Page 124 of The Devil's Thorn

Viktor shifts slightly, about to turn—But my hands are already there, sliding around his shoulders from behind.

He stiffens for a fraction of a second, then relaxes as I bend forward, the curve of my body ghosting his back.

My mouth lowers to his ear. “Dance with me,” I whisper, my voice low and silk-laced.

His hand lifts to rest over mine. “Didn’t take you for the romantic type.”

“I’m not,” I murmur, lips nearly grazing his skin. “But I want to feel your hands somewhere other than the card table.”

He laughs, standing slowly.Good. Come with me, Viktor.

And let’s see how easily you fall.

The music shifts the second we step off the gaming floor. Bass thrums through the walls, pulsing low and steady like a second heartbeat. Neon lights sweep across the polished floors, casting flashes of color over the bodies swaying in time to the rhythm. Gogo dancers—barely dressed, unapologetically bold—twist and move atop raised platforms like glitter-drenched shadows.

It smells like sweat, sex, and alcohol.

It smells like power on the brink of losing control.

I lead Viktor through the crowd without touching him—just a glance back, a subtle tilt of my chin that makes him follow.

But Iknowwhere I’m walking. The upper tier. That table. That angle. Rafael can see us from there.

I want him to. Ineedhim to.

When we reach the center of the floor, I turn and slide my hands up Viktor’s chest, pulling him closer. He doesn’t hesitate—his hands fall to my hips like they belong there, fingers curling over the bare skin above the slit of my dress.

“You really don’t waste time,” he mutters near my ear.

“I hate wasting things,” I say, voice low, “especially when I can own them.”

He groans softly, pulling me tighter as we begin to move.

His hand slides up my back, warm and possessive, but I keep the control. I grind against him just enough to stir the heat in his blood, keeping my expression soft, gaze lowered, every inch of me tuned to the rhythm of the beat—and to the eyes I can feel watching us from above.

Him.

My pulse pounds. I close my eyes as Viktor presses closer. His mouth brushes my jaw, his breath warm. One of his hands glides down, fingertips ghosting the curve of my thigh through the slit of my dress.

“Who the fuck are you?” he breathes, a smirk in his voice.

I smile against his cheek. “Someone you won’t forget.”

His mouth crashes onto mine before I can finish the thought. His kiss is rough, eager. A storm without elegance. Hands greedy as they roam—up my waist, down my back. He presses me against him with a hunger that’s almost pathetic, almost entertaining.

But I let him.

Because I want him to feel like he won. Because I want Rafael toseethis. And because I know what’s coming next.

When I pull away, my lipstick is smeared and Viktor’s pupils are blown wide. His breath hitches as I reach between us, adjusting the hem of his shirt with fingers that ghost just below his waistband.

“I don’t want to wait,” I murmur, soft but dangerous. “There’s a private bathroom near the back hall. Come with me.”

I brush my lips against his ear. “Fast and filthy. Think you can handle it?”

He groans, nodding like a man already undone. Perfect.

I lead him through the crowd like a secret too loud to be ignored.