Chapter 44

We finished our meal, enjoying the lingering peace of the moment. But just as I was about to suggest we take our coffee inside, Monique sat back and stretched, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“I feel like dancing,” she announced, stretching her arms over her head, making the soft fabric of her top rise just enough to tease me with a glimpse of her toned stomach.

I leaned back in my chair, smirking. “Let me guess—Bachata?”

Her lips curled into that wicked little smile I knew all too well. She stepped behind me, her fingers gliding over my shoulders as she leaned down, her breath warm against my ear.

“Of course,” she purred. “It’s sensual, it’s intimate ... and you know how much I love teasing you.”

I exhaled, shaking my head with a chuckle. “I should’ve known.”

Taking my hand, she tugged me to my feet, leading me from the kitchen into the living room. With a playful push, she sat me down on the couch, giving me one last smirk before twirling away toward the bedroom.

“Wait here,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

I watched her disappear, already bracing myself for whatever she had planned.

A few minutes later, she emerged, and I immediately knew I was doomed.

She had changed into a deep red, flowing skirt that clung to her hips before flaring out with every step, the high slit on one side revealing glimpses of her long, toned leg. Her top was black, tight, and off-the-shoulder, leaving her collarbones and shoulders bare, the neckline dipping just low enough to tempt me further.

Without a word, she pressed play on her phone, and the slow, sultry rhythm of Bachata filled the room—the deep, pulsing beat of the drums, the hypnotic strum of the guitar.

Then, she started to move.

Her hips swayed in time with the music, her hands gliding slowly down her own body, caressing the breasts that I so badly wanted to touch. She kept her eyes locked onto mine, full of playful challenge, daring me to just sit there and watch.

I swallowed hard, gripping my knee to keep myself from reaching for her.

She stepped closer, letting her fingertips ghost along the edge of my shoulder before spinning away, her skirt flaring, teasing me with flashes of smooth skin. Every motion was deliberate, controlled, her body rolling in ways that had my pulse pounding.

She was enjoying this—watching me squirm, knowing exactly what she was doing to me.

Lifting her arms above her head, she twisted her body in time with the music, her hands gliding over her chest, down her waist, over her hips, making it impossible not to follow the movement with my eyes.

Then she stepped between my legs, lowering herself slightly so our faces were only inches apart. I could feel her breath against my lips, see the amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Do you like watching me, mon amour?” she whispered.

My voice came out rougher than I intended. “You already know the answer to that.”

She grinned, dragging her hands down my chest to grasp my hardness before pulling away again, putting just enough distance between us to keep me wanting more. Then she continued her dance, moving in a way that was almost sinful—hips rolling, body swaying, teasing me with every second that passed.

I clenched my jaw, my fingers twitching, every muscle in my body telling me to reach for her. But I knew this game. She wanted me to watch. To burn with need. To wait until she decided I’d had enough.

And judging by the smug little smile on her lips, she wasn’t done torturing me yet.