Dance music pipes through the sound system. I down the rest of my cheap wine, push off from the wall, and set my empty glass on a table. The dance floor is completely abandoned and that's a shame. Dancing is how you have a good time—unless Justin Wild is present, then a good time consists of selfies and giggles I suppose. I move my hips in rhythm with the music, holding my arms up. Justin looks at me over the heads of his harem. He smiles. I look away. I ignore him because that is most certainly how you catch a predator—act like you are unsuspecting prey.
Two drunk women stumble onto the dance floor and begin dancing. I turn my back to him and, like magic, before I know it, I feel an arm—a very large, muscular arm—wrap around me. I stop dancing when I feel the heat of his breath wash over my neck. "I don’t like that you left me like that?" he whispers against my ear.
“Aww,” I turn and glare at him with a sarcastic smile. "Hurt your feelings?"
He leans in close to me, the clean scent of his cologne wafting up to my nose. I inhale that smell deep into my lungs. I want to commit it to memory. I want to commit this night, this very moment to memory because this is the story I will tell our children and grandchildren of how we fell in love. Justin’s hand slides down to my waist and he possessively tugs me against him. "Such a tease," he says, his warm breath fanning over my neck. The hard bulge of his cock settles between my ass cheeks, pressing into it as his hands travel down to my hips. "Such a tease," he repeats, his hands now moving up my back.
"Just not a fangirl. That's all."
Laughing a deep, throaty laugh, the bastard grabs a handful of my hair, jerking my head back. “I bet by the end of the night, I change your mind about that.”
“Thing is,” I yank my hair from his grasp, spinning around and pointing to the large group of women shooting daggers in my direction. "I’m not one of them. I’m not someone dying to fuck you, Justin Wild.” His eyes widen for a moment. They flicker before a deep smile spreads across his face,
"I like a challenge."
“I bet you do.”
His eyes fall to my lips. "Perception, much like beauty is in the eye of the beholder... " he breathes as he moves closer, now only inches from my face. "But above all else it is onlymyperception that matters." He quotes a line fromDelusionand my heart nearly explodes
"That's my favorite line,” I whisper.
"I figured." He places one arm on the wall beside me, caging me in. His eyes drop to my mouth again and he growls under his breath. “Let’s get outta here, babe.” He doesn’t wait for a response, he simply grabs my hand, lacing his fingers through mine as he leads me out of the room and to the front of the hotel where an Uber is waiting.Oh, you sly devil, you…
We climb into the back and, the very moment the door closes behind us, Justin grabs my face, slamming his lips over mine. Justin Wild’s full, soft lips are on mine, his perfect tongue wrapping around mine. It’s just me and him. Him and me and this heavy fog of lust and want and absolute need. I melt into the kiss. This is fate and fate feels like bliss. Justin’s hands claw and grab desperately at my breasts, my hips, my thighs. I’ve never felt as wanted as I do in this moment, but isn’t that how a player plays the game? He makes you feel wanted, needed, beautiful, and different.But, oh, Justin, this is different. We are different and special and perfect…I moan into his mouth. I can’t help it. His teeth sink into my bottom lip, dragging painfully over my skin as he groans.
By the time the Uber driver pulls over at the curb, Justin has every piece of me wound so tightly I feel like the slightest movement may send me over the edge. And I can’t go there. I can’t. Strategy is key, I am the queen and he is my pawn and I will win this game. No matter how much I may want to fuck him right now, I won’t. He quickly throws a tip at the driver, opens the door, and helps me out. He still has my hand clutched in his when he starts up the sidewalk leading to his apartment. I pull away from him, my heart close to exploding out of my chest. Stopping midstride, he turns to look at me. “What are you—”
“Thanks for taking me tonight.” I smile even though I want to cry, because I don’t want to leave him. I don’t. “I had a great time.”
“Are you…” he throws his head back on a laugh, “you’re kidding me, right?”
“Call me tomorrow?” I say as I turn and walk away, my pulse unsteady. I feel much like Cinderella trying to escape before the clock strikes midnight, before the mystery disappears. For it's when you leave a man swirling in a mystery that he is at his weakest... that you become an obsession. And I want to be his obsession, and I want him to be my possession.
