I needed her.
I needed her here and now.
With a tug of her hand I lead her towards the offices behind the bar, only for personal use but I own the fucking club. The servers behind the bar pay us no mind as I throw the door open and lock it promptly behind us. The music continues to vibrate the walls, muffled and tinny now we are behind closed doors. The only window in the room rattles with the heavy bass that thumps wildly.
“Little bird, don’t you know it’s not nice to tease,” my voice is a rasp, a husky baritone that forces a shiver from her body.
I revel in her reaction to me, the way her body wields to my touch, to my voice, to my every caress.
Wren steps forward and places a hand on my chest, pushing me back until I feel the chair behind my knees. I fall into it, slouching down until my knees are apart and my torso is curled. I rest my head against the backrest, watching my queen.
She takes a step back, the heel of her shoes clipping against the wood flooring.
“Tell me whoyoubelong to,” she purrs, lids hooded as she watches me slowly begin to unbutton my shirt.
My lips curl into a smirk, “Only you, little bird.”
“Tell me what you want me to do.” Her fingers play with the thin strap holding her dress up, pushing it down the curve of her shoulder and then back up whilst her other hand lifts the hem of her dress, bringing it up, up, until it shows the dips in her shapely hips and the thin lacy strap of her underwear.
She’s so fucking sexy.
My erection pounds behind the zipper of my pants.
“You wanted to dance, little bird,” I palm my cock, squeezing hard, “dance for me.”
One side of her mouth tilts up and then she spins, showing me her back and the round curves of her ass. The dress clings to the curve, following the length of her spine and then the globes of her ass cheeks, making my mouth water.
She brings her arms up, lifting the mane of wild copper hair until it piles atop her head in a mass of chaotic curls. There’s a sheen to her skin, a thin layer of perspiration that makes her skin glow in the lighting of the office, with only a lamp on in the corner emitting a dim orange light, her skin takes on a creamy, golden hue, dusted with fine, light freckles.
She weaves her body, matching the pace of the music, her hips swaying side to side, the dress creasing and bunching with her movements. Her calf muscles work as she bends her knees and lowers a little, dancing for me.
“Spin around,” I rasp, biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself from taking her right now. “I want to see your face.”
She does as she’s told, slowly turning to face me.
There’s a pink blush on her cheeks but it isn’t from embarrassment, no, I see the darkness in her eyes, the way the pulse point in her neck batters wildly against her skin, like a butterfly trapped in a jar. If I were to slide my hand up her thigh and swipe my fingers through her folds I’m sure I’d find her wet, needy, ready.
She continues her dance, moving her body for me in a way that hypnotizes me. Her hands come up to the straps, dipping beneath the thin material to pull it away from her shoulders but then she drops them again, her hands following the mounds of her breasts to her ribs and her stomach.
A sudden popping sound echoes in the room, loud enough to drown out the music for a split second.
Wren stills in front of me, her eyes widening and instantly, I’m on alert.
My heart begins to pound in my chest as I scramble up from the chair, crossing the small distance between us and gripping the tops of her arms.
“Wren?” I question, “Wren, what is it!?”
Her eyes bounce between mine, her plump and swollen lips parted and then she tilts her chin, looking down between our bodies. I follow her gaze to where her hands are pressed to her stomach.
Red seeps through her fingers and when she pulls her hands away, I see her palms coated in blood.
No.
Oh fuck no.
With a small, frightful cry, her legs buckle beneath her.
I’m quick to catch her, stopping her delicate frame from hitting the floor.