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She can pretend there is no spontaneous sex, but on numerous occasions she insisted onschedulingthe session when my tongue was already deep down her throat long enough to soak her underwear. She put it on our calendars mere seconds before I dragged her skirt up.
She won’t admit that she’s failed at maintaining her distance. Instead, she schedules sex daily. I’m not complaining.
The only rule she diligently follows is no sleepovers. And I’m fine with that as well. The perfect relationship.
I will miss this arrangement once I’m gone. Especially since clubs are my primary spots to pick up women, and it’s clear I’m not setting foot in this type of place sober anymore.
The suit is now practically drooling over Chils. He stands up and I put my soda down and walk over to him, cracking my knuckles. He steps back, maybe sensing my energy. Smart guy.
“Having a good night?” I cock my head.
“Do I know you?”
Two of his friends stand up.
“Happy New Year, dipshit. And if you want to celebrate without a broken nose, you’ll stop ogling my woman.”
He snorts, shaking his head and my fists curl up.
“You better watch her yourself, then.” He nods toward the dancefloor.
I look over my shoulder and growl. London dances around a man who looks like steroids are his only nutrition. He leans in and tells her something and she shakes her head and raises her arms, gyrating around him. The asshole yanks her to him and whispers into her ear.
My vision blurs as irritation claws its way through my muscles. I launch forward even before I see his hand on her ass. She pushes him away, but he doesn’t budge.
“Get your hands off of her or she is the last thing you will ever touch.” Blood is rushing into my temples.
Even over the loud music, I hear Paris gasp. I’m faintly aware the activity around me slows down, but my focus remains on the asshole and Chils. I’m seconds away from ripping him apart.
My warning takes him by surprise and London extracts herself from his roaming paws. Music and some unfamiliar emotions roar in my head.
“Dominic, you came to dance.” London stumbles and falls into my arms. Annoyingly cheerful, she’s completely oblivious to the tension.
Unexpected affection squeezes at my chest as I feel her in my arms. At the same time, fury and an irrational sense of ownership settles in. Unsettling me. What the hell am I doing?
“I don’t dance. We’re going home. Now.” I twirl her around, so she faces the general direction of the exit, and look behind to get Paris.
London pivots back and collapses against my chest. “But it’s New Year’s Eve. Don’t be such a party pooper.” She beams at me. Her genuine smile is like a sucker-punch to my gut.
Lesson number three, it takes six shots and a bottle of champagne for Chils to smile sincerely. Interesting. What’s even more interesting is the warmth it spreads through me, and the desire to have her smile at me like that more. For real.
I hate night clubs.
“It’s not New Year’sEveanymore,” I growl. “It’s January first. Let’s go.”
“London, baby, I need to talk to you.” The steroid douche tries to get to her.Baby?
“Ash, fuck off.” London swats at him and dances around me, grinding her pelvis into my hips.
I’m all for a private show, but right now a vein is threatening to burst out of my neck.
ClearlyAshhas no self-preservation instincts because he pushes between us. “I need your help. I fucked up and Hunter is really pissed—”
His T-shirt rips as I grab him and toss him to the side.
“What the—” His protest is swallowed by the music and the crowd as he staggers backward.
“Let’s go,” Paris chirps and grabs London’s hand, dragging her away.
