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I take two giant steps forward, catching her phone in my fingers as her hand also wraps around it.
“Shit, you scared me.” She laughs, craning her neck so she can meet my eyes.
“Is that right, pretty girl?” I ask, still holding her hand.
“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting anyone to be that close.”
“I’ll bet you weren’t. You know what else you weren’t vigilant of?” I take a step forward as she takes a step back. She almost bumps into the push handle on the emergency exit. My free hand falls to her hip to pull her forward. “You certainly weren’t checking to make sure no assholes tried to snatch you up and tote you right out that easily accessible door.”
“First of all, I’m really not light, and not everyone is a giant. Secondly, I’m pretty sure an alarm would sound.”
I haven’t been in this club before, at least not to my recollection, but they all blend together after a while. My hand leaves her hip to shove the push handle. The door pops open with a scratching sound and no alarm. I’m sure a couple or two pop out of it every night for a quickie and even more clubgoers sneak out to smoke a joint or a cigarette.
I quirk an eyebrow.
Her shoulders bounce as she gives me a tight smile. “Well, you learn something new every day. Thanks for keeping an eye on me. I should probably get back.”
I try to bite my tongue. I really fucking do. I’m not sure if it’s the look on her face or the overwhelming drive I have to keep her safe, but I back her up until she bumps fully against the wall next to the door. It could also be the need to know how she’s going to react. It’ll tell me if we’re ultimately compatible.
“Youshould probablykeep yourself from unsafe situations before your backside meets my palm,” I growl close to the shell of her ear. “I can assure you, the type of spanking that comes from putting yourself in danger will be nowhere close to as enjoyable as a birthday spanking.”
She gasps as her hands land on my chest.
I take her phone and shove it into my back pocket as she leans into me for support.
A slow smile crosses my face when she doesn’t slap the shit out of me or tell me to get fucked.
“I understand,” she says, blinking up at me from behind long brown lashes. “Thank you again for making sure I’m safe. It means a lot that you cared enough to come looking.”
Goddamn, she really is sweet. Thank fuck she seems receptive to my personal brand of crazy. I’m overbearing when I care about someone. My hand moves down to link our fingers. “Always, pretty girl. Now let’s ensure you have a birthday to remember.”
She lights up with a smile that makes my heart beat funny.
No doubt about it.
This little omega is mine.
Now I just have to convince her to look beyond my physical scars and get to know me for me. Not the rock star stage persona. Not the guy the newspapers and media called a hero.
Just me.
Why does that feel impossible?
* * *
“Has she always had… whatever kind of rhythm that is?” Ram asks, chuckling at the sight of Tinley dancing.
“Wasn’t that popular in the seventies?” I ask incredulously. The dance is retro to the point I don’t even know what it’s called, but I do vaguely recognize it.
“Indeed.” Fitz grins around the beer he’s been nursing. “Her grandma taught my sister and Tinsel a bunch of dances before prom. I think those were popular a few generations before our grandparents’ time.”
“Oh, God,” Ram chuckles. “That’s actually fucking adorable.”
“You should’ve seen it in person.” Fitz grins.
It’s pretty clear just from that look that the man is done for. I’ve seen him brush off countless women and a few guys since we met.
If this tour has an unofficial name, it’s the celibacy tour, at least for the three of us. I’d really like to rectify that at some point.
