She is fuckingglorious.
She’ll look even better when she is strapped to a bed, legs spread, curls wild around her face, at mercy to me, the fucking king.
I twist my head to him, my eyes narrowed, jaw tight, “What did you just say?”
His eyes meet mine and he visually cowers, “Nothing,” a stutter, “nothing boss.”
“Keep your fucking eyes in your head,” I tell him, my voice warning enough as I turn back to Wren.
A couple of guys have descended on her and her friend, one has slipped behind her, his hips moving forward to grind into her ass.
Her brows draw low and she spins on him, fists balling. I can’t hear what she says but he backs off, raising his hands in surrender.
Wren resumes dancing but it’s not long before another guy steps up to try and claim what is rightfully mine.
My nostrils flare.
“Keep your eye out,” I tell Ryker.
He nods once, knowing my entire plan as I take the first step down to the dance floor. I feel his gaze follow me until I find my mark in the middle of the dance floor.
Wren smells as good as she looks, sweet and yet deadly, it assaults my senses as I step up close behind her.
She spins on me, her little fists balled up real tight, her brows pulled down low and violence shining in her eyes.
“You,” She accuses.
“Me,” I answer back, knowing she already clocked me back at the cocktail bar.
Her eyes narrow but her hands squeeze my biceps absentmindedly, her nails digging in just enough to allow a bite against my skin, “You found me.”
I laugh though it holds no humour as I lean in and whisper in her ear, “I own this place. It appearsyoufoundme.”
Her breath comes out in a gasp that teases my hair and brushes against the shell of my ear.
“Who are you?”
“You want to know?” I ask.
Her hands slide from my biceps to the lapels of my suit jacket. She seems to be at war with herself, wanting to know more but telling herself she shouldn’t. Good, it means the book smart leaches into the street smart. Her eyes narrow further as my arms slip around her waist, holding her flush to my body. Seeing and feeling are two very different things, you can imagine what something may feel like but until it’s in your grasp, it will only ever be make believe. Feeling the way her waist dips and curves is so much more than what I could have imagined. The urge, the primal need to simply take her, have her,ownher almost has me wishing to throw her over my shoulder and lock her up for completely different reasons.
“Yes, I want to know.”
“You can call me Alexander. Or Lex.”
“Surname?”
“Silver.”
I wait and then wait some more for the realization to come but it never hits.
“I’m Wren,” she continues, sliding her hands to my shoulders, “Wren Lawson.”
“Want to know me a little more, Wren Lawson?”
A grin tugs at her plump mouth, her lips stained with a deep burgundy colour, “I don’t think so.”
My brows shoot up. Was there ever a day I had been denied?
“No?”
“No.”
My fingers trail down the curve of her waist until I find her hip where my fingers then grip, biting into her flesh. Her eyes flash something dark, seductive, dirty but she quickly conceals it all. “Goodnight, Mr Silver.”
I let her weave back through the crowd towards the bar, watching her, if she knew who I was she would have bolted for the door. A sheep in the lion’s den was a dead fucking sheep and yet here she still is.
Suspicion and curiosity war with each other in my head.
But at the end of the day, this was a war and she was the next step to winning.