“Don’t squeeze too tight,” I croak. “I’ll break in half.”

He sets me down. “I’d say congratulations, but you’re so stupid,” he says, and this time I get a good hook to his shoulder. He rocks back on his heels and chuckles. “Just saying, you could’ve had this…” He gestures to himself. “But you chose that.” His hand waves out behind me. Warm arms find my waist, jolting me on the spot.

“I’m funnier than you, bro,” Landon says to Jace, tucking his chin in the crook of my neck. Jace gasps as if that’s the worst insult ever. I laugh and kiss my fiancé’s cheek.

Fiancé. I love that word.

“You guys are doing that cute shit, so I’m gonna get a drink.” Jace slaps his hand across Landon’s. “Congrats.”

“Sure, you say it to him,” I call out to his retreating figure. Jace turns around with a grin.

“He’s not the stupid one!”

I go to flip him off, but Landon catches my hand and twines our fingers together.

“He’ll only take it as an invitation,” he says. I roll my eyes, but nod. Jace not-so-subtly hits on everyone. I don’t know how Landon lived with him for so long.

When I first met Jace, he’d just broken up with his girlfriend—Penny, girl who almost painted up my ring—and was so out of it he passed out on my shoulder watching Bridget Jones’s Diary on Netflix. The next morning he didn’t remember a thing, not even meeting me. It didn’t take him long to call me gorgeous and ask for my number. Landon did his very manly territorial display with a giant kiss and taking me to his room to complete the territory marking. Jace still hits on me just to see Landon go caveman. I’m not complaining.

Landon rocks me slowly to the drums, trailing kisses down my neck and making my eyes roll back in my head.

“You want to dance, Tumbles?”

“Yes. But keep it Bible distance, remember?”

“Like, the e-book version?”

I elbow him in the gut, and he leads me to the dance floor. Alec gives me and Landon a wave before getting pulled into a dance by Jaycee, one of the girls in Landon’s movie. Theresa and Penny are dancing with each other and a guy I don’t know, but he tells us congrats as we pass. Landon spins me under his arm and then pulls me against him. My waist knocks with his, jolting the naughty tingles. As he moves with me, I push on his chest slightly to keep our agreed-upon distance.

“How do you know the bouncer?” I ask, mainly so I’m not tempted to just make out and dry hump. Landon’s hands smooth over my waist.

“We were filming here today.” He gulps. I bite back my smile, feeling something I haven’t in a long time—empowered and sexy. I maneuver against his leg, pressing our belly buttons together. He sucks in a deep breath and spins me around to dance with my butt instead. “The backdrop was awesome,” he says after a minute. “I can’t wait to see the playback.”

His warm body feels so good against mine. He’s never danced like this before. Hands exploring but not overstepping, breath hot and heavy in my ear, keeping my ass close enough to feel the explosions between us, but far enough away to not actually touch.

What were we talking about?

Asses.

No.

Backdrop. Playback. Oh! His movie…

“Did you use the special neon paint for your zombies?” Yes, zombies. Let’s talk about gross makeup and dead people coming back to life.

“Of course,” he teases. “That’s what makes them scary.”

The music tempo changes a bit, or maybe it’s not the music at all, just Landon dancing behind me. One of his hands grips my hip while the other strokes my ribs. I tangle my fingers into his hair, enjoy the scruff of his chin against my cheek, and rub against him as much as I can without breaking any rules. But damn, this is harder than I thought it’d be.

Lots of things are hard.

I’m sure it’s hard.

But I’m not going to feel it.

Nope.

“I want paint on me,” I blurt. Hips are knocking and the waves are reverberating in the Land of Liz, and I am not proving Landon right on “Flakey Lizzie.”

“Well,” he says, moving my body toward the drums. A worker is placing new paint on top while a few clubbers start pounding the instruments, spattering everyone within range. Landon’s scruff tickles my neck as he says, “There are the drums.” He moves me a few more inches. “Or the paint balloons.”

Paint balloons.

Paint balls.

Balls.

Landon’s—

“Or we could paint each other,” Landon suggests. He nods up the stairs to several curtained-off areas. Friends and couples go in paint free and come out with designs, handprints, and other various art over their skin and clothing. I turn to Landon with a big grin, resting my chin on my shoulder. He laughs at my smile and wraps his hand around mine.

“Come on.” He leads me up a few sets of stairs, above the main dance floor, and over the paint drums. The beats continue to thump through my chest, making me want to grab Landon and dance some more. A couple passes us as they leave one of the curtained areas, freshly painted and holding hands. I squeeze Landon’s fingers twice. He squeezes back once.

One of the club workers pulls back a curtain. Landon ducks in first, pulling me behind him. The club worker says, “If we’re out of any color, let us know.”

Landon nods and brings me in front of him. I lean against his warm chest and look around the room.

There’s a table with all the neon colors of the rainbow in big cereal bowls. Sponges and brushes sit next to each color, and two chairs are placed across from each other next to the table. Landon pulls the curtains closed behind us, encasing us in darkness, minus the paint and our clothing.

“You want to go first?” he asks.

“Don’t get any paint on this.” I hold up my hand, twirling the ring with my thumb.

“Here,” he says, leaning up and grabbing his wallet from his back pocket. “I’ll hold on to it.”

I hesitate, but only because I love the new weight on my hand. After eyeing the paint one more time I slide the ring off and let him settle it into one of the wallet pouches. My hand already feels way empty. Weird. I’ve only had it for a day.

We sit and Landon scoots his chair forward so his knees hit mine. “Pick a color.”

“All of them.”

He squeezes my knee, and then taps his chin as if debating what to use first. I settle my hand on his leg.

“So, Fiancé”—yep, love that word—“why are we wearing white?” I ask as he dips a sponge into the orange. He swipes the excess paint on the side of the bowl and leans in close.

“Blank canvas.” He grins. The first cool stroke hits my neck. He curls it down over my chest in a swoop. I like this. Really like this. My skin feels electric and my jitters won’t settle and my smile won’t go away. My heart pounds beneath his fingers, and my grip tightens on his knee. I start inching my hand up, and right when I reach his upper thigh I remember I’m not supposed to go any farther. Bad hand. Knock that shit off.

His eyebrow rises, and he dips another sponge, this one blue, and he sweeps it over my cheek. A low moan erupts in the back of my throat. What is wrong with me? It’s been one day since we had the metaphorical beast with two backs. I’ve gone much longer, and suddenly cold paint and Landon and dancing and drumbeats are already changing my mind on the Bahamas thing.

No. Not thing. It’s my honeymoon! And I’m not losing a day in. I’m not losing the warm vacation over one night of paint sex. Granted, while that visual has me moaning out loud already, I want to wait long enough that our sex will be toe-curlingly amazing night after night for the rest of our lives.

And then Landon grins, leans down, and kisses the spot right under my earlobe.

Seductive devil.

I move my hand—mistake—because now I visualize a vat of paint and passion and his tongue on my neck, his teeth on my bottom lip, his groans echoing mine, and hopping on every ride there is in Chocolateville until I’m completely satiated.