Page 4 of The Delta’s Rogue (Crescent Lake #4)

The thumping of the bass in the club rattles my bones and sets my teeth on edge.

I swear it’s louder and heavier than before the outage that sent everyone running in a panic, but then again, we were upstairs in the VIP area, away from the speakers and the surging, swaying mass of people on the dance floor.

The night life is back in full swing here as if the power outage never occurred. Guests dance and drink, crowding us near the bar as we wait for the manager.

Sarina rests her elbows on the bar top, leaning forward and bouncing her head a little to the beat, her eyes as observant as mine as she examines the bartender and the setup he works in.

A male bumps into me, jostling me. I hold in a growl, hovering closer to Sarina to hide her from the crowd. Her body is tucked away between mine and the bar so no one can touch her.

As her scent wafts into my nose again from the swaying of her silky ink-black hair as she dances in her seat, I grip the back of the stool she’s perched on, digging my fingertips into it.

The urge to press my nose into the top of her head—to nuzzle it into her hair and breathe in only her scent—overwhelms me.

My hand on the seat is the only thing preventing me from doing just that.

Her body brushes against mine every so often as she sways, a smile playing on her lips as she glances at me from the corner of her eye. Those long, dark lashes of hers flutter once as she blinks, and I blow a breath out between my lips, lifting my gaze to the dance floor.

Why did I agree to let her come with me again ?

“Lou is busy,” a voice says to me, drawing my attention back to the bar.

Another growl threatens to escape me, and my fingers curl on the countertop, but Sarina covers my hand with hers and squeezes it, hiding the movement from any prying eyes. That touch snags my lycan’s attention, but I push him aside to focus on my task.

I glare at the female bartender, who just returned from the back of the club. “Tell him I will wait until he’s not busy then.” I lean further over Sarina. “I have time.”

I don’t have time. I should be out there hunting down Lennox, not in here playing politics.

But someone needs to get answers about the security cameras and the power outage, and I’m the one with the connections.

So, Sarina and I are in here while the rest of her pack and Levi are searching the city for Lennox.

I hate doing things this way. We own the club.

Lou is our employee and part of our pack.

I could barge into Lou’s office and demand he give me answers.

I could have my dad call and order him back to the pack to be questioned under alpha command there.

But that’s not how we operate. We don’t run our pack with fear and by throwing our power and dominance in others’ faces.

All that would do is create distrust and disrespect within our pack.

So, I’ll play Lou’s little game. I’ll wait.

Because, soon enough, Lou will play my game.

We may not operate on fear, but pack members know I’m the enforcer.

He won’t want to piss me off, and he’ll amend his unfortunate decision to make me wait.

He also won’t run, knowing that will only solidify his guilt and his fate.

No, even if he is guilty, he’ll hide up in that office of his until he grows large enough balls to speak to me.

“Dance with me,” Sarina says as the female bartender walks away from us.

I frown at her, my jaw clenching.

“What?” She shrugs. “He’s making us wait. We may as well have some fun while we do.” Before I can respond, she hops off the stool, squeezes by me, and takes off towards the dance floor, aiming for the center of the writhing, sweaty throng of guests.

My fingers flex against the barstool as her hips rock side to side with each of her bouncing steps, the leather of her pants hugging her round ass.

Her hair shines in the lights, reflecting the red and blue hues as the colors switch with the beat of the music.

She spins and faces me, walking backwards and catching my eye, letting the crowd make way for her as she continues on her path .

Males from every corner of the dance floor eye her, their glances lingering on the curve of her butt and the swell of her breasts.

That’s when I snap. If I don’t go out there and dance with her, someone else will.

But they won’t make it out of the club with their hands attached to their body if they do.

She may drive me crazy, but the thought of anyone else dancing with her— touching her—has my blood boiling.

I shrug off the way-too-warm leather jacket and toss it on the stool before I follow her, reaching her in record time.

We stare at each other, my tall form towering over her petite body, both of us pushed closer by the dancing bodies around us. Neither of us moves or speaks, though. We both wait. For what, I’m not sure, but time tugs and strains at my forbearance, needling at me, prompting me to act.

I step towards her until there’s only an inch of space between our bodies. My hands coast over her hips, and my nose brushes hers as I lean in, holding her so we’re as close as we can be without our bodies touching.

Her hands slide up my chest, over the slightly-too-small white shirt I borrowed from her packmate. She attempts to close the distance between us, to press her tight little body against mine, but my grip on her prevents that. She won’t get closer to me unless I want her to.

My hands guide her hips, twisting them in a slow figure eight. Our foreheads touch as she curls her fingers into the fabric of my shirt, her eyes closing and neck arching slightly. It’s imperceptible to anyone watching us, but it’s monumental to me.

It’s submission, pure and sweet, and given to me freely by this feisty female. Her body is pliant in my hands as I manipulate her dance moves, coaching her to move in a way that pleases me. She’s a quick study, picking up on the subtle instruction I give her as she dances.

She moves like a dream, responsive to my slightest touch. The beat of the music pulses and races, matching our hearts and the cadence of our breaths. But the dance I guide her through is sensual and seductive, timed to the layered nuances of the music.

I watch her every move, gazing down at her inviting body.

Her eyelids flutter, staying half closed as if she’s in a trance.

Her muscles flex and relax under my touch, and my fingertips skim her bare midriff, right above the waist of her pants.

The skin is warm and damp with her sweat.

At my touch, a little shudder ripples over her.

Her neck stays arched, exposed and vulnerable, her pulse thrumming beneath the skin, and I’m tempted to bury my face there. That honeysuckle scent of hers would be stronger there, sweeter and more intoxicating, twining around me like a vine climbing up a trellis.

Everything about her is hypnotic, entrancing: her parted plump lips and those round “fuck me” eyes, the gentle bouncing of her breasts beneath her top and the dewy, glistening sheen on the swell of them peeking out at me, the careful swaying of her hips as we dance together.

All of it is a potion of lust, one she’s brewing for me and me alone.

One I’m unsure I have the strength and stamina to resist.

Maybe that’s what drives me so crazy. Try as I might, I can’t get her out of my system, out of my mind.

I still remember the way her body felt on top of mine when she tackled me in the woods, her legs straddling my hips and our chests pressed together.

She caught me by surprise in more ways than one—with her unexpected attack, and with the unparalleled, immediate attraction and familiarity I felt upon laying eyes on her.

No one has ever captured my attention like she has.

I doubt anyone else ever will.

It’s a dangerous notion, but it’s the truth. I don’t know what to make of that. My reliable instincts are no help in the matter. She defies all of it, remaining outside the reach of my intuitive senses—another element of her existence that drives me insane.

Sarina’s eyes flick over my shoulder, and she frowns, the spell of our dance broken by the expression. “She’s back.”

I huff in exasperation. “They made us wait. We can make them wait.” I yank her body against mine, finally closing that minute yet vast distance between us. Sarina’s arms circle my neck, feeling way too good and way too right resting there. “We’ll speak to her when this song ends.”

Then we’re immersed in the magic of the music and the movements, our bodies now pressed together.

I wrap my arm around her waist, my hand almost on her ass, and my nose drags along her sharp, high cheekbones until my lips brush her ear, and hers brush mine.

Her panting breath tickles my skin as we dance, and Goddess if the feel and sound of the air passing between her parted lips don’t make me harder than a rock .

I’m playing with fire, tempting fate with every move I make, every decision that places me in the path of Sarina’s flames, every choice that draws her further into my world and my arms. At the rate I’m going, I’ll end up burnt to a crisp.

Maybe I want that—to be caught in her flames. Maybe I want the heat of her to singe my soul.

The song changes, and Sarina backs away from me, dispelling the illusion. Her hooded eyes blink several times, her usual sassy expression gone as she stares at me.

I wrap my arm around her shoulder and stroll back to the bar with her tucked into my side, protecting her from wandering hands. I don’t care about eyes, about others checking out her gorgeous little body. They can look at her all they want, as long as they keep their hands away.

We reach the bar, and I greet the bartender with only a raised brow, waiting for her to talk.

“Lou said he’ll speak with you.” She grabs a glass to clean it. “He’s waiting in his office.”