his gaze, and the way he’s looking at me makes my knees weak.

His scent surrounds me, something dark and woodsy, mixed with the faintest trace of whiskey. It’s intoxicating, suffocating, and I hate how much I like it.

“You’re imagining things,” I snap, but the words lack any real bite.

“Am I?” Rowan leans in.

My breath hitches, my heart pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it. His hand moves, the back of his knuckles grazing my bare arm, and the simple touch sends a jolt of electricity straight to my core.

I press my hands against his chest, intending to push him away, but the moment my palms meet the hard muscle beneath his shirt, I forget what I was going to do.

His hand trails down, skimming the curve of my waist, slow and deliberate. My body betrays me, arching into his touch, and the heat pooling in my stomach becomes unbearable.

“Rowan, get out.” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the way he feels, the way he smells, the way he makes me burn.

“No.”

The single word is final, firm, and when I open my eyes, his gaze locks onto mine. The hunger there steals the air from my lungs.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice dark and sure. “Tell me you don’t feel this, and I’ll get out.”

My lips part to speak, but the words don’t come. They’re trapped somewhere between the molten heat spreading through my veins and the frantic rhythm of my heartbeat. The hard muscle under my palms is distracting me.

I lower my hands from his chest, gripping the counter behind me. Rowan doesn’t give me time to think, doesn’t let me build walls or find my footing.

His hand slides to the small of my back, the heat of his palm burning my bare skin. I shouldn’t have worn a backless dress.

The other hand comes to rest on my jaw, his thumb brushing over my cheek with a tenderness that feels like mockery, considering the intensity in his eyes.

“Nothing to say?” he asks, his voice a low rasp. “That’s a first.”

I glare at him, or at least I try to. It’s hard when his thumb drags across my bottom lip, slow and deliberate, his gaze fixed on the movement like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

I hate how easily he gets under my skin, how his words cut through my defenses like they’re made of paper. But more than that, I hate the way my body responds to him, the way it betrays me with every shiver, every gasp, every traitorous tilt of my hips toward his.

“Rowan, I mean it.”

But even as I say the words, my hands clutch the counter behind me for support instead of pushing him away.

“I told you. Tell me to stop, and I will,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. His lips are so close now, brushing the shell of my ear, sending shivers down my left arm.

His hand on my back slides lower, curving over my hip. His fingers flex, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us, until I can feel every hard line of his body pressing into mine. And that’s when I feel it. The bulge in his pants, hard and massive, pressed against my belly. Electric shock spreads through my lower half, traveling straight to my clit.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, his breath hot against my neck.

I do. God, I do.

I hate him for knowing exactly how to unravel me with a single touch. His thumb strokes the curve of my hip, his fingers digging in just enough for his message to be loud and clear, even without words.

“No,” I whisper, but the word is a weak, trembling lie.

When his fingers reach the base of my neck and wrap around my hair. His grip tightens, tipping my head back just enough to force my gaze to his.

His green eyes are wild, his pupils dilated as he leans down. I act as if on instinct, feeling my lips part and my head fall back against his hand in anticipation.

“Liar,” he whispers, his smile nothing short of wicked.

Before I can respond, Rowan closes the little remaining distance and captures my lips with his.

Fuck.

Fireworks go off all over my body as I feel his hot mouth on mine. It’s like the dam has finally broken, and a tsunami takes me under. He’s all I can think about; his kiss is all I feel.

It’s not soft, gentle, or anything resembling restraint. It’s fire, fury, and frustration, a clash of tongues and teeth that steals the air from my lungs and replaces it with him.

I should push him away, should fight, but instead, my hands find his chest again, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, feeling the steel of muscle underneath.

He deepens the kiss, his hand tangling in my hair, pulling just hard enough to make my back arch. I gasp against his lips, and he takes the opportunity to explore, his tongue claiming mine with a dominance that leaves no room for resistance.

I hate him. I hate him for making me feel this way, for making me want something I know I shouldn’t.

But I can’t stop.

Rowan’s hand slides down my back, over the curve of my ass, pulling me closer. His lips leave mine only to trail down my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, making me shiver.

“Oh, God,” I whisper, my voice breaking.

I close my eyes, my breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. Every nerve in my body is on fire, every thought consumed by him, by the way he feels, the way he smells, the way he looks at me.

He growls, low and guttural, the sound vibrating against my skin, sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in my belly, and I hate how much I crave it, how much I crave him.

My breath hitches as Rowan’s hand slides up my inner thigh, his touch electrifying. He doesn’t just touch me; he claims me, his fingers gliding with a deliberate slowness that makes my skin blaze. There’s an insistent, pulsing ache that demands attention. His hand continues its ascend up my inner thigh, and when his fingers brush against my panties, my whole body starts shaking from the thrill.

He hums in satisfaction against the sensitive skin on my neck, and before I can react, his fingers curl around the fabric, and he pushes it aside.

I gasp as the cool air hits my pussy, but its quickly replaced by two of his fingers running up my exposed slit.

A moan escapes my lips despite my best efforts.

God, what is he doing to me?

“Fuck,” he growls, the sound low and rough. The heat in my cheeks flares as I realize he can feel every bit of my arousal. His teeth graze my neck as his fingers spread my pussy open.

I freeze. Panic bubbles up, slicing through the haze of desire. I’ve never gone this far with a man before. I’ve never had a man touch me there.

“No, stop.” I jerk back, breaking the moment, my instincts screaming at me to flee.

True to his word, Rowan lets me go instantly, his hands immediately leaving my body. I reach down to fix my panties and dart toward the door, fingers fumbling as I try to unlock it.

“Turn it anticlockwise,” he teases, amusement threading through his voice.

“I don’t need your help,” I blurt out, breathless and flustered, not even remembering which way clockwise and anticlockwise is right now.

I hear him chuckle, a sound that’s infuriatingly attractive and utterly maddening. I turn to glare at him and freeze. He’s leaning casually against the counter when he lifts his right hand to his mouth and licks my arousal off them.

My mouth falls open as I suck in a sharp breath at the sight. It sends a thrill of frustration and desire coursing through me, my heart pounding against my ribs like a wild animal desperate for freedom.

He grins with his middle finger caught between his teeth. The devilish glint in his eyes is enough to make me wonder what will happen if I stay and—

No!

Finally, I manage to shove the door open, spilling out into the little corridor leading back to the VIP lounge. The pulse of the club hits me like a wave. I can’t believe what just happened. I can’t believe I just crossed a line I never thought I would with Rowan.

What the hell have I done?