Chapter One: Just Talk

The ballroom had emptied hours ago.

Soft candlelight still flickered from the centerpieces. The band had packed up, the staff long gone, and only the faint hum of air conditioning broke the silence. The dance floor was clean again, smooth and empty under the chandeliers.

Claire stood in the middle of it all, barefoot and alone, in her white rehearsal dress—the one her mother had called “tastefully seductive.” It hugged her curves with casual elegance, the hem stopping dangerously close to the tops of her thighs. Her blonde curls had loosened over the night, framing her face in soft disarray.

She wasn’t nervous. Not really.

If anything, she felt still. Finally.

Daniel was everything she’d wanted. Kind. Funny. The type of man who made her tea when she was sick, kissed her forehead in public, and never made her feel like she had to perform to be loved. He was safe. In the best way.

She was marrying him tomorrow.

So why hadn’t she gone back to the suite yet?

The sound of footsteps echoed near the ballroom entrance. Claire turned her head just as Jaxon stepped inside—his tall frame silhouetted by the dim light. His dress shirt was half undone, sleeves rolled up, tie gone, shoes silent on the floor.

Of course it was him.

“You just haunting the place now?” he asked, his voice a low, amused drawl.

Claire smiled faintly. “Just needed a second.”

“Thought so.” He held up a water bottle. “I bribed a bartender before they packed up. Figured the bride might still be lurking.”

He tossed it to her underhand. She caught it.

“Thanks,” she said, unscrewing the cap.

Jaxon stepped onto the dance floor casually, his movements always effortless, like the world adjusted around him. He didn’t ask if she was okay. He didn’t need to.

“Big day tomorrow,” he said.

“Mmm.”

“You ready?”

Claire looked over at him, amused. “Isn’t that usually the question for the groom?”

“Daniel’s already asleep. You’re the mystery.”

“There’s no mystery. I love him.”

“Didn’t say you didn’t.”

His tone wasn’t challenging. If anything, it was respectful. Curious. Like he was trying to figure out a puzzle without ruining it.

They stood in silence for a moment. She took a sip of water and studied him.

Jaxon was… difficult. Always had been. He was cocky, too quick with a joke, always slightly unbuttoned. The kind of man who made women laugh too easily and never stuck around long enough to explain himself. But he’d been good to Daniel. Loyal. Funny. Honest, even when it was uncomfortable.

And somehow, always around her.

Too close. Too often.

“You and Daniel have been friends since… college?” she asked.

“First year. He hated me.”

“I can see why.”

He chuckled. “Fair.”

“But he kept you around?”

“I grew on him. Like a rash.”

Claire laughed.

“He’s lucky,” she said after a moment.

“He knows.”

Jaxon’s voice softened a bit. “He really does.”

They stood facing each other now, a few feet apart.

Claire’s eyes drifted down his chest for a half-second—just a breath too long. The open buttons, the strong collarbones. Her gaze snapped back up.

He didn’t comment. Didn’t smirk. For once, he just… watched her.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said, quiet.

Claire blinked.

“Jaxon…”

“Not hitting on you. Just telling the truth.”

She didn’t respond right away.

There was a weight to the air now—unspoken, dense with something they both felt but wouldn’t name. The kind of thing that clung to silence, that grew stronger the longer they didn’t move.

“You ever think about how weird this all is?” she finally asked.

“What part?”

“All of it. The wedding. The families. The lifelong promises. The being certain.”

Jaxon’s mouth twitched. “Is that you being uncertain?”

Claire shook her head. “No. I know what I want.”

“Then you’re already ahead of most people.”

She smiled.

Another pause.

“You know,” she said, tilting her head, “you’re being kind of decent tonight.”

“You say that like it’s a surprise.”

“It is.”

That earned a low chuckle from him.

The speaker system hummed softly behind them, still on from earlier. A slow, crackly love song began to play, soft and unobtrusive, like a ghost of the party.

Claire turned toward the sound.

Jaxon followed her gaze.

“Weird they didn’t shut it off,” he murmured.

“I don’t mind,” she said. “It’s… nice.”

They stood there, the music drifting through the room, soft strings filling the quiet.

“You staying a while?” she asked.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

He met her eyes.

“If you’re still here.”

Claire didn’t answer. She looked away, toward the dance floor.

And somewhere in her stomach, something turned over—something light and dangerous and deeply wrong.

---

Chapter Two: The First Dance

The music changed.

It drifted in softly—an old jazz tune, slow and smoky, curling through the empty ballroom like cigarette smoke and secrets. Claire turned her head slightly, one heel still off, her body warm with wine and late-night quiet.

She moved without thinking. One barefoot step onto the polished floor. Then another. Her hips swayed just a little too much for a solo bride the night before her wedding—but that was part of the thrill.

She wasn’t trying to be seductive.

Not really.

But she knew Jaxon was watching.

He sat a few feet away, half in shadow, leaning back in a chair with his long legs spread and one arm draped lazily over the backrest. His eyes followed her every move—dark, unreadable, too focused for comfort.

She felt it like a hand on her skin.

Claire turned her back to him and began to dance.

Nothing dramatic. Just a sway of the hips, a roll of her shoulders. She closed her eyes, letting the music guide her. The hem of her white rehearsal dress fluttered as she spun slowly, curls brushing her cheek.

She smiled to herself. It felt good. Liberating. A little wicked.

She slid her hands down her sides, swaying more slowly now, hips leading every motion. She let the song sink into her bones and gave herself over to it—because why not? She was getting married tomorrow. This was her last night of freedom.

Behind her, she heard a chair creak.

She turned her head slightly and caught his stare.

Still seated. Still watching.

But his jaw was tighter now.

Good, she thought. Let him squirm.

She bit her lip and twirled again, letting the skirt of her dress ride just a bit higher as she arched her back. She didn’t look at him this time. She didn’t have to. His eyes burned through the air.

The song faded. Another began—slower this time. Deep bass, soft vocals.

She was about to step away when his voice broke the silence.

“You like putting on a show, don’t you?”

She froze mid-step and looked at him. Her cheeks were flushed, but she met his gaze with a crooked smile.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted, breathless.

Jaxon stood.

Slowly.

He walked toward her, not rushed, not hesitant, but with the kind of calm tension that made her skin tighten. He stopped just a few inches away, tall and solid and far too close.

“You always dance alone?” he asked.

Her heart thudded.

“Tonight, yeah.”

He studied her face for a long beat.

“Do you want to dance?” he asked, voice low.

She hesitated.

Claire wasn’t drunk. Not really. But she was warm, loose, lightheaded. She could still feel Daniel’s goodnight kiss on her cheek, could still picture the suit he’d wear tomorrow. She loved him.

But Jaxon was here.

And Jaxon was staring at her like she was the only thing that had ever held his interest for longer than a breath.

She swallowed hard.

“Just one,” she whispered.

He nodded once, held out a hand.

She took it.

His palm was rough and warm against hers.

He pulled her in slowly, one hand resting at her waist, the other holding her fingers. Their bodies met—not flush, but close. Her chest brushed his as they began to move, slow and deliberate.

She could feel the heat in him.

His touch was light. Careful. But she still felt trapped between his body and the music, the way he moved like he wasn’t dancing—just claiming space she’d forgotten was hers.

“Still having fun?” he murmured near her ear.

“It’s just a dance,” she said, trying to sound breezy.

“Sure,” he said. “And I’m just being polite.”

She looked up at him, biting back a smile.

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re beautiful.”

Her breath caught.

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

His hand slid slightly lower on her back—not obscene, but lower than Daniel ever went when they danced in public. She felt his fingertips brush bare skin just above the dip of her dress.

“Jaxon…”

“Relax,” he said, voice rougher now. “Just following your lead.”

She couldn’t look at him anymore.

She dropped her head slightly, let her cheek graze the edge of his collarbone, lips near his neck but not touching. She felt him exhale, slow and hard.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she whispered.

“Then why are you shaking?”

Her fingers curled tighter against his chest.

“I’m not.”

“Liar.”

His lips weren’t on her, but they hovered close—so close she could feel his breath against the shell of her ear.

“You know what the worst part is?” he murmured.

“What?”

“I’m not even trying to fuck this up.”

Her knees almost buckled.

“I know you love him. I know you’re loyal. I’m not asking for anything more than this. Just… this.”

Claire’s heart slammed in her chest. The music wrapped around them like smoke. Her body trembled in his hold—not because she was afraid, but because she knew exactly how dangerous it felt to be wanted like this.

She looked up again. He was already watching her.

“You can stop anytime,” he said, his voice barely a growl. “Just say it.”

She didn’t.

Instead, she kept dancing. Slowly. Closer.

Her thigh brushed his. Her breath mingled with his. Her pulse beat against his chest.

And when his hand tightened at her waist, she didn’t move away.

---

Chapter Three: The Second Dance

The next song came on like silk—low, slow, the kind of rhythm that didn’t ask for movement but pulled it out of your body anyway.

Claire didn’t let go.

Jaxon’s hand was still on her waist. Hers rested on his chest now, not clasped politely but splayed flat, feeling the steady thud of his heart under her palm. They’d danced through the first song in silence, heat building under the skin of every brush, every shift.

Now… they were closer.

And neither of them pretended it wasn’t happening.

Claire let herself sway into him just a little more. Her leg slid against his. Her cheek brushed the base of his neck again—and lingered.

Jaxon’s breath grew rougher, slower.

“You’re good at this,” she murmured, surprising herself.

“At what?”

“Making it feel like the world doesn’t exist outside this room.”

“Maybe the world doesn’t,” he replied. “Not right now.”

She bit her lip, but smiled. “That’s dangerous.”

“Only if you let it be.”

Their steps slowed. His hand slid just slightly lower on her back, almost cradling the top of her ass. Her eyes flicked up to him, but she didn’t pull away.

“So,” he said casually, like they weren’t pressed together chest-to-thigh, “Tell me something about Daniel.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Why?”

“Because you’re marrying him tomorrow. And I want to know what makes the guy worthy of you.”

She narrowed her eyes, but it was playful. “You planning to give a toast or steal me?”

He smirked. “Maybe both.”

She laughed—and then gave in.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Daniel is… gentle. Thoughtful. He pays attention to the smallest things. Like the fact that I hate olives, or that I always get cold when I nap. He keeps an extra sweater in his car just for me.”

Jaxon tilted his head slightly. “He sounds like the human version of chamomile tea.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s called stability, Jaxon.”

“Mm,” he murmured, his thumb now tracing subtle circles against the curve of her spine. “I’m not knocking it. Just trying to imagine it.”

“What?”

“You. With someone who always plays it safe.”

She stiffened, just a little. “He’s not boring.”

“Didn’t say he was.” His voice was low again, careful. “But you, you’ve got a fire in you. I see it when you get mad. When you laugh too hard. When you’re teasing me and trying not to admit you’re enjoying it.”

She looked up at him, her expression unreadable.

“Daniel loves me,” she said quietly.

“I believe that.”

“And I love him.”

“I know.”

They kept moving. Slower now. Her hips brushed his as they turned. Her lips were just below his jaw, and when she spoke, her breath warmed his skin.

“He… he makes me feel safe.”

“And right now?” Jaxon asked, husky. “Do you feel safe with me?”

Claire’s mouth opened slightly. She didn’t answer.

Because the truth was—**no**, not exactly. Not the kind of safe Daniel gave her.

But something inside her liked that.

Her thighs clenched involuntarily as she shifted in his arms. Her body was reacting faster than her brain—warm, achy, aware of every inch of him pressed against her. Even the feel of his belt buckle against her abdomen made her skin flush.

Jaxon leaned closer, his lips beside her temple.

“You’re turned on,” he said softly, like he was reading her mind. “Aren’t you?”

She stiffened.

“Jaxon…”

“I can feel it in the way you breathe. How your fingers twitch on my chest. You’re thinking about Daniel and talking about him, but you’re pressed against me.”

Her nails curled slightly into his shirt. She hated how right he was.

“It’s just the wine,” she whispered.

“No. It’s me,” he said. “It’s us.”

She inhaled sharply.

He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t even lower his hand from where it hovered at the small of her back. But his voice? His voice was doing things to her that no hands ever could.

“What do you think he’d do if he saw this?” Jaxon asked. “You… melting against me like this?”

She pulled back slightly, guilt hitting her like a ripple. But his hand was still on her, grounding her.

“This isn’t fair,” she said.

“No. It isn’t.”

“I love him.”

“Then tell me to stop.”

She opened her mouth. Then closed it.

The song shifted again. Slower. Steamier.

She didn’t move away.

“Claire…” Jaxon murmured, watching her like a wolf watches a flicker of weakness in the snow. “You think this is dangerous now? Wait until we don’t stop.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her skin was flushed, breath uneven.

“We are stopping,” she said.

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “You’re just letting me feel how much you like this… first.”

She hated that he was right. She hated how wet she was under the dress. And most of all, she hated that her nipples were hard against the fabric and Jaxon definitely noticed.

But she kept dancing.

Because no matter how wrong it was, it still wasn’t a kiss. Still wasn’t a touch she couldn’t pretend didn’t happen.

Not yet.

---

Chapter Four: The Third Dance (Final Version)

The music slowed into a deep, pulsing rhythm that barely filled the silence.

Claire wasn’t sure how they got here—how her body ended up pressed flush against Jaxon’s, her back to his chest, hips tucked right between his. One minute she was spinning away to break the tension… the next, she was caged in his arms, his breath warming the side of her neck.

And now?

Now she could feel him.

All of him.

Hard. Thick. Unapologetic.

Pressed exactly where she didn’t need temptation.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She should’ve moved. Should’ve stepped away the second she felt him start to grow behind her. But her legs stayed put. Weak. Wanting.

“You feel that?” Jaxon whispered, voice rough and low. “That’s not on purpose. That’s what happens when you let me hold you like this.”

Her eyes fluttered shut.

“You’re evil,” she breathed.

“You’re still dancing with me.”

His hand rested just above her waist, fingers curled around her stomach like he was holding her together. Then… slowly… it began to rise.

His palm slid upward. Over her ribs. Light. Careful. Like he was memorizing every inch of her skin through the thin layer of satin.

Claire bit her lip. Her head tilted slightly back toward his shoulder.

“Say stop,” he murmured. “You still can.”

She didn’t.

His hand kept going. Up. Just beneath the swell of her breast now.

Not cupping. Not yet.

She whimpered.

“God, Claire…” he growled softly, lips brushing her temple. “Do you have any idea how fucking perfect you feel right now?”

Her knees buckled slightly at his words. Her thighs squeezed together. Her dress felt tighter somehow. Thinner. Every part of her was pulsing.

He shifted behind her. Just a little. Enough to make the pressure of his growing erection unmistakable—thick and fully hard now, straining against her ass as the rhythm of the music guided them in a slow, wicked sway.

Her breath came in shallow, trembling gasps.

And then—

Right before his hand could rise that last inch to cup her breast—

She reached up. Caught his wrist.

And turned her head over her shoulder to meet his mouth with her cheek.

“No,” she said quietly, eyes wide and hot. “Not tonight.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, but her smile was there—wobbly, yes, but playful. A warning. A dare.

Jaxon stopped. Froze. But his arm stayed wrapped around her.

She turned forward again, kept dancing. Back to chest. Her hips brushing his. Her hand rested on his forearm now, as if anchoring herself to sanity.

“You’re killing me,” he muttered against her ear.

“I know,” she whispered. “I’m killing myself too.”

He exhaled hard through his nose.

But he didn’t try again.

They just… kept dancing.

Her back against his chest.

His rock-hard length throbbing behind her.

And Claire?

She didn’t stop the sway of her hips. Didn’t stop biting her lip. Didn’t stop wondering how she was ever going to look Daniel in the eye again, while still feeling the ghost of Jaxon’s hands all over her body.

---

Chapter Five: The Edge

She didn’t know how long they’d been dancing.

Maybe it had only been a few minutes.

Maybe hours.

All Claire knew was that her body no longer belonged to her.

Her back was pressed to Jaxon’s chest, his arm snug around her waist, and his other hand holding hers like they were ballroom dancing. Like this was some elegant moment. Like she wasn’t currently soaked through her panties, her thighs sticky and trembling, her every breath a quiet plea for mercy.

And he hadn’t even kissed her.

But his body behind her told a different story. He was hard. Thick. His cock pressed low and firm against her ass, and he wasn’t doing a damn thing to hide it anymore.

What made it worse—what made her moan softly without meaning to—was the way he started to move.

Not much. Just a small shift in rhythm.

His hips.

Pressing forward.

Drawing back.

Forward.

Back.

The slow, deliberate simulation of fucking her. Still clothed. Still quiet. But unmistakable.

“Jaxon…” she gasped, barely able to breathe.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “You’re doing fine.”

His voice was calm. Deep. Like he was helping her come down from a panic attack instead of building her up toward one.

“You’re so wet, Claire,” he murmured, brushing his nose along her hairline. “I can feel the heat through your dress. You’re gushing for me.”

Her knees gave a little. Her head tipped back, landing against his shoulder.

“I can’t…” she whispered.

“You are,” he said. “You’re letting me grind my cock against your ass. You’re soaked. You’re letting your fiancé’s best friend dance with you like he’s about to bend you over and rail you stupid.”

She moaned—just a sound, not a word.

His hips pressed again. Slower. Firmer.

Her pussy clenched so hard it hurt.

Her heart was racing. Her vision blurred. Her hand gripped his forearm where it crossed her waist. Every part of her was fire and sin.

And then, his mouth brushed her ear.

“Wanna know what I’d do if we weren’t in public?”

Claire whimpered.

“I’d slide your panties to the side. Just enough to sink in. Just the tip. Make you beg before I gave you the rest.”

She gasped.

“You’d be so tight,” he murmured. “So fucking hot. I wouldn’t be able to stop. I’d grip your hips and slam into you so hard you’d scream.”

“God—Jaxon,” she moaned. “Don’t—”

“And you’d love it,” he went on. “You’d take every inch of me and still beg for more.”

Her head dropped to his chest. She was panting. Her hips had started moving with him now, rolling gently back as his ground forward.

She could feel her slick soaking the crotch of her panties now—**undeniably wet. Shamefully wet.**

“I’m not cheating,” she whispered, as if saying it would somehow undo the way her body was trembling in his arms.

“I know,” he said softly. “But your pussy doesn’t.”

Her thighs trembled.

And then, somehow, it got worse.

Or better.

She wasn’t even sure how the words formed. Maybe it was the wine. Or the way he made her feel. Or just the unbearable pressure between her legs. But suddenly, she heard herself say:

“You’re… big, aren’t you?”

The words hung in the air. Heavy. Shameless.

Her eyes widened the moment they were out of her mouth. She froze.

“Wait. I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” Jaxon growled behind her, voice suddenly darker.

Her face flushed. She tried to turn her head, but he leaned in, close, his breath hot against her neck.

“You’ve been wondering, haven’t you?” he whispered. “Ever since that day at the pool. Or that night I came out of the shower and you looked for too long.”

Claire whimpered. She had no idea how this was happening. She had no idea how she got here—*still dancing*, somehow, but also grinding herself into his rock-hard cock while discussing his size like it was casual conversation.

“You think Daniel could handle watching me stretch you open?” Jaxon asked. “Think he’d cry, or jerk off in the corner?”

“Stop it,” she gasped, face red, voice shaking.

“No,” he whispered. “You asked what I was working with. Now I want to know something.”

“What?”

“When’s the last time someone really fucked you, Claire?”

She couldn’t answer.

Because her pussy clenched again at just the question.

She was dizzy. Floating. Her head stayed on his chest, his arms around her like she belonged there. Her hips moved in time with his.

Still dancing.

Still somehow… technically innocent.

But her body?

Her panties were soaked. Her nipples were hard. Her core throbbed like it was ready to take him now—here, against the wall, on the floor, anywhere.

And she had no idea who she was anymore.