Page 65 of Hide From Me (Chaotic Love #3)

Not like a dancer trained to impress. Not like someone trying to be sexy or graceful.

She moves like Raylen—shoulders swaying, hips rocking, arms lifting over her head with zero shame, like she’s daring someone to stop her.

She’s laughing already, even as the beat pulses louder around her.

Hair falling into her face. Eyes wild and locked on mine like this —this moment—is for me.

And I realize what she’s doing.

It’s the same thing I did. Months ago. In that stupid diner, standing on top of a counter like a lunatic just to make her smile through the storm she was stuck in. I danced like an idiot. Just for her. And now…

She’s dancing for me.

The air leaves my lungs like I’ve been punched in the chest—but in the best way. In the holy shit I think my heart just remembered how to beat way.

The song fades out with a final thump. Her laughter bursts through the quiet like a firework—bright and breathless and alive. Then she hops down from the table, heels wobbling beneath her.

I move without thinking, instinct taking over.

My hands catch her by the waist, fingers curling against the curve of her dress as I steady her, grounding her like she’s the one about to fall. She laughs again, softer now. A little dizzy.

Her palms land on my chest, fingers curling just slightly into the fabric of my shirt. She holds herself there for a heartbeat longer than she needs to, and in that moment, the world could burn to ash and I wouldn’t care. Because she’s here. She’s choosing to be here. With me .

“Hi, I’m Raylen, wanna dance with me?” she asks, her voice light—almost playful—but her eyes tell a different story. They’re serious, intense, like she’s offering me more than just a dance. Like she’s offering me a way back.

I force a smirk, trying to steady myself. “This isn’t dancing music. Besides, don't you need to know my name first?”

Her fingers curl slightly into the front of my shirt, anchoring us both in place, and that same defiant, teasing smile softens just enough to cut deep. There’s warmth there. Knowing. Like she already has the answer to every question I haven’t dared to ask.

“I already know who you are. You’re my monster,” she says softly, voice dipping lower with something heavier than a joke.

Her breath fans across my skin as she leans in, pressing her forehead lightly to mine until I can’t see anything but her lashes and the shine of emotion in her eyes. “The one who follows my light home.”

God. I could fall apart right here.

That’s all it takes. That sentence. That moment. I slide my hand into hers and pull her toward the edge of the floor without another word. My heart is pounding like I’ve just been yanked back from the edge of something dark, and she’s the one who caught me.

“Lead me back to you, baby.” I whisper back.

Her fingers tighten around mine, not just holding—but claiming , anchoring.

She’s choosing me again, and I feel it in every inch of my body.

We move through the reception like the rest of it barely exists, weaving past sloshing champagne flutes, tipsy laughter, and swaying bodies wrapped in silk and shadow. But I barely notice them.

The music hums low, steady in the background, and I draw her into me, hand sliding to her back as I pull her in. Her body molds to mine like it was made for this—for us —and the ache in my chest is so strong it nearly buckles me.

The one who follows my light home .

That one sentence shatters me. Every scar, every fracture, every piece of me I thought was too broken to matter strains toward her now, drawn to the way she fits against me, the way she sways with me like we were always meant to move together.

We dance, slow at first, then losing ourselves in the music until I don’t know where I end and she begins.

Until the song fades, long over, and I don’t want to let her go.

I lean in, lips brushing the soft curve of her temple, tasting salt and sun and her. “Come with me.”

She sucks in a sharp breath—surprised, maybe—but when she looks at me, really looks, she nods.

We move like shadows, slipping between the swaying fabric that borders the canopy, invisible to the world.

The night air rushes over us—cool, sharp, laced with salt and the faint crash of waves on the shore.

Moonlight slices through the trees, silvering the sand beneath our feet.

My palm rests at the small of her back, warm against the silk of her dress, guiding her wordlessly along the packed path.

Her heels crunch with each step, but she doesn’t falter.

My hand never leaves her. I can’t let it.

We reach her car—half-hidden beneath the trees, wrapped in shadow and moonlight. Private. Secluded. The world fades beyond this spot, and I feel the last of my control slip.

“Here?” she whispers, voice trembling with anticipation.

I don’t answer. I don’t need to. I turn her by the hips, press her back against the cool metal of the trunk, and crash my mouth to hers.

Hard. Desperate. Like I’ve been starved for this—because I have.

Weeks of restraint snap like a wire pulled too tight.

My lips devour hers, and she gasps, then moans, low and sweet, as I pin her there, body to body.

My hands slide under the hem of her dress, feeling the heat of her skin, the softness I’ve been dying to touch.

My tongue claims her mouth, tasting her, needing her like I need air .

She melts into me, fingers tangling in my collar, yanking me closer, her kiss fierce and hungry. Like we’re made of fire, burning each other down, and neither of us cares what’s left after.

“You have no idea,” I growl, breaking away just long enough to nip at her neck, tasting the delicate skin below her ear, “what you do to me.”

She arches into me, breath hitching, her mouth brushing my jaw, voice dark and wicked. “Then show me.”

I don’t hesitate. My hands skim lower, dragging her dress up, baring her thighs to the night air.

I find the thin band of her panties and ease them down slow, watching them slide over her legs, fall to her ankles like a gift she’s offering up.

My fingers find her, hot and wet, slick with need that makes me groan, low and guttural.

“Fuck, baby…” I hiss, sliding two fingers through her folds, circling her clit just once—just enough to feel her jolt, to hear her sharp gasp, to feel her nails dig into my shoulder. “You’re soaked.”

Her breath shudders out, lips brushing my ear like a secret. “Don’t tease me, Moe.”

“You want it that bad?” I taunt, my mouth at her throat, kissing, biting softly, losing myself in her taste. “You want me to fuck you out here, while they’re inside raising a glass to forever?”

Her laugh is breathless, trembling, like she’s barely holding herself together. “Only if you make me come before dessert.”

That’s all it takes. My belt’s undone fast, the clink of the buckle loud in the quiet. I free myself, hard and leaking at the tip, aching for her. The second her eyes drop, catch sight of me, her lips part, and her pupils blow wide, dark with need.

She lifts one leg, wraps it around my hip, heel digging into the back of my thigh, urging me closer, deeper. Like she’s already begging for it. For me .

“You’re gonna have to stay quiet, sunshine,” I warn, my voice low, rough with everything I’m holding back, as I guide myself to her entrance, dragging the head of my cock through her slick folds, coating myself in her.

And she smiles—that wild, sharp, troublemaking smile that’s always undone me. “Then don’t give me a reason to scream.”

I thrust into her in one smooth, slow, agonizing glide—so deep it nearly undoes me, so slow it feels like torture.

Every inch stretches between us like a promise I don’t deserve, filling her inch by inch until there’s nothing left of me but the need to stay right here, buried inside her.

Her breath catches at the intrusion, a soft, strangled sound, her body tensing at first, then fluttering around me, warm and tight and fucking perfect.

“Jesus—fuck,” I breathe, the words breaking against her lips as I press my forehead to hers. My voice is wrecked, shaking with everything I’m trying to hold back. “You feel like heaven.”

Her moan answers me, soft but raw, arms winding around my shoulders like she’s afraid if she lets go, I’ll disappear. Her nails sink into my back, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep me tethered to the moment, to her. And God, I want to stay here. I want to drown in this.

I start to move. Slow at first. Deep, deliberate thrusts that have her grinding against me, hips rolling like she can’t help it, like her body’s chasing the rhythm as much as mine is.

The trunk of the car thuds softly behind her with every push, every drag of my cock stretching and filling her, claiming her in ways I’m too far gone to even regret.

Her head tips back, lips parted, a sharp gasp breaking free before I catch it—my hand over her mouth, palm warm against her skin.

“Shhh,” I whisper, voice dark, rough, filled with a hunger that borders on feral. My eyes lock on hers, storm meeting flame. “You don’t want them to hear, do you?”

She shakes her head, frantic and wild, pupils blown wide, breath hot against my hand. And when I slam into her again—harder this time, deeper—her whole body answers, clinging to me like she’s trying to crawl inside my skin .

My pace builds. I can’t help it. Each thrust harder, faster, the sound of our bodies meeting lost beneath the crash of the ocean and the beat of distant music.

Her thighs squeeze me, trembling, heel digging into the back of my leg like she’s trying to brand herself into me.

I shift, hike her leg higher on my waist, and the angle has her gasping, biting down on my hand to muffle the sound that tears from her throat—needy and broken and mine.