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Tell me I’m your good little slut again.
Darling, I would stop saying that.
Or what?
Or I may very well bend you over my knee and spank that ass.
Oh, I very much like the sound of that…
“I need air,” I tell Sailor, sliding my phone into my pocket. The alcohol has gone to my head. I’m drunk, and I feel if I don’t get air, I may very well be physically ill.
All over this dance floor.
In my pretty heels that my husband put on me.
Aww, my husband.
Maybe I will treat him to some fun.
Seems I like him after all.
“I’ll be back.” She only nods and keeps on dancing. I go to exit out the front door until a man in all black, who must be security, points to another door. I walk toward it and as I do, he follows opening the door.
“Thanks.” I think I say it as the cold air hits me, and then instant relief takes hold. With a deep breath, I see stairs which lead to… fuck, I got no idea. I spin back and behind me is the door back to the club which is being blocked by the security guard. “Thanks again, just needed some air.” He doesn’t say anything, his eyes, though, they hover on me, and even being drunk, I know I don’t want his gaze. “I’ll go back inside now.”
“You’ll do no such thing. Payment is needed for helping you, don’t you think?” he asks.
“Excuse me?” I ask him, confused, clearly my drunk-addled brain has heard him wrong.
“A woman as pretty as you… all by herself is ready to be fucked.” His hand touches my hair, and he lifts a strand. I knock his damn hand away, but he only laughs.
“Adora.” My back stiffens when I hear that voice.
“Fuck off.” The man in front of me says before dropping my hair.
Heavy footsteps are all I hear when I turn my head to see Joey rushing up the stairs his hands to his sides. He steps up next to me, his hand touches the side of my face while his other hand lifts, and it’s followed by a loud bang.
Something wet lands on my face.
Warm and sticky.
He wipes it with his thumb.
“You really are the most beautiful thing I ever did see.”
“Is that blood?” I ask him, too hypnotized by him to even care about what he just did.
I’ve done worse.
“Yes.”
“I’m tired, I feel sick,” I tell him, leaning in.
“I’ll get my wife.” That’s Keir’s voice, and then I hear the door open and close.
“Let’s get you home and to my bed.”
“Our bed,” I say to him.
