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I wouldn’t be here if I had the choice. Unfortunately, I did not. Huxley demanded I attend, although I’m not sure why because he hasn’t said more than two words to me, having been occupied withSkye.
His lack of acknowledging me or my dress peeved me off, no matter how much I deny it. Every dress I eyed yesterday made me think of him. I imagined his reaction to the colour, cut and shape with every try-on. Would he prefer my boobs or ass being the star of the show? Would he take advantage of a short dress or maybe hitch a long dress up and fuck me in it?
But he didn’t evenlookmy way for more than two seconds, let alone whisper all the dirty things he wanted to do to me in this emerald green dress. There was no crude remark about the waist-high double slit. He didn’t ask to peek under the floor-length outfit. His eyes didn’t linger on my exposed long legs. He didn’t ask to see the underwear that was barely concealed by the fabric of my dress. He didn’t even acknowledge that I wore his favourite fucking colour.
“You’ve been staring at him for two minutes,” Francesca jibes.
Her natural brunette curls hang down her back. Her fuller cheeks always have a pinch of colour, making her look youthful and innocent. The gleam in her eyes makes me roll mine.
“I was trying to kill him from here. Why force me to be here when he clearly doesn’t need me to be?”
Her giggle is a soft melody. “Maybe he’s trying to make you jealous?”
“I doubt that.”
I search for Xavier, and it doesn’t take long. I watch as he smiles with an older man. He looks comfortable here. He is graceful in the way he carries himself. Tonight, he is wearing my favourite navy suit. He shakes the hand of his acquaintance, indicating the end of the conversation.
The moment the man walks away, there is a deadly look on Xavier’s face. It’s almost instantaneous. His eyes lose all life in them, and his lips curl into a snarl. It only happens briefly before he smiles again at Emery, who is approaching him.
It feels as though something is crawling down my spine. I can’t shake the feeling until a shadow falls over me.
“What’s got your face looking sour?” Huxley asks.
I plaster on a fake smile. “I’m just wondering why you forced me to come to this.”
He offers a hand. “You don’t want to dance with me?”
I eye the empty hand sceptically. “I don’t know where that hand has been.”
His other arm stretches along the back of my chair. He leans into my face and whispers, “You knowexactlywhere it has been, sweetheart.“ He stands tall and smiles. “Let me see some of those stripper moves.”
“One dance, and then I’m leaving.”
He offers a gracious nod. He takes my hand and leads us to the floor, where a few people are already swaying to the orchestra. I look back to see Francesca shooting a knowing smile in my direction. I try to seem unbothered, but my smile appears without permission.
“Do you need me to lead, or do you have enough balls to?” I provoke as we stand opposite one another.
For the first time tonight, Huxley eyes me from top to toe. His irises darken as he takes me all in. “You’ve had them in your mouth, you tell me,” he fires back.
“Definitely not big enough,” I laugh.
He runs his knuckles down the length of my exposed arm before threading his fingers through mine. His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me against his body. “One wrong move, and everyone here will see that delectable pussy of yours. Better watch your step, sweetheart,” he murmurs.
“What would you do if they did?” I ask as the orchestra start playing a new song.
The soft melody allows us to continue swaying along slowly.
“What would you like me to do?”
As I stare into his hazel eyes, I know the truth. I want him to tell people I’m his. Huxley isn’t conventional, but who says that is what everyone needs? I’ve done conventional before, and look at where it left me. Not every woman wants a shining knight. Some of us want the asshole who scowls at everyone except you within your hidden moments. Some of us want the rude bastard who ruthlessly fucks our brains out but shows moments of tenderness when no one is looking.
For too long, I’ve been torn between Xavier and Huxley. They both make me feel the same in a vastly different way. I glance over at Xavier, who’s in conversation with Emery. No matter what he says, Xavier is not a viable option.
“Tell them I’m off limits,” I answer.
The beat picks up, and as it does, Huxley picks up his pace and swirls me around with the melody. He takes control as he guides me throughout the dance – spinning me away from him before pulling me close again. When the tempo slows down again, he resumes our conversation.
“We both know what this is.”
