Whether or not she likes it, she will be mine. Tonight.
And afterward, I’m keeping her.
I’ve bypassed problem and ran headfirst into consequences.
And the truth is, I don’t care about the consequences because I’ve figured out that despite how absolutely insane I am right now, she makes me feel better. It’s not a conscious effort, but the guilt, regret, and anger that usually eat away at me get pushed to the side. My mind stays focused on her. Everything about her. I don’t crave the drugs, the alcohol, or the violence—it doesn’t count when it’s over her. I don’t need to be numb. I want everything she makes me feel. I don’t need to bleed unless it’s for her. And all it took to figure it out was a week of living in my head again.
It makes no sense. It’s too fast and hard to be real.
But when you find something that makes life look a little brighter and the pain of the past seems irrelevant, you don’t fucking question it. You latch on and ride it out as long as you can.
I’m not stupid. I know this is bound to implode. We clash. We have too much baggage, and we’re too much alike. Nothing about this says long-lasting relationship or forever. How could it when we don’t know each other?
But I’m not letting that stop me.
Like chasing another addiction.
Forever or for now. I’m taking whatever I can get.
When we enter the private room in the back, I tap my club card on the reader so the door locks. The second her feet touch the floor, she spins and those fiery eyes blast me with fury. Her mouth opens, but before she can spew whatever venom she has for me, I take her face in my hands and slam my mouth to hers.
It’s not a sweet kiss or easy and lazy. It’s feral and punishing. Our tongues go to war, fueled by her anger and my jealousy. Just like every other time, she tastes like salvation, temptation, andmine.
Then she pulls away, panting and flushed, eyes slashing over me like knives. “What the hell are you doing? You had no right to hit that guy.”
“What the hell are you doing up here at all?”
“I was working. You know, doing my damn job? That thing I come here to do.”
“Why are you working up here?”
“Dominic asked me to for tonight, and I wasn’t about to turn it down.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“You know why. Why do you even care? I haven’t seen or heard from you in a week.”
“I was out of town for work.”
“And you couldn’t call or text?”
My eyes close, trying to get my temper under control, tempted to tell her exactly why I avoided her. But I don’t. I don’t say anything at all. Simply continue glaring. Then she folds her arms over her chest, distracting me when her breasts push up. One small flick and…
”Jagger!” My head snaps up, looking away from temptation. “What the hell? You are costing me money right now. Money, Ineed.”
“You need it so badly you’ll be a whore for thse assholes?”
The crack sounds like thunder in the small, intimate room. The sting radiates across my cheek, making me clench my jaw. Her tiny body moves closer to mine. Even in the ridiculous heels she’s wearing, she still tilts her head back to meet my gaze. “You are a hypocritical bastard. How many of thosewhoreshave you paid to fuck? How many have you brought back here?”
“More than enough, but this isn’t about them. It’s about you. You shouldn’t be here.”
“Get over yourself, Jagger. I’m dancing. The only difference between Lincoln Center and here is I’m not pretending clothes are covering anything.”
I snarl, pissed that’s what she thinks is the difference. “You’re joking, right? I think the biggest difference is the men here aren’t looking for art. They’re looking for something to use the next time they jack off.”
“Again…Why do you fucking care? I’m no different or better than anyone else out there.”
“You are so fucking wrong. You are different. Know why?” I lower myself until my lips brush her ear. “I don’t give a fuck about them.”
