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A slight frown pulls at this perfect face before his eyes find me. He doesn’t smile but something visibly relaxes in his gaze when they land on me.
My heart’s in my throat as I watch him approach. He’s dressed in all black, slacks and a linen shirt that proudly display the tattoos on his arms and chest, the combination making him look absolutely lethal as he cuts through the crowd. A simple gold chain and small hoop in his right ear do nothing to soften him, instead adding a menacing aura to his whole look.
His eyes never leave me as he closes in. They take in the way my tongue peeks out to lick up the salt on my hand, then shift to track the movement of my throat as I down the tequila shot, and land on my mouth when I bring the lime to my lips and suck.
His eyes darken dramatically as they rake down my body slowly, taking in the emerald green two piece set I’m wearing. I may or may not have thought it matched his eyes when I decided to wear it tonight. Lust and possession etch themselves on his face as his eyes trace the bared and smooth pane of my stomach.
“Hey.”
He’s standing in front of me, his eyes downcast as they finish taking me in.
Anxiety has me shaking before him.
It’s not the kind that precedes my panic attacks. No, this is the feeling of hundreds of wings starting to flap as a kaleidoscope of butterflies emerges in my belly.
I can only stare at the line of thick, dark eyelashes framing inquisitive eyes.
My brain is fighting my helpless body, reminding it that I decided I was going to play it cool since he refused to talk to me and ran out earlier. I can’t keep letting the way he touches me blind me to the reality that, whatever it is we’re doing, he and I aren’t on the same page.
“Hi.” I answer, trying to keep my tone clipped. I’m annoyed at myself when it comes out slightly breathy.
His finger traces the hem of my top. It’s the first time he’s touched me like this in public. I feel a pull in my stomach to lean into his touch, to give in to him. He moves to my collarbone before his hand grasps my hair and moves it to behind my shoulder.
His eyes fall to my neck and he pauses.
I watch as the look of desire in his eyes transforms into one of fury. He’s looking at the hickeys, or at least the spot where the hickeys should be but are hidden behind the makeup Six spent nearly an hour applying.
There’s barely a trace of them there.
Gone is the relaxed man I thought I’d glimpsed earlier. In his place stands a detached villain who has cold anger comping off him in waves.
Instead of gripping my throat or shoving me against a wall, he takes a step back. I feel the loss of his warm body immediately.
“Is that how it’s going to be?” He asks, his voice managing to somehow be both mean and completely removed from the present. He feels a thousand miles away from me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I say, playing dumb.
I’ve come to know Rogue by now. I knew this would piss him off. That even though for all intents and purposes he’s keeping this a secret, keeping me at a safe distance away from him, that I’m playing with fire by covering up his marks.
Like a true villain, I knew he’d want to see constant reminders of the proof of his possession.
But if he won’t tell me what I want to know, then I’m going to take something away from him as well.
He nods slowly a couple times, his mouth clamped shut in a tight line. I don’t know why I expected anything different, that’s his go to move when he’s confronted with something he doesn’t want to deal with or talk about.
The moment feels interminable and I don’t know where we go from here. I’m about to say something else — what, I’m not sure — when my eyes snap down to a hand curling around his stomach.
It takes me a couple seconds to understand what’s going on. It wasn’t there moments ago. It’s a woman’s hand, with expensive jewelry and a fresh manicure and it rests on his stomach like it has every right to be there.
Rogue hasn’t acknowledged it, hasn’t even looked away from me. The hand moves, slowly slithering up the expanse of his stomach and I feel nauseous. Lyra appears, her head ducking beneath his arm from behind until it comes to rest around her shoulders.
He still hasn’t moved, I don’t think he’s even blinked. His eyes are fixed on me with the rudest expression on his face.
Don’t let her touch you, I want to say.
“Rogue,” Lyra whines, the sound painful to my ears. “Come take a shot with me.” She pleads pathetically, doing nothing to advance the feminist agenda.
“Sure.”
