Page 9 of Bend

“Family stuff,” she says finally.

There’s more there. I can feel it. But the way she says it makes it clear that’s as far as she’s willing to go.

“You always dodge questions like that?” I ask.

She picks up her bottle, takes the last sip, and sets it down with quiet finality.

“You always interrogate tourist girls in bars?” she counters.

Touché.

I smirk, lifting my beer to my lips before taking a swig.

She stands before I can respond.

“You dance?” she asks.

The redirect isn’t subtle.

“For you, pretty girl?” I say, pushing to my feet. “Yeah, I dance.”

She doesn’t wait for me to get up. Instead, she smiles, grabs my hand and pulls me into the crowd.

Echo slowly turns to face me and steps in closer.

Her hands land on my shoulders first, fingers curling slightly like she’s testing the weight of me. Mine settle firmly at her hips and the moment she brushes up against me, I can feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her top and the slight tension in her muscles as she adjusts to the closeness, fuck it does something to me.

She moves first. A slow sway as she moves in closer.

Her hips roll forward, brushing against me in time with the music. The friction isn’t subtle, and my body responds before my brain even gets a second to fucking catch up.

Fuck me.

My hands tighten just slightly, thumbs grazing that strip of bare skin between her top and shorts. Warm and soft. She exhales against my neck. A small gasp that’s barely noticeable, but I feel it like a goddamn spark.

Her hands slide down my chest slowly, dragging through the fabric of my shirt like she’s mapping it out as her thigh presses between mine for a just second before she shifts again, grinding closer.

The tension doesn’t just spike. It fucking explodes.

Every roll of her hips sends another pulse of heat straight through me and suddenly I’m hyper-aware of where my hands are, where hers are, and just how fucking close our mouths are. My jaw tightens when she presses in again, harder this time, and I have to steady my breathing so I don’t give away just how much she’s affecting me.

Her gaze drops to my mouth, and fuck me do I feel that look right down to my cock. Then, before I can even think, I lean in, and press my lips to hers.

The kiss isn’t soft.

It’s controlled fucking heat in that dangerous way where neither of us is pretending this is innocent. Her mouth moves against mine with confidence, and when her fingers fist into my shirt and pull me closer, something in my chest snaps tight.

Her hips roll against mine again, slower now, deeper, and it’s getting harder to ignore the effect it’s having on me.

The music disappears, and the room, the people around us, it all fucking fades.

All I feel is her.

We break just long enough to breathe, foreheads almost touching, and our mouths still close enough that every inhale brushes lips.

She studies me like she’s deciding whether to ruin both of us.

Then she grabs my hand and pulls me to the back of the bar.