I wouldn’t.
No othersaneman would accept me.
Not like he seems to.
“Time to finish your drink, kitten.”
Mindlessly, I lift my glass from the bar, sipping slowly until half the drink is gone, burning beautifully down my throat.
He spins me around to face him, then pulls the drink from my hand, swirling it as he smells it.
“Mmm...” He hums deep in his chest, recognition hitting his gaze. It’s filled with a killer, seductive energy as he takes in the scent.
Then the wretched man turns the glass and presses his lips right where my red lipstick stains it, and as I bite my lip, panties getting increasingly damp, he drinks the whole thing.
He places the glass on the bar as he takes a step back, his gaze falling down to my feet. It trails up my body, leaving raw goosebumps in its wake. My nipples uncomfortably graze the lace as they peak. By the time his eyes find mine again, I’m panting, flushed, and embarrassingly wet.
This man . . .
His chest rises and falls on heavy, labored breaths, but his gaze is the loudest. In his cold, murderous eyes, a creature lurks. Primal and feral as it surfaces just enough to glimpse its hunger. And it’s looking right at me.
I don’t need his words of appreciation. The way he looks at me in this outfit he picked tells me all I need to know.
He closes the distance between us, reaching up and brushing a thumb over my parted lips. “Ready?”
I lick my bottom lip, hoping to still get a taste of him. Disappointingly, there’s nothing.
“I’m just going to run to the ladies’ room.”
I need a fucking minute to recover from his intensity, otherwise I’ll turn into a puddle and disintegrate the moment I step into that playroom.
He nods and I all but run to the bathroom. I take a moment on the toilet, doing some breathing exercises to manage this nervous energy riddling me. I’m not sure if they work, but at least I can think a little straighter. When I look into the mirror, the woman staring back at me is almost unrecognizable. Wanton need painted all over her flushed cheeks. But nervousness still coats her gaze.
I’ve never done this before. Never stepped foot in a playroom. Never engaged sexually with anyone here. Or in public. Ever.
You can do this, Scar.
I take one deep breath as I fix my lipstick, then walk out of the bathroom, heading straight to the bar.
What the fuck?
Standing in front of Carter, far too close for comfort, is a blonde woman. She sensually brushes her hand up and down his bicep, body language screaming,Fuck my brains out! Though, her black latex teddy and thigh-high boots would have been enough. His hands may be shoved in his trouser pockets, but his white shirtsleeves are rolled up on his forearms, meaning his “taken” bracelet is clear as fucking day.
Who is this bitch?
But as she turns her head to the side, giggling in an attempt to look even sexier, I recognize her. I’ve seen her with Carter. Here. Playing.
My teeth grit together, fists tightening as I watch her drag that wandering hand up his shoulder. The moment it reaches skin, I catch him recoiling and grabbing her wrist.
“Oh no you fucking don’t,” I seethe.
I’m maybe twenty feet away, but it takes no time to close the distance, swipe the cocktail umbrella out of someone’s drink, and stick it straight in the bitch’s throat.
“You have five seconds to get your hand off of him, or I’ll slice it off your arm and slap you to death with it,” I say.
She stills, but I push the umbrella’s stick just a little. I don’t care if I pierce her skin. She’s lucky I’m not sticking it straight in her fucking jugular and painting this whole bar in her blood.
Blondie yelps and steps away, touching her throat as she turns to me with a scared yet disgusted expression. “You’re fucking crazy!”
