Page 133 of Wicked Bonds

“Let’s dance on the beach instead,” he suggested, kicking off his own shoes and socks. “Unless you can’t keep up in the sand.”

The taunt lit a fire within her soul. “You have no idea what I can do, B.”

“Then show me, vixen.” He nipped her earlobe. Not sharply, just enough to tease. “Do your best.”

Her lips curled. Balthazar had said that exact line to her that night. Right before she’d fucked him on a barstool.

“Mmm, is that what comes next?” he asked, his mouth still against her ear. “Where did we fuck?”

“We danced first.” And he’d made her come in front of the crowd. “Then we went to the abandoned bar over there. Several people watched.”

It’d been such an intense sensation with all their envious eyes on them.

The air had hummed with sex and need, calling to her Seraphim soul.

Similar to how it did now.

Except it felt so much more intimate than it had before. Because Balthazar was in her head, hearing the want from deep within her spirit. He could anticipate her every move, knew all her desires, and read her body almost as well as her mind.

“You enjoy being watched.” He spoke the words as a statement, not a question. His palms grasped her hips, whirling her around before she could respond.

Not that she needed to.

He already knew the truth.

Exhibitionism always appealed to her. Voyeurism, too. It just depended on the situation. She lived for the moment, indulging in whatever atmosphere the universe had created for that precise minute of time.

His lips brushed hers, his gaze holding a thousand promises underlined in sin. He didn’t ask if she was ready to dance. He just started to move.

And she met him step for step, twirl for twirl, dip for dip.

The sensual beat from the dance floor bar echoed around them, the music softer than their original dance, yet equally as powerful.

Their movements matched the song’s intent, sensuality thickening the warm air. Balthazar twisted Leela into a position that caused the tips of her long blonde hair to skim the sand. Then he whirled her back upright, catching her deftly by the hips.

“Dancing,” he murmured, his lips grazing hers, “is my favorite kind of foreplay.”

His hips pressed into hers, the impressive bulge touching her lower belly. Then they were flying across the beach again, their feet carrying them as expertly as her wings.

She told him how he’d slid his hand up her skirt last time, stroking her to climax in front of the crowd. But rather than repeat the act, he continued to dance with her, drawing out the moment, prolonging the expectation, and leaving her to wonder what he would do next.

She’d shared the memory.

Would he repeat it?

Or create a new one?

His gaze sparkled in the night, the secrets in his head a seductive glimmer she wanted to explore. But he gave nothing away as he whirled her into oblivion, his firm body pressing enticingly against hers with an erotic grace that set her veins on fire.

She indulged in the game, using some of her own moves to increase the connection. A shift of her hips. A brush against his groin. Her lips ghosting along the smooth skin of his neck or his hand, depending on whatever position he put her in.

A crowd had begun to gather at the edges, everyone intrigued by the godlike beings dancing in the night.

Balthazar lifted her into a throw, caught her with ease, and sent her hair down to the sand again. Only, when he righted her, she wrapped her thighs around his waist in a grip that begged for sex.

He let her head fall back once more, his palms skimming her sides, then he whipped her upward to press her chest against his own. “You’re a goddess, Lee,” he praised. “And fucking perfect.”

Her ripped skirt gave their audience a clear view of her legs, making it very apparent that she wore nothing else beneath her dress.