20. Claiming The Dance

CHAPTER 20

Claiming The Dance

WREN

Her pulse thunders beneath my touch, an erratic rhythm that betrays everything she’s trying to hide. Chasing her through the trees has left her breathless, flushed, strands of hair wild. Something primal awakens in me at the sight. She’s stopped struggling now, her body torn between shrinking away and pressing against me. The contradiction captivates me.

One of my hands rests over her breast, not just cupping but holding, feeling the frantic rise and fall as her lungs struggle for air. My other hand remains at her throat, firm but not crushing, a reminder of how completely I have her in my grasp.

She’s shaking, caught between terror and something she doesn’t want to admit even to herself.

And I fucking love it. She’s mine in this moment. Every breath. Every shiver. Every gasp belongs to me.

“Do you feel that?” My hand drops from her breast, skimming over the edge of her shirt, teasing the fabric as it rides up slightly. She stiffens but doesn’t pull away.

“Do you want me to stop? Tell me, and I will.”

Silence.

She’s tense, holding herself rigid, but she doesn’t speak. Doesn’t resist.

“That’s what I thought.” My hand pushes beneath her shirt. Her skin is warm, smooth. I trace small circles along her stomach, feeling the way her muscles contract as my fingers glide higher.

“Wren …” My name is a choked whisper.

“Shhh. Let me show you what it feels like to be wanted.”

My fingers move higher, until my fingertips touch the underside of her breast. Her entire body jerks, a soft gasp escaping her lips, but she doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t tell me to stop.

“That’s it.” I press a kiss to the curve of her throat. “Let yourself feel it. Stop fighting me.”

I catch a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. Monty and Nico come into view, their gazes fixed on us.

“They’re watching you.” My hand moves again, until I can cup her breast through her bra. “They’re seeing what I see. How beautiful you are. How perfect you look when you stop pretending.”

Her head shakes slightly, a weak denial when she arches into my hand. My thumb strokes over her nipple, and it hardens under my touch.

“So sensitive.” I circle her nipple, teasing it until her breathing quickens. “Have you ever been touched like this before, Ballerina? Has anyone ever made you feel this way?”

Her silence tells me everything. Releasing her throat, I reach around and press my palm over her pussy.

“You like this, don’t you? Being touched. Being seen. Being claimed.”

Her breath hitches again, and I press another kiss to her neck. My tongue flicks out, tasting her skin, and I hum softly.

“You taste good. But I bet you taste better here.” My fingers flex against her pussy through her yoga pants.

“Wren …” Her voice is shaky, but I catch the need buried beneath the fear.

I move behind her, press my dick against her ass. “I like the way you say my name. What do you want?”

She doesn’t answer, and that’s enough. My fingers dip under the lace of her bra, finding her bare skin. Her gasp is soft, her back arching involuntarily as I tease her nipple, rolling it between my fingers.

“You’re perfect.” My voice is rough with desire. “The way you respond to me. It’s fucking intoxicating.”

Monty shifts at the edge of my awareness, and my gaze snaps up, catching the way he’s watching where my fingers are toying with her nipple.

“She’s not yours. Don’t forget that.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender, but the hunger in his gaze is clear. It only fuels my possessiveness, my need to mark her as mine, to remind her and everyone else exactly who she belongs to.

My fingers rub a slow circle over her pussy, and she whimpers, shrinking back. I don’t push her. I don’t need to. I’ll get what I want, and the wait will be worth it. Instead I take the hem of her shirt between my fingers and slowly pull it higher, exposing the skin of her stomach and ribs.

Her breath comes in short, ragged bursts as I uncover her bra, the delicate lace doing little to conceal the curves beneath. I let my fingers brush the edge of the material, teasing her, feeling the way her body tenses. My other hand hooks into her bra, and I pull it up, baring her completely.

Her gasp is strangled, almost a sob, and her hands move to cover herself.

“Don’t you dare hide. You belong to me now. Every. Inch. Of. You.” I tilt my head toward my friends. “Doesn’t it excite you? Knowing they can’t touch what’s mine. They can only look.”

Her cheeks flush a deeper shade of red.

“Your nipples are so hard. Begging to be sucked, to be bitten, to be marked.” I pinch one, making her gasp again, and reach into my pocket for my phone. I need to photograph her, capture her responses, the need she’s fighting to deny.

“This is just the beginning,” I whisper against her throat. My lips find the soft skin just beneath her jaw, the spot where her pulse pounds hardest. I press a kiss there, slow and gentle, before sucking hard, marking her. When I pull back to admire my handiwork, a dark bruise is forming on her skin, my second visible claim that makes my dick harden more.

“Now everyone will know. Every time they look at you, they’ll see this and know exactly who you belong to. ”

Monty clears his throat, and I shoot him a warning glance, daring him to say anything. He smirks, but doesn’t move closer.

“Time to go.” I release her, and tug her shirt back down. “But don’t think this is over.”

I raise my phone, capturing her confusion. Every photograph is a trophy, a testament to how I’ve shattered her invisibility.

“Did you enjoy our little game?”

She shakes her head, eyes flicking to where Monty and Nico stand.

Click. She flinches, pupils dilating. Each reaction ignites something darker in me, a need to claim, to own every part of her she won’t admit.

Click. Another photograph—this one capturing how she tilts her head, baring her neck just a little more. It’s almost enough to make me forget the plan and take her right here. Almost.

I pocket my phone. I need both hands for this.

Her eyes lock onto mine, and something flares in them—defiance maybe, or desire. Probably both. The combination drives me to push, to press until she admits what we both know. I thread my fingers into her hair, gripping tight enough to hold her still.

"Still trying to deny it?" I press my thumb to her lower lip, feeling the tremor under my touch. "Let's test that theory."

When I kiss her, it's not gentle. It's possession . She makes a small sound against my mouth—protest or pleasure, it doesn't matter, and her hands come up to push against my chest. I catch them, pinning them between us as I deepen the kiss. The taste of her fear mingles with something sweeter, something she's trying desperately to deny.

This is what I’ve been waiting for. That moment she understands: there’s no running from what’s between us. I bite her lip, and her gasp lets me explore deeper. She tastes of adrenaline and surrender, exactly what I’ve craved.

When I pull back, her lips are swollen, her breathing ragged. I raise my phone one last time, capturing her kiss-bruised mouth, her unfocused eyes, the way she leans toward me, then stops .

Click.

"Perfect." I study the image, satisfaction coursing through me. "Now everyone will see exactly what you've been hiding."

Fear flashes across her face. "You wouldn't?—"

"Post them?" I laugh softly. "No, these are just for me. For now." I trace the curve of her jaw. "But later? When you've stopped fighting this? Then we'll see."

My fingers find the hem of her shirt, sliding beneath to touch bare skin. She jerks at the contact, but I hold her steady.

"Such sensitive skin," I murmur against her ear. "You bruise beautifully." My fingers flick against the mark I’ve left on her throat. “This will be the first of many.”

I gesture to Monty, who disappears around the side of the house, only to return a few minutes later in his car. Nico opens the passenger door, but I wave him away with a look that tells him to back off. This part of the night is mine alone.

"Time to go home, Ballerina." I guide her into the backseat, and follow her inside. "Unless you'd rather stay, and explore what else you might like me to do?"

She presses herself against the door, but I drag her back, until she's on my lap. My arm wraps around her waist, until there’s no space between us.

"Your heart's still racing." I press my hand against her chest. "But we both know it's not just fear anymore. I can feel how you respond to my touch." I pinch her nipple through her bra.

The drive passes in tense silence. I keep one hand on her throat, while my fingers tease her nipples through her t-shirt. Each time she tries to pull away, I tighten my grip slightly. A reminder that she's mine now.

My attention is consumed by her—the way she shivers when my fingers trace patterns on her skin, how her breath catches when I press my lips to her throat. Each reaction feeds something insatiable in me, stored away for later.

When we reach her street, I let her go, but catch her arm before she can open the door. Her skin is hot beneath my touch.

“Tonight is going to haunt you.” I pull her back for another kiss, slower, deeper, a promise she’ll feel long after. “Every time you close your eyes, you’ll remember the excitement of being hunted. Of being caught. Of being kissed.”

I bite her lip, pulling a gasp from her. “And tomorrow, you’ll wonder what else these lips could do.”

I release her, and she practically falls out of the car in her haste to escape. But we both know she's not really escaping anything.

"Sweet dreams, Ballerina." She hurries toward her building, and I admire how even now, she can't help but move with that dancer's grace. "Remember, I'm always watching."