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It’s an active venue, but it also acts as a front for the Montaltos drug business, prostitution, and is rumored to harbor the many souls of those who’ve died there.
I shudder to imagine my father’s ghost stuck in those walls, since I’m sure my brother-in-law had a hand in his alleged suicide. That’s why I refuse to give them my patronage.
More importantly, Elia would probably drag me out by my hair if he caught me inside again. The one and only time I went, he busted me for using a fake ID with Caroline’s name and picture, and I ended up spilling my guts due to the alcohol ruminating in my stomach.
We haven’t spoken about that night ever since, but I know it softened him toward me, which is never what I wanted.
Didn’t need him to see me after I pointed out my troubles or to feel sorry for me. Even then, I was searching for love he’d already promised to my sister. Hardly anything’s changed in the years after.
But I don’t want to talk about any of that; don’t want to think about the people waiting for me in King’s Trace. “Speaking of being near your house,” I say, dropping my voice and pressing my breasts into his side, “what’re the chances you’d be willing to take me back there tonight? Ditch your friends, see who can make who orgasm faster?”
Choking out a cough, he tugs a broad hand through his short locks, his smile stretching Joker-style. “Not interested in any public adventures tonight?”
Internally, I cringe, remembering our last hookup. “We should probably give that particular place a rest. It doesn’t exactly see a lot of action; we might catch the place on fire.”
Jace laughs, raising one arm and calling for another round to his friends chatting at the dartboard. He slides the opposite around my shoulders, pulling me against him, and I shiver with the force of his gesture. The possession in it.
Unfortunately, my mind replays a different type of possession; how it felt to have Kieran Ivers’ hands on my skin, gripping my chin, forcing me to look into his explosive eyes. How it felt like a claiming all on its own, like him letting me know he wasn’t done.
Still, I haven’t heard from him since that night at the gala, and I’m starting to come to terms with the fact that I likely won’t be getting my locket back.
Or, I’m trying to, anyway. Hard to let go of the only sentimental gift anyone ever gave me.
Desperate to stifle the sadness threatening to flood my body, a volcano on the precipice of an eruption, I step up on my tiptoes and graze Jace’s ear with my lips. “Let’s get out of here.”
His eyebrows shoot up, his other arm moving to encircle my waist. He’s firm against me, his muscles hard and well-maintained, but there’s hardly any heat between us. Not the kind that scorches you where you stand.
The kind I want.
Fires can be made, though; all it takes is a little effort and the right equipment.
And Jace Allen definitely has that.
I slip out of his hold and take his hand in mine, tossing a wink over my shoulder at both our groups of friends. Selma and Avery shake their heads, whispering conspiratorially, while Carter shrugs and gives me a thumbs-up. His friends heckle as I lead him through the crowd to the back of the building. Bypassing the dingy, packed restrooms on one side of the hallway, I keep pulling until we reach the door with the big red exit sign above it.
Shoving it open with my shoulder, I whirl around and push him against the brick wall; the alley behind The Bar is almost always deserted because of the amount of trash accumulated in their dumpster, but it works as a hidden space for a quick fuck.
Jace threads his fingers in my hair, bringing my face to his to connect our lips; I can barely see him in the flickering streetlight, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He pulls back, stroking my cheek with his thumb and turning so I’m against the wall, his pelvis grinding into mine. “Are you sure you wanna do this? Wearein public.”
“I don’t care.”
He smirks, gliding his lips along my jaw. “Shit, Juliet, I didn’t know you were such an exhibitionist.”
Sliding my arms up and around his neck, I push off the ground, linking my legs around his waist, and drag his face back to me, shutting him up. I don’t want to talk about my kinks, or how he thinks he might be able to handle them. I can already tell he can’t, can feel it in the hesitation when he touches me. The uncertainty with being rough and domineering, like he’s afraid I can’t handle it. But I don’t want his niceties, the way his hands stay respectfully above my belly button and his lips feel like butterfly kisses.
I need a distraction, something to drown out the noise in my mind.
A hard, dirty fuck. One that sucks the will to live from my being and thrusts it back in with a new sense of purpose.
No one ever gives me that.
The pads of his thumbs are rough against the skin of my thighs as he pushes my dress up, slipping his hand beneath the thin, lacy black fabric of the thong I’m wearing. I buck against him as he sweeps through my folds, dropping one hand to palm the bulge in his jeans; I’ve just started to yank down his zipper when his index finger pushes inside, making me gasp.
“That okay?” he asks, pulling his head back to look at me, slowing his pumps.
Refraining from rolling my eyes at his need for permission, I nod furiously, pushing my hand inside his pants and pulling him out. “Perfect.”
I stroke up and down his shaft as he thrusts in and out of me; while Jace isn’t exactly satiating in every context, he’s got a big enough dick and usually gets the job done with his fingers after. So, even though we lack the kind of heat that makes it feel like your skin is melting from your body, my pussy still drips at the sight of him.
