But as he moves, rolling his hips against that random guy, my blood boils hotter and hotter. Fuck him for being hotter than sin and yet so disgusting. My body burns to touch, to experience, to taste all that Landon Presley has to offer.
Not that I can; he’s clearly interested in other alleys of pleasure. Whatever. That’s all fine and well; I have a job to do anyway.
And that job? Ripping him apart. Just not, you know, sexually.
Even if the idea of hate sex riles me up beyond belief, I cannot fraternize. Never have, never will. I serve an organization bigger than myself; the work I do is far too important to risk on some little brat, even if he is a mouthwatering one.
And with that in mind, I head toward the bar and get a drink, something dark and heady in a plastic cup. After looking around to see that almost everyone is minding their own business, I pour the B109 into the drink and slosh it around gently.
There. Now I just need him todrinkit.
As I approach where he’s standing, Landon stumbles, laughing as he says something into his dance partner’s ear as they move.
He’s drunk, it appears. That just makes my job easier.
Reaching out, I grip Landon’s hip and spin him to face me. His wide green eyes are heated and glazed, his body instinctivelypressing into mine as if he’s always prepared for a new dance partner.
And for a long moment, we stand just like this. His skin is hot, my fingers resting firmly over the sliver of his back that is sweaty and exposed. Landon smells like liquor and temptation—a deadly cocktail to most of the human race as he bats his lashes.
In this moment, he looks so fucking sweet and dirty. But then, the moment passes, and he’s glaring up at me so beautifully I almost wish I could say damn it all and bend him over right here.
I’d love to fuck the bratty, disgusting impulses from his body until all that remains is a decent, law-abiding citizen. But I can’t. For one, I have standards forpersonalitywhen it comes to hook-ups, but it would break so many organizational rules.
“Nathaniel,” Landon says, his voice dripping with resentment. “Tell me why it is that you’realwaysaround me?”
His hand is pushing at my chest, but there’s no real force behind it. He stays locked in my arm with barely any effort.
“Uh, Lan? You okay?” the guy behind asks, his wide eyes staring at me with fear and anger.
I give him a pointed stare. “Lanis busy now. Find someone else to publicly rut against.”
The man makes a dignified huff and spins on his heel, leaving us surprisingly easily.
“Now you’re depriving me of a good fuck?” Landon asks, his words slurring slightly as he resorts to leaningintome rather than away.
“With your thick cock pressed to my thigh, I’d guess you’d enjoy fighting with me more than you’d enjoy fucking that guy,”I tease, but my tone is low, dangerous. “Or are you typically a bottom?”
Landon scoffs, turning his face from mine with an eye roll. “I do whatever feels good, asshole. And you’re wrong. I don’t hate being pressed against you.”
“Don’t hate?” I repeat, raising a brow.
“Huh?No!”Landon’s eyes widen, his head snapping back to look at me with a horrified expression. “Idohate. I’m drunk; leave me alone.”
He tries to shove away from me again, a futile attempt.
I wrap my arm firmly around his waist and pull him even tighter against me, and Landon lets out the most obscene groan I’ve ever heard, his glaring eyes never leaving mine.
No one has ever looked so good. No one has ever lit me up so fucking fast.
His hips roll instinctively, searching for that friction my body gives him without concern.
I need to give him the drink. I need him to drink the B109 so that I can drag him away and stifle his power. But it’s hard to do so when he’s so warm and firm against me.
I bet with everything in me that he’d fight. That if I held him down and swallowed him whole, he’d squirm and scream the whole time. Every word he would say would be of disapproval, but his body? His body would betray him, coming over and over again as I abuse it.
Fuck, maybeIneed to fuck some random guy here.
My hand lifts from his waist, gripping the back of his hair and forcing him to look at me when he attempts to turn. The blissed-out, furious expression he’s wearing makes me feral.
