I clamp a hand down on her thigh to hold her in place, our eyes locking. “You may find this hard to believe, Ava baby, since someone has obviously brainwashed you into thinking you aren’t skinny enough, but some guys actually like a girl with curves.” My fingers tighten, flexing their grip on her leg. “I like having something to hold onto. Your hips, your ass…” I trail off with a groan, biting my lip. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ hide that sexy body of yours.”
Her blush deepens, lips pressing into a tight line.
I can tell she still doesn’t believe me, especially with last night still so fresh in her mind. Letting those bitches mark her up didn’t sit well with me, but Raf was creative in his form of punishment, I’ll give him that. When he really wants to destroy someone, he does it from the inside out.
“Off,” I bark, reaching underneath her dress again, and this time, she doesn’t fight me. I slide my hands up her thighs, grabbing the waistband of her Spanx and pulling them down.
“Fine,” she sighs in resignation, tilting her hips to help me get them off, acting like I’m really putting her out by confiscating her shapewear. Women are ridiculous sometimes. That shit can’t be comfortable.
I grin as I strip them from her body, balling the ugly shorts up in one hand and hitting the button to roll the window downwith the other. Before she can stop me, I toss the offensive undergarment outside, the cold air ripping it away.
Ava’s eyes go wide with disbelief, lips parting on a gasp. “You didnotjust do that.”
I chuckle to myself, rolling the window back up. “Damn right I did,” I reply proudly, raking my hungry gaze down her body. “No hiding tonight, pretty girl. I want every asshole at this thing to see exactly what they’ll never have.”
It takes almosttwo hours to get to our destination. By the time the driver pulls up in front of the swanky ass hotel hosting the gala, I’ve drained both flasks of whiskey I brought along, rolling on a solid buzz. I quickly hop out of the car and offer Ava a hand, giving her another appraising stare as I help her out of the back seat.
The silvery silk hugs her ass, and I fight the urge to drop to a knee and sink my teeth into it like a peach. She’s exactly the kind of distraction I need for an evening like this– every time I look at her, she’s all I can see. My mind goes blank to everything except how fuckable she is in that dress, and I can’t wait to get her out of it later and see how far she’ll let me go.
She takes my arm again and the two of us walk through the front doors of the hotel, stepping into the disgustingly opulent lobby. I swear charities spend more on events like this than they raise– because nothing sayshelping the less fortunatelike chandeliers and caviar, right? The arrogance of the whole display is sickening, which is why I’m sure my father’s completely in his element. Senator Ford walks around like the world owes him applause.
People’s heads turn our way as Ava and I enter the ballroom, already packed with uppity snobs dressed in crisp tuxedos and formal gowns. She’s clutching my arm tighter than she did when we left the dorms, her usual look of wide-eyed innocence tinged with nerves.
I slip an arm around her waist and lean in close. “Relax. You’re the prettiest girl here, Ava baby.”
A blush rises to her cheeks, the sound of her breath hitching going straight to my dick. The bulge in my pants is gonna be obscene if she keeps that up.
Ava’s eyes shift anxiously around the room as I guide her forward, like she’s afraid someone’s going to call her out for not belonging here. That’s not why they’re staring, though, and a few people do more than just look. Some old fuck in a vintage tux stops her to ask if she’s a model, and I bite back a laugh when she gets all flustered and denies it. I consider putting my fist through his face for eye-fucking her the way he does, but lucky for him, I’m on my best behavior tonight.
For now.
Odds are my old man will piss me off at some point and the night will end in disaster. No idea why he keeps forcing me to come to events like this, but I suppose appearances are everything.
“It’s beautiful here,” Ava whispers, barely audible over the chatter of the crowd.
“It’s something,” I grumble, watching the way she takes in everything with awe. It’s the same shit as always– women in designer gowns faking smiles, men in tuxedos shaking hands and pretending they’re above stabbing each other in the back. Crystal chandeliers glittering overhead, champagne flutes clutched in greedy hands. It’s all just a fucking circus, minus the peanuts.
I steer Ava through the crowd toward the bar, her grip on my arm easing as she relaxes into our surroundings. I’m not sure I like that she’s getting comfortable here already, as if she’s content to just slip into this world for the night and become likethem. She’s supposed to be above all this pretentious bullshit– or at least I thought she was. Maybe I was wrong.
The only saving grace of events like these is that they’ve always got top-shelf booze. My throat’s parched with a thirst that can only be quenched by whiskey, tension tightening my muscles as we step up to the bar and flag down the server.
“Whiskey neat,” I tell him. “And champagne for my girl.”
He’s quick to pour both, and I toss a hundred-dollar bill into his tip jar to guarantee my glass remains full all night. Ava gives me a nervous smile when I pass her the champagne flute, lips barely touching the rim before I spot my dad carving a path across the room toward us.
“Here we go,” I mutter under my breath, knocking back my drink, the burn of the whiskey down my throat the only thing keeping me grounded.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ava turn toward me, brows drawing together in soft confusion. She opens her mouth to ask, but it’s already too late.
Enter Senator Ford.
He strides through the crowd like he owns the place– which, in some ways, he does. The perfect smile stretched across his face doesn’t reach his eyes. It never has.
“Glad you could make it,” he drawls, smooth and practiced, voice slick as oil. It drips with a kind of charisma that wins votes and snags headlines. To most people, he’s magnetic, but to me? He’s fake as fuck.
“You said be here,” I say with a shrug, letting my empty glass clink on the marble bar top. I tap a finger against the counter to signal the server and he nods, already pouring.
My father sizes me up, lip curling at the way my black-on-black attire does nothing to hide the tattoos crawling up my throat or splashed across the backs of my hands. He hates my ink, my attitude, everything that doesn’t fit his perfect family image.
