| Body |
“You’re soaked,” Killian groans, kneeling between my legs.
We're in the hockey team's locker room, and the door could be opened at any moment.
This thought makes me desperate for his touch even more.
But I can’t…
Because he’s my boyfriend’s father.
---
I’d just about given up hope on ever being ready to lose my v-card.
By the time most girls are my age, they’d lost it a long time ago.
Instead, I’ve felt like I’m dead inside until I met Grady a few months ago.
He ignites a spark in me, something I think could be more.
My love life is looking up, and I think I’m finally ready to take the next step.
Not just because things are starting to feel…awakened.
But because Grady Butler is perfect. He’s sexy, thoughtful, attentive…. We can talk for hours about the books we love. And when I said I didn’t want to go too far too fast, he was okay with that. He’s never pushed for more than kissing. When I told him I wasn’t ready to have sex yet, he was okay and didn’t try to make me feel guilty.
The most surprising thing about it is that Grady is a professional hockey player. And from what my sister has told me about the guys on the Skulls… Let’s just say that being patient with a woman isn’t something they’re known for.
They have plenty of puck bunnies swarming them for attention, so if a girl won’t put out, they can easily crook their finger at another of the many waiting in line.
Knowing that makes me like Grady even more.
So today…today I’m ready.
And I’m going to tell him.
I take a sip of my cappuccino as I look at him. God, he’s handsome.
Tall and muscular but not too bulky like a lot of other hockey players are, and I love how his curly chestnut hair falls into his green eyes.
Grady catches me staring at him as he reads, looking up and flashing me that sexy, playful grin of his.
He sticks a receipt between the pages to mark his place, sets the book beside him on the couch, and then shifts his body to turn toward me.
“Whatcha thinkin’, lovely?”
My cheeks flush. “Do you really want to know?”
“Always,” Grady replies, placing a warm hand on my leg right above my knee.
“I think I’m ready.”
All of the air leaves my lungs as I finally say the words.
Grady’s eyes widen, and his fingers tighten on my leg.
Before he can answer, movement over his shoulder catches my eye.
One of the biggest dudes I’ve ever seen is standing at the end of a row of books, staring at us. Intently.
He looks…scary.
He’s well over six feet tall, and his professional suit does nothing to disguise how bulky he is. My eyes are drawn to the cruel scar that runs diagonally over his face, almost splitting his nose in two.
I can’t fathom what would have happened to leave a scar like that. A shudder runs through me at the thought.
“Grady… There’s…a guy over there. And he’s staring right at us,” I say quietly.
Grady turns to look directly at the brawny guy, and I want to sink into the floor when the guy starts walking toward us.
“Don’t worry about him,” Grady answers, frustration in his voice.
“Grady, he’s looking right at—”
“He’s with me. That’s Pierce. He’s…my bodyguard.” Grady shoots a glare at the huge guy, his brow furrowing. The guys stops walking toward us. “He usually does a better job of keeping out of sight.”
Wait, what? He needs a bodyguard?
The questions are stacking up, and I’ve moved from being excited to be wary and on edge. What else is Grady hiding? And why has none of this ever come up before on our dates?
More importantly, how did I miss all of this? I’m a trained professional. Reading people and evaluating them is literally my job right now. If I can’t even read my own boyfriend, how will I ever succeed in my chosen profession?
My stomach twists.
“Just ignore him. My dad gets overprotective.” Grady rolls his eyes. “Honestly, he’s so stressed out about safety that he could use a shrink like you to give him some counseling.”
He laughs, then winks at me playfully. I can tell the conversation is over and I’m not going to get anything else out of him.
“Anytime,” I mutter, nervously playing with my long red hair, worrying about the mismatch between Grady’s status and my poor grad student status. I’ve never met anyone who has a bodyguard.
I assumed he made decent money being a pro hockey player, but now something feels off.
“Can I get you anything else?”
Grady and I look up at the barista smiling down at us, a handsome blond-haired guy with an apron tied around his waist.
The guy’s timing couldn’t be worse.
“No thanks, David,” I say, giving him a big grin at the same time Grady smiles and says, “Can we both get refills?”
“Oh, actually…” I look up at the clock and push my hair back behind my ears. If I don’t leave now, I’m going to be late for my job performing anger management evaluations.
“She’ll take hers to go then,” Grady says, rising from our sofa. He follows David back to the coffee counter to grab our drinks.
I start to pack up my bag so I can grab the next train, when I notice Grady’s phone vibrating on the table. When the number disappears, his home screen shows a family photo, all dressed in Skulls hockey jerseys. The tall man in the back is certainly his dad, the other maybe an older brother?
I smile, loving that Grady’s family are clearly supportive of him, and likely are fans of the team because of him. I wonder if I’ve ever seen them at a game.
Then again, I’ve only gone to a couple of them, and I’ve never sat up in the boxes or on the glass where family usually sits. Until now, until I was sure that I wanted more with Grady, I was wary of meeting any of his family.
As I’m staring at the picture, the phone rings again—the same number. Must be important.
I grab the phone and sling my bag over my shoulder, heading towards the coffee counter.
But there’s no one here. I look around, confused.
I definitely just saw David and Grady head this way…
There’s a noise from the back room, a strange and muffled thump and a moan. I take two steps forward and peek around the door.
Maybe they both—
Oh my god. Not two feet from me, my boyfriend presses David up against the wall of the storage room.
One fist is wrapped in the fabric of David’s shirt, the other down David’s pants. He’s kissing him passionately, hungrily.
Chase’s eyes are closed, his hands fumbling at the button and zipper of Grady’s pants—whispering my boyfriend’s name.
My heart stops for a few seconds as I stare at the scene in front of me.
Then, rage takes over—masking the hurt starting to unfurl in my chest.
“Are you kidding me!?” I’m not even thinking as I chuck the phone at Grady and his lover.
The guys jump, leaping apart.
“Chloe— I—” Grady’s face is full of shock.
Tears in my eyes, I run from the room and from the coffee shop.
“Chloe!” Grady spills out onto the street behind me. “You don’t understand!”
He grabs my arm, pulling me back to him. If ever I forgot he was an athletic hockey player more powerful than me, I’m reminded of his strength now.
“I really like you,” he says, his eyes filled with apology. “You’re amazing… It’s just that my family wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t approve—”
He scrubs a hand over his face.
“And you know how most dudes in sports are about this kind of thing. This… It’s complicated.”
“So, what? You just want me to be your pretend girlfriend!?” I rip my arm from his hand. “Not interested.”
“Please. I can make this right! How much do you want?”
He pulls out his phone, and I see him tap on a banking app.
“I don’t want your money.”
Grady blinks in confusion, and I turn away.
“I’ll keep your secret, and you don’t need to pay me off. I just don’t want to see you again.”
Just like that, my possible fairy tale with Prince Charming was over.
I hurry down the street, my eyes filling with angry tears.
Part of me wants to go back and punch Grady Butler in the face as hard as I can.
His bodyguard would probably keep that from happening, though. But a girl can dream.
I manage to make it on the train in time, sinking onto the bench and closing my eyes. My head falls back to rest against the window, and I take deep, calming breaths to re-center myself.
Today couldn’t have gone any worse.
No wonder I’m still a virgin…my instincts were so off that I’ve been dating a gay man.
***
Two hours later, I’m seated behind the desk in the office I share with the other grad students working at the counseling center. My hands are resting on the paperwork in front of me, and my hair is tied back in what I hope is a professional look.
My leg jitters with nerves. I need to hit the gym or something to burn off this excess energy, these raging emotions.
But I straighten up in my seat, taking a deep breath. I have to concentrate on my job now, and I’m incredibly tense about my next assignment.
I’ve only been assigned teens and younger women until now.
But today I have to make an assessment of Killian Woodridge. He’s not just a man who’s old enough to be my dad; he’s also the owner of the Skulls. And his reputation is a bit scary.
He has more money than God himself and owns half of Constantine City. He’s known for being ruthless in his business dealings, willing to go to any lengths necessary to protect his place of power in Constantine City.
Recently, he was in an altercation with one of his coaching staff. They reported him, and now the NHL is making Killian be evaluated for anger management issues.
As a psychology grad student who is doing this job part-time on the side, they typically assign me all of the easy evals. But everyone else is out today, and the NHL wants this done as soon as possible.
So…I’m up to bat.
And the incident with Grady? Not helping my nerves one bit.
There’s a light knock, and the office door opens. I quickly stand, pulling down on the hem of my blazer to straighten it. This is by far the most nervous I’ve been since I started this gig.
The receptionist gestures for Killian to have a seat. I’m surprised. I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting, but I wasn’t expecting this. He looks nothing like what I’ve seen of him in the pictures online that I’ve seen of him in various news articles.
Then again, I’ve never paid attention to him. I’ve never cared. As a busy grad student with a job, I don’t have the time or inclination to pay attention to much.
No picture I’ve ever seen could capture what Killian is like in person.
He’s muscular and tall, moving with what can only be described as dangerous grace. My eyes follow the way his shoulders shift beneath the fabric of his clearly expensive suit. The way the receptionist remains in the doorway staring at him, as if she can’t tear her eyes away from him.
This is one powerful man. No doubt about it.
I can see why everyone fears him.
His mere presence ignites something in me I’ve never felt before, and I have to squeeze my thighs together to quell the rush of desire between my legs.
I stifle a gasp as my eyes finally really take in Killian’s face, my mouth going dry. His dark hair falling over his forehead, his square jaw, the deep frown lines etched over green eyes…
Oh my god. I’ve seen this man before.
I saw him today—on my boyfriend’s phone.
And I’ve seen a younger version of him etched in the features of my boyfriend’s face.
Grady isn’t just a hockey player for the Skulls.
He’s the son of the team’s owner, the son of the richest, most powerful man in Constantine City.
Killian
I follow the receptionist at the mental health facility to a small office at the end of the hallway. Taking a look around the room, I see that there isn’t a single personal touch in the space.
Which means I’m not seeing one of their full-time staff. Interesting.
I’m surprised to see a girl.
No, not a girl. A young woman—twenty-three, at the most.
She stands up, clearly anxious, biting her lip and playing with the long red ponytail that drifts over her shoulder. Her mouth falls open, just slightly, as she takes me in.
God dammit. My body tenses at the sight of her—those long legs, knocked at the knees with anxiety, her short white skirt, the ridiculous blazer she wears so people like me will take her seriously.
I’m practically salivating at the sight of her.
I can tell from a single glance that she’s pure as the driven snow—ambitious but poor, eager to prove herself. My eyes rove over her…
What would she look like if I ripped that unflattering blazer off her?
I focus again on those red lips, slightly parted.
My breath hisses from my mouth at the sight of those lips, at the thought of what I could do with them—of what I could make them do to me.
There’s a low rumble in my chest as I hold back my growl, and my pants tighten as I get hard.
“Um,” she says, hesitant.
I snap my attention back to her jewel-blue eyes.
“My name is Chloe Winbury? I’m here to do your preliminary anger management assessment?”
I grit my teeth, denying the urge to smile slowly at the fact that her statements are presented as questions.
God, she’s perfect, this little angel.
The feral, leashed part of me wants to ruin her, put her on her knees for me.
I want to own her in every way imaginable, destroy her for any other man.
They don’t call me a monster for nothing.
“Hello, Chloe,” I say, my voice low and hungry as I move forward and settle into the chair across from her. “Where do we begin?”
***
Chloe
I hesitate, settling down in my chair across from Killian.
He’s wolf-like, and instead of feeling like the strong woman I am, I feel like a doe waiting to feel his teeth sink into my neck for the kill.
His eyes gleam as he stares intently at me, almost as if he could leap across the table at any moment and gobble me up.
Images flash through my mind of my skirt hiked up around my waist while Killian Woodridge buries his face between my thighs, literally gobbling me up…
I give myself a mental shake.
Nope. This is Grady’s father—rich, powerful man twice my age, and definitely bad, bad news.
This is why Grady has a bodyguard, this why he has so much money.
I assumed it was from him playing hockey, but now I know it’s from way more than that. He’s always had money.
And from what I’ve heard about Killian Woodridge, his “business dealings” aren’t always completely legal. But you know what they say…when you have the money, you can get away with anything you want.
Grady has a different last name than his father—Butler—so I never would have made this connection before. I’m sure his different last name was chosen on purpose, to avoid the public perception of Grady being on the Skulls just because his dad owns the team.
Which couldn’t be further from the truth.
I don’t know much about hockey, but even I can tell that Grady is damn good at it.
I quirk my head to the side, still staring at Killian, realizing that this is also why Grady is hiding his sexuality. Most of the powerful families in Constantine City are notoriously conservative, and family is everything. A gay son would never be accepted in some circles—especially a son that is expected to provide an heir.
And that doesn’t even begin to factor in how gay men in sports are treated.
As much as it hurts me that Grady was just using me as a beard, my heart goes out to him.
I can’t imagine being Grady…having to hide who I loved, pretending to love someone else. Knowing that if I lived my authentic life, I would become a target in the media, in the locker room, on the ice…
Pulling myself back to the here and now, I realize that the man in front of me is smiling, just slightly, his eyes moving over me as I stare at him like a deer in the headlights.
My body’s response to him, thinking about his head buried between my legs…I’m praying that my face or my body language doesn’t give away how turned on I am.
I clench my jaw, reminding myself that he is completely and totally off-limits.
No matter how much of a traitor my body is right now.
There is NO way I’m attracted to this man. Not at all.
“So.” I turn back to my papers, nervously swallowing.
You’ve done this a thousand times, Chloe! I remind myself. You could do this in your sleep!
“Can you please state your name and birthdate?” I ask, trying to regain control of the assessment.
“I believe,” Killian says slowly, “that you’re already aware of that.”
His gaze shifts to the paperwork on my desk, then he leans back, studying me.
I lift my eyes to glare at his boldness—he’s so rude.
But, unfortunately, he’s right.
I glance up at him, struck once again by the grim, lethal quality to his face.
Killian Woodridge is all jagged edges and rough shards…and some dark part of me wants to cut my teeth on them.
I drag my gaze away from him, feeling a shiver pass through me, tapping its fingers down my spine.
Somehow, I imagine that they’re Killian’s fingers…
I quickly dismiss the thought and try to focus on what I’m supposed to be doing.
I’m so off-kilter that I actually have to look down and read the words I’d long ago memorized.
“The rest of the questions that I ask you today will be of a personal and psychological nature,” I say, giving the canned speech I’m required to say. “The state does require that you answer all questions fully and honestly as part of the assessment. Do you understand?”
Killian is silent in response, and I look up at him, a knee-jerk reaction to an unresponsive patient.
He’s smirking at me, unblinking.
“Little girl,” he says, slowly leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, “what gives you the right to ask me anything about my history and my mind?”
I sit straight in my chair, unnerved by such a question. “I was hired to administer these assessments—”
“Do you have a degree?” he cuts in. “Some kind of…certificate?”
The final word is heavy with derision.
I frown at him and reach down to rifle through my bag, producing the certified paperwork from the state that qualifies me for this position.
“Here. If you’re so curious.” I lightly toss the document across the desk toward him, trying to project confidence I don’t feel. “Have at it.”
Then I realize my mistake.
Chloe
His eyes darken and narrow, a dangerous look on his face.
Rather than seeing my move as nonchalant, Killian must see it as dismissive and disrespectful.
I reach forward to grab the paper back—for what reason, I’m not sure.
Killian grabs my wrist, his fingers completely circling it, his large hand warm against my skin.
It doesn’t quite hurt, but I’m surprised. I drop the paperwork as I gasp, looking at him.
Slowly, indulgently, he runs his thumb across the back of my hand.
“Oh, don’t stop now,” he says in a low, almost-threatening voice. “If you’re going to be insolent, see it through.”
I gulp, caught in his gaze, my breath catching at the feel of his touch. The back of my hand may as well be the folds between my legs, I’m so affected by it.
If the look on his face is indication, he knows exactly how my body is responding to him.
“So soft,” he murmurs, continuing to caress me with his thumb.
My lip trembles. His eyes eat me up, savoring the quiver of my lips, my wide, terrified eyes.
The sharp inhale of my breath is audible, and a slight smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth.
“So innocent, so pure…” His grip tightens. “Two of my favorite things to destroy.”
I move to yank my hand back, not wanting to let him know how deeply his words and touch have affected me.
But Killian has already released my wrist, settling back into his chair, perfectly calm.
“Sorry,” he says, back to smirking, his eyes on me. “Won’t happen again.”
I blink at him, sitting back in my chair. I straighten my shoulders, unable to take my eyes off him.
I rub my wrist with my other hand. I’m not hurt, just…shocked? Turned on? Confused?
Clearing my throat, I slide my certification away from him. “We will…we will proceed.”
I work to steel myself, determined to regain control, to finish this assessment. Failure isn’t an option if I want to get my Master’s.
I swallow and give Killian a steady glare, raising my chin. I’m tougher than he thinks I am.
Picking up my pen again, I’m grateful that my hands aren’t shaking.
“Please,” I say, focusing again on the paper. “Can you tell me about what happened in your own words? I see—”
“Your little skirt,” he says, grinning wolfishly at the fact that he’s riled me so easily, “is also very precious. You have beautiful legs, and that skirt’s the perfect length to—”
“Mr. Woodridge,” I say, curtly. “Please be aware that what I report today will affect your future with the NHL. So I suggest that you take this process seriously.”
Killian’s response is to laugh at me.
“Darling,” he says, leaning forward again. “I couldn’t take you seriously if I tried.”
I blink at him, stunned, but it quickly turns to rage. I clench my fist, my knuckles almost white, working to keep my temper at bay.
Killian looks down at my fist and grins. “Now, now, Doc. No fair teasing. I like it a little rough.”
“Mr. Woodridge,” I bite out, “if you aren’t interested in cooperating with me, I’d rather not waste my time. I’ll just let the NHL rep know that you’re being combative.”
I stand up with bravado I don’t feel and start to gather my things.
In a flash, Killian’s demeanor changes.
Gone is the relaxed, playful man who’s been teasing me. Instead of the mischievous twinkle in his eyes at knocking me off-kilter, all the sharp edges and darkness are back.
I can’t look away, overwhelmed, almost hypnotized by his glare.
Finally, I dart my eyes away, staring down at the floor—anywhere but at him.
“You looked away first.” He studies me. “Didn’t your parents teach you not to back down, to stand up for yourself?”
Riled, I raise my eyes to stare him down, determined not to look away first.
“Good,” he laughs. “I like my girls with a little fight in them.”
My face goes pale and red at once. I’m enraged, mortified to have fallen for his trick. I know better! But also—god dammit—I feel my nipples go hard under my blazer. His steely gaze moves to my chest, as if he knows it.
I grab my pen again, scrawling words across the paper as fast as I can.
Constantly defiant, ruthlessly sociopathic, no remorse. Recommend continued anger management and/or charges brought up against Mr. Woodridge for assault.
“This is finished.” I gather my papers as fast as I can, shoving them, crinkled, into my bag.
He’s laughing softly as I hurry.
I take a breath, throw my shoulders back, and then give him what I hope is a withering glare as I move towards the door. I don’t look at Killian again as I start to leave.
“Oh, Doc…” His voice echoes behind me.
My cheeks burn and I grit my teeth as I turn to hear his parting words.
“I’ll see you again,” he says, giving me a dark smirk. “You can count on it.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” I whisper, my voice trembling as I storm out, shutting the door behind me.
Now that I’ve broken up with his son and will be avoiding anything hockey-related like the plague, there’s no reason I’ll never see him again. And good riddance.
However, when I return, I get on my laptop and open a search engine. My cheeks grow red for what feels like the millionth time today and I find myself typing “Killian Woodridge” into the search bar.
I’m surprised by the results. The majority of what pops up is in relation to the Skulls and his recent fight with a fan in the VIP area after a game. Makes sense, since that’s the most recent thing that has happened. Plus, it’s not every day something like that happens.
I scroll down, past the gossip articles
The sites I’m looking show him standing in front of a tech company in Silicon Valley, calling him the CEO.
Another site lists positive reviews of his many businesses, with employees suggesting that he’s a great boss. Still another… God, is that Brad Pitt he’s shaking hands with?
I gather my hair in my hands, passively starting to braid it as I look through the results, trying to match what I’m seeing here with the man I met the other day.
“Whatcha looking at?” my sister, Natalie flops onto the couch, grabbing the laptop out of my hands.
“Hey!” I squeal, snatching at it. “Natalie, give it back!”
“Oooohhhh,” she says, scrolling through the photos of Killian. “Now this is a hottie who could light a little fire under me, for sure.” She nods appreciatively. “Who is this?”
“Killian Woodridge,” I say, hugging my knees to my chest. “I had to interview him the other day because everyone else who does the anger managements assessments was out sick. He was…unnerving.”
Natalie flicks her eyes to me, considering. “Did he scare you?”
I shrug. “A little.”
She narrows her eyes a bit, snapping the laptop shut.
“Okay, that’s it. You’re coming out with me tonight, baby Chloe,” she says, sliding across the couch to give me a big hug. “You’ve had a hard week with your gay boyfriend and the scary billionaire. You’ve got to have some fun!”
I laugh, letting her wrap me up. “Okay, okay! Geez, I’ll come.”
Little did I know how much these separate aspects of my life would collide in just a few hours.
***
The music pounds in the club and, I have to admit, I’m really starting to have fun.
Natalie dressed me tonight, which would usually make me uncomfortable. For once, I let her take charge and decided to step out of my comfort zone and just go with it. What she calls a “dress” is more a sheet of silver fabric that falls across my front and then wraps low around my hips. It’s strapped together across my shoulders with a spiderweb of silver strings, and my mother’s locket I always wear nestles in the middle of the web.
I’m showing a lot of skin, but I know I look good.
Despite spending the last couple of days drowning myself in Ben & Jerry’s.
Being blessed with a fast metabolism definitely has its perks.
She also curled my long red hair into waves and gave me shadowy eye makeup and full red lips. Looking at myself in the club’s mirrored walls, I feel…well, I feel really sexy.
It’s a strange feeling.
I’m not sure what I expected when Natalie took me to one of “her” clubs, but this feels nothing like a strip club. So far, every woman dancing on each of the stages throughout is fully clothed. I look around from my spot in a round corner booth, curious as to where everything else happens.
Natalie sits down next to me then, laughing. She waves goodbye to the man she had been talking with, then turns her attention to me. Her eyes are a little glazed.
“You having fun, baby Chloe?” She gives me a wide, inviting smile. I can’t help but smile back.
“Yes,” I say, laughing. “Though I’m curious…where does…all the oth—”
Natalie stiffens next to me, and I stop talking.
I follow her gaze. There’s a man standing across the VIP area, his arms crossed, staring at her. When I look, he starts to walk over.
Natalie quickly jumps to her feet, reaching out her arms to wrap this big fat potato of a man in a hug. He’s wearing a button-up dress shirt that’s too small, the buttons threatening to pop off from being stretched to the max.
“Westville!” she says, and I can tell her voice is falsely cheerful. “How you been, gorgeous?”
“Natalie,” he says, wrapping his hands around her upper arms and pushing her way from him. “We’ve got to talk.”
“Have you met my little sister, Chloe?” She gestures towards me with a big smile. “Chloe, this is John Westville. He’s the manager of the club.”
Westville’s eyes rove over me, taking in the generous portion of my thigh exposed by the little dress I’m wearing. I wasn’t uncomfortable before, but now I try to tug it down lower with my fist.
“Um, hello,” I say, hesitant.
He takes Natalie by her elbow. “Come on. We’re going to talk around back.”
“Okay,” Natalie murmurs, suddenly serious. She leans down to whisper to me. “It’s just work stuff, don’t worry.”
I give her a little smile and nod, even though I’m not sure how not to worry. Based on how glazed her eyes are from…whatever she took…
Natalie follows Westville into the back.
They’re gone for a long time.
Anxiously, I bounce my knee and keep my eyes glued the door Natalie went through.
Half an hour more and the door opens. My stomach drops. There’s Westville, but where’s my sister?
Westville’s eyes catch on me as he starts to move farther out into the club, and then he walks over.
“Natalie’s sister, right?”
“Yes. Where is she?”
“She got sick. She’ll be back out soon; she’s a little green around the gills right now,” he says. He’s trying to look sympathetic but not succeeding.
Alarm bells ring in my head.
I stand and turn towards the staff door, intending to go find my sister, but he stops me.
“No, listen,” he says. “She won’t want you to see her like this. Come with me, I’ll take you someplace where you can wait more comfortably.” He pulls me forward.
I follow him, confused and worried as he pulls me quickly across the club to a black door, pushing it open.
The inside is barely lit—a dark room with mirrors on the ceiling and tiny pinpricks of light coming up from the floor. A wide velvet bench wraps itself around the room with little black cocktail tables lined up in front of it. I blink, trying to let my eyes adjust, as Westville settles me into a little table by the door.
“Wait here for a bit,” Westville says, looking beyond me. “I’ll have someone bring you a drink. Your sister will be fine soon.” Then, he walks away.
Someone does bring me a drink, and I take a sip of it. But then I realize that it might be laced with something, given what I’m being told about Natalie. I push it away from me. As my eyes adjust, I look around the room and realize that I’m not alone in here.
Bodies, mostly in couples, writhe together on the black velvet seating. Some of them are dancing, but some… Well, that girl is on her knees. My eyes go wide as I realize what she is doing.
I jump to my feet, blushing and heading for the door.
As soon as I reach it, Westville comes back in.
“Whoa whoa whoa!” he says, putting up hands to stop me. I shrink in front of him.
“Where you going, baby?” He rubs a hand up and down my arm.
Instinctively, I jerk my arm away from him.
Westville keeps moving towards me, but for every step he takes, I take one backwards. Soon, I feel myself bump into a table behind me.
He presses up against me. There’s nowhere else to go.
“You’d better be a good girl for me,” Westville whispers, his hot breath on my face. “Or else your sister’s gonna pay. She owes me a lot of money. Tonight, you’re going to work some of it off.”
I want to push him away but somehow I lose all my strength now.
I’m scared to death, a little whimper escaping my mouth.
“Do you mind?” The voice drawls from behind Westville. “That’s my doctor you’re harassing there.”
I feel Westville’s weight lift off me as he turns towards the voice. I peer behind him, shocked.
I recognize that deep, chocolate tone, and it sends a rush of heat straight between my legs.
It can’t be…
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