Slow Dancing (The Second Chances Series Book 4)

by Isobelle Cate

  She raised her head to kiss his chest, her tongue gliding slowly around the tattoo before she flicked his hard nipple. Bethany was on fire. She needed friction, needed Drake to take her as much and as hard as he wanted.

  As if he’d heard her, Drake started to move. His slow, long languid strokes allowed Bethany to feel every centimetre of skin of his delicious cock. But the need to satisfy the craving that seemed to permanently reside in her womb made her want to take it faster.

  “Drake…yesss…” She rocked her hips meeting Drake’s every thrust. He was taking her again on a ride that would allow her to soar. Every thrust hit that pleasure spot inside her. Drake braced himself on his arms so his shaft could slide against her clit. Bethany whimpered when Drake knelt up, taking her with him. Her thighs spread over his. He looked down between them, watching his cock go in and out of her as he held her hips helping her, slamming hard and faster into her. Bethany’s hands gripped his shoulder and his forearm, her head thrown back, her breasts bouncing.

  “Baby, your pussy sucks so good.” Drake said before his mouth sucked on one hardened nipple.

  “More, Drake…I need more…,” she begged as ecstasy intensified drawing her closer to the edge.

  Drake threw Bethany back down on the bed, making her laugh before it turned to a moan when Drake took her with one hard thrust. He grabbed her legs and placed them on his shoulders. Bethany screamed with pleasure when the angle took him deeper.

  “Fuck, Bee. I’m not going to last.”

  “Fuck me hard, Drake. Fuck me hard,” she said over and over again until her collected desire burst and she cried once more as she went over. Her whimpers continued even before her last orgasm ended. One…two…three more thrusts and Drake followed her with a guttural groan before he collapsed on her, his face buried at her neck, his heart racing just as much as her own. Bethany’s legs flopped down almost spread eagled on the bed.

  “Fuck that was good,” Drake panted. “I’m never going to get enough of you Bethany Brooke.” He huffed his chuckle. “This is just the beginning.”

  Bethany’s pulse still raced, her heart thudding. The pleasure she experienced still blanketing her in bliss.

  How could she tell Drake that this might actually be the end?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Drake locked the AMG’s door as he made his way to the gym. He couldn’t stop the grin that refused to subside making him probably look dopey to anyone. Before today, people gave him a wide berth not wanting to have their heads bitten off for no reason.

  Making love to Bethany was more than he imagined and more than he expected. Bethany Brooke was hot. He wished he had been her first. He would have treated her like a princess. Being with her only increased his craving and when he tasted her…

  His cock twitched.

  Bethany had the most delectable body on the face of the fucking planet. Drake wanted to chart every inch of her, the swells of her breasts, her pussy, the curve of her ass, the narrowness of her waist. He wanted to keep her in bed so he could fuck her, make sweet love to her until she screamed herself hoarse and his balls had nothing left to give. She was satin, silk, and honey. He could feast on her for hours, enjoy watching her come, seek his pleasure in her screams. The colour of her eyes becoming a deep blue sapphire, her cheeks, cleavage her stomach flushed from her release. He enjoyed her shattering under his cock’s driving force until he too went over with her, his groan forced out from his belly up to his throat. He lay against her breasts, both waiting for their heated breaths to come down from where angels resided.

  It was Bethany who moved away, walking into the bathroom. He had chuckled at her unsteady gait and laughed harder when she glared at him over her shoulder. Drake liked it that Bethany was comfortable in her own nudity. Her hips swayed as she walked, her legs long and shapely. He followed her to the shower because he couldn’t stop himself. He wanted to taste her once more, let her essence permanently stay on his tongue – he ate her pussy while she sat on the edge of the sink, her fingers sinking, raking and pulling his hair until her orgasm bounced against the bathroom walls. He took her in the shower, Bethany’s back against the wall, her legs around his waist while he drove deep and hard into her.

  Holy fuck. He didn’t expect being skin on skin could make him delirious with hunger. He watched ecstasy make her even more beautiful, their combined desire coating his cock as it is slid in and out of her hot wet pussy until she screamed again and begged him to stop yet demanded that he go on. And when she came once more he left her body, plastering his seed on her stomach. Taking her in the shower and staying inside her pussy was sheer fucking heaven.

  Frustration wriggled inside him and he winced when his balls berated him with a dose of a mild aching sensation. Better that than black balls.

  How the fuck was he to know he’d get Bethany to bed? The whole time she had given him the brush off, then invited him to sleep with her. It should have been simple but he wasn’t used to women blowing hot and cold. Shit, if a hook-up did that to him, he’d happily leave without a backward glance. He’d move on to the next willing woman. But Bethany had become an enigma he wanted to solve. He sure as hell wasn’t going anywhere until she understood that he wasn’t going to leave at all.

  He could have taken her again but he didn’t trust himself to be able to withdraw the next time around. It didn’t matter that Bethany had told him she was on birth control. He didn’t want her to carry all of the responsibility of a non in-vitro fertilisation. If Bethany didn’t have to see Cinzia, Drake would have told her not to move until he came back with a box of condoms and possibly go through all of it. He was going make bloody sure this time that he stocked up before meeting up with her tonight.

  He entered the gym and tilted his head in greeting at Kresta, the receptionist.

  “Hey, Drake, you’ve got a visitor.” She smiled amicably as she handed him several envelopes. “Miles is with him now.”

  “Ta.” His attention was already on the post shuffling through them by the time he entered the gym’s main floor. Chainsmokers’ ‘Honest’ filtered through the Bose speakers mixed with the grunts, jibes, and the sound of gloves hitting training mitts. Drake smirked at the sight of Jimmy grunting and roaring after lifting a one hundred twenty pound barbell. He was surrounded by the rest of the fighters who cheered him on.

  Drake caught sight of Miles and his grin dissolved. Acid churned in his gut and his blood rushed to his head. Air moved quick through his flaring nostrils and he had to hold on to Miles’ meditation shit to calm him down. He sauntered towards them like he didn’t have a bloody care in the world.

  All he wanted to do was goad Andrew Tabler to a fight. Jail time would be so worth it.

  If he got caught.

  Miles caught a glimpse of Drake through the glass wall of the ground floor office before he turned his attention back to Andrew. He was stone faced as opposed to Andrew’s smug smile.

  Drake inserted the post into his back pocket and breezed into the room. Andrew turned sideways. This time his smile rivalled a croc’s.

  “Rosen,” he greeted Drake like a long lost friend rather than the person who kicked Drake into the gates of hell. “How’ve you been, mate?”

  Drake scrutinised his nemesis. Clean cut hair, impeccable GQ clothes and sporting a ring on his small finger, Andrew was the epitome of prick. But he had muscled up.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “Dude, that’s no way to greet a co-owner of EC.” Andrew reproached.

  Drake’s brow pulled up at the moniker. “Says who? Harvey?” He walked around the desk, threw the post on the desk and sat, resting his feet on the table. The soles of his shoes faced Andrew and the man didn’t seem to have any idea what Drake had just done.

  He chuckled. “Not a chance. Those papers you’re holding won’t stand in court.”

  “Really?” Andrew’s brow quirked.

  “Yeah, really.”

  Andrew’s eyes narrowed. “I own sixty
percent of this place, Rosen. You should play nice.”

  “And I’m telling you that you don’t.” Drake shrugged as nonchalantly as he could when all he wanted to do was haul Andrew’s sorry ass to the ring and beat the living shit out of him. “Caius committed fraud when he sold those shares to you. So you can get the fuck out of my gym. You wouldn’t want to be caught in the company of low-lives like me, Tabler. On second thought, you’re a low life too, aren’t you? You’re just on top of the shit pile. That’s the only thing that separates you from me.”

  Andrew looked down his nose at Drake. His eyes flared with resentment from hell. Drake didn’t give a fuck. He grinned—and the more he did, the more Andrew looked like he wanted out of his skin. Suddenly, his face cleared, his lips pursed in thought.

  “Caius was not as discreet as he should have been.”

  A grin curved Drake’s mouth while his body tensed with the disgust he felt for the man facing him. “You really want to talk about that here? You’re more stupid than I thought. Lawyer up. I’m taking you to court.”

  Andrew cackled. “Go ahead, I dare you.”

  Drake turned away and burst into a chuckle. Thank fuck for Oliver Cray’s intervention. “You wouldn’t want to goad me, Tabler or I will take everything you own and just leave you with the clothes on your back.”

  Andrew’s eyes glittered with hatred. Drake couldn’t understand where it was coming from. Then again, he was used to being the brunt of someone else’s disdain. Starting with his own dad.

  So he really didn’t give a shit.

  “You don’t have a leg to stand on.” Drake eased deeper into his chair. “Your solicitor should advise you to just give this up.”

  “I’m not giving this up.” Andrew hissed through clenched teeth, then sneered. “How long are you willing to drag this? A month? Three months? Years? Do you even have that kind of money?

  Drake’s grin widened. “You have no idea.”

  Andrew’s cockiness faltered, apprehension rising in his eyes before he stamped it down. “Haul me off to court and I’ll make bloody sure the gym closes for as long as the case is being heard.”

  Drake sat up, his stomach plummeting to an icy surface. His nostrils flared as he breathed. He shot a glance at Miles whose grey eyes were dark with silent rage and were digging daggers at Andrew’s head.

  “What the fuck does that even mean? If you pull off another stunt and run to daddy like the Huey you are ˗˗˗”

  Andrew became infuriated. Small satisfaction that gave Drake when Andrew had a loaded gun pointed at the gym.

  His gym.

  “Lock those papers in a fraud case and the courts will put this gym under administration.”

  “The fuck they will,” Drake growled.

  “Drake,” Miles snapped.

  Drake’s eyes burned with fury he had bottled up inside for so long. He was hanging on a thin thread not to bash in Andrew’s preppy nose.

  Andrew’s pinched mouth tilted in a cruel smile.

  “Knew you’d see my side of things.” He straightened his blazer and pulled at his cuff links. “You riff raff always do what you’re told.”

  Before Drake could move, Miles grabbed Andrew by the back of his collar, whirled him around and slammed his head against the door jamb. The glass shuddered on impact.

  “What the hell!” Andrew attempted to jerk away, but Miles held steadfast belying the strength in his wiry frame.

  “You’re no longer under the protection of the bloody head teacher or your father, Tabler.” Miles voice was deceptively soft. “I know how fond you are of being the centre of attention. So get out of this office and crow like the goddamned cock you are.”

  Miles let go of Andrew and pulled the door open. There was a square welt on Andrew’s forehead where he hit the pillar. Andrew pushed hard causing Miles to lose his balance.

  “Oi!”

  Jimmy and some of the fighters strode to the office. The scowls on their faces were enough to make grown men piss in their pants.

  Andrew jabbed at Drake. “I’m suing you for assault.”

  “I didn’t touch you.” Drake planted his hands on his hips. “Then again you were never good in maths.”

  “You alright, boss?” Jimmy and the rest crowded the entrance blocking Andrew’s exit. A few of the patrons stopped mid-training looking at their direction.

  “Kick him out.” Drake extended his arm and flicked his hand.

  “Like putting a boot up his ass kind of kick him out?” Jimmy’s eyes lit up.

  Andrew pushed through the wall of muscle, face purple with rage and a dash of pink forehead. The wall of fighters didn’t budge.

  “Drake?”

  Drake simply nodded. Jimmy looked disappointed but signalled the others to give way. Andrew rammed through, his phone already by his ear as he left.

  Drake moved to Miles who was still on the floor.

  “Had I known you were itching for a fight with Tabler, I’d have asked you to take my place back then.”

  “And stifle you to be the better man?” Miles grunted as he stood, grateful for Drake’s arm. He shook his head. “Then I’d never know how much drive you had.”

  “Back handed compliment, Coach?”

  “Don’t get swell-headed.” Miles glared.

  Drake shook his head, his mouth in a rueful grin.

  Jimmy scratched his head. “What was that all about?”

  “A matter of differing opinions.” Miles eyed them. “Get your ass back in training!”

  Jimmy gave them both a baffled look before he and the rest of the fighters returned to the floor and ring.

  “What did he want?” Drake sat on the sofa.

  “Said he wanted to see what his investment looked like.” Miles plopped down beside him. He belted out a groan before he swivelled his head. “You need to tell them, Drake. I know Jimmy and the rest won’t interfere but they have a right to know and Andrew showing up here will lead to a lot of questions.”

  “Let them and I’ll let them know when I’m good and ready.” Drake stood. “I need to talk to Barry Slater.”

  “What for?”

  “What Andrew said, Coach. He fucking scored on that one and I don’t know much legal shit to save my life.” At Miles’ sarcastic brow lift, Drake continued, “Okay, I do but not about corporate law.”

  “Same fight, different environment, son.” Miles grunted, rubbing his lower back when he stood. He pointed to his temple. “Shrewdness and staying up during a standoff will keep you at an advantage. Right…going out to beat the men’s sorry excuses for bodies. You training after you make the call?”

  “Pass.” Drake fished out his phone from his pocket. “Thanks, sir.”

  “What for?” Miles shuffled towards the door.

  “For saving me from prison.”

  The former coach paused, his hand on the door handle. He looked over his shoulder.

  “Time you started saving yourself, Drake. I’m getting too old for this shit.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Sorry, I’m late.”

  The bell overhead tinkled daintily as Bethany entered the floral shop. It would have been a nice touch to get one of those battery operated chimes but she and Cinzia agreed that a bell went more with the quaint ambiance they wanted for the place.

  “Cinzia?” Her forehead pulled together while she made her way to the backroom. Everywhere, the scents of flowers, greenery, and moist earth wrapped her in warmth and solace. A long wide work table dominated the space with an unfinished floral arrangement waiting for its creator to resume its creation. Scattered on the table’s surface were trimmed leaves, floral foam blocks, solitary petals, and trimming shears. Along the wall were vases of all shapes, sizes, and material—rom glass to metal to wicker. A pile of flat boxes leaned against the wall while another part of the wall had several spools of wire, ribbon, and lace.

  “Outside, cara.” Cinzia’s voice floated loud and strong from the store’s back before steps on the
concrete floor signalled her arrival. “The flowers arrived so I had to put them at the back for the time being.”

  Bethany’s lips curved upwards. She couldn’t stop her imagination from giving her a preview of the endless possibilities for the store. On the same time the next day was the official opening of Expectation Blooms. In less than twenty-four hours, her life was going to change. She was finally going to leave her past and all its vulgarity behind. She had been waiting for this moment, poured blood and sweat into getting out of the life she was forced to live. Still, doubt wriggled at the back of her mind, taunting her. She pushed it back forcing herself not to think of a less than perfect launch.

  “How’s Amara?” Cinzia kept busy while they spoke.

  “She’s great.” Bethany sat on the stool opposite her friend. “Told me stories of the flower shops she happened to see. She said, ‘I can’t wait to get my hands on the flowers and make something out of them.’”

  “Ahh good. That young lady has a good head on her shoulders. Like her mama.” Cinzia smiled.

  “You’re such a flatterer.” Bethany rolled her eyes, chuckling.

  “Like you’re not?” Cinzia scoffed. She peered over her glasses. “And how did she take her grandfather’s hospitalisation?”

  “Hard,” Bethany admitted sighing. “She’s staying with them now, waiting on Dad hand and foot.” She flicked her hair away from her neck. “By the way, Justine gave me a list of the booze we need for the club. We’re running low on Jack, single malts, and bitters.”