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Intimate.
And,yeah... I want in on that fucking joke and that fucking world.
I want more.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a guy about her age walking our way and nod toward him as I look at her. “Hewho the show’s for?”
My little Cinderella leans in close again, her soft hair cascading down against me in a sheet of gold. “An ex who wanted more than I did and doesn’t like to take no for an answer.”
I give up the fight and tuck that damn lock of hair behind her ear, then let my fingers trail down the soft skin behind her ear and cup her neck.
I don’t fucking like that answer. No is all any woman should ever have to say to get a man to back the fuck off. Even if I have no doubt this girl is hard for a man to give up. But this dude doesn’t look like a man. He looks like a pansy-ass college kid, who probably doesn’t have a fucking clue where a clit is.
Dumb fucks like him are all about themselves. They don’t have any idea how intoxicating it can be to make a woman fall apart in your arms. The sounds she makes while you’re coaxing another from her. Or how fucking good the wait can be.
And without overthinking why, I slide my hand up the back of Cinderella’s head and press my lips to hers. Fast and hard—like a heavy clap of thunder followed by a deafening crack of lightning—the fucking Earth shifts, and the noise from the busy bar fades into the background. I capture her mouth with mine, sliding my tongue against hers, and she fucking melts in my arms. Soft and pliant. Not at all what I was expecting from this little wildcat.
A sweet sigh slips past her lips as her hands slide up my chest and around my neck until long nails are digging into my scalp and tugging on my hair.
A throat clears to our right as a bag of food is dropped on the bar to my left, and a growl works it’s way up my throat. I don’t do audiences.
When I pull back, her hands slide to my shoulders, and her dark pupils are blown wide with want.
Neither of us acknowledge the douche next to us.
This is probably stupid.
Definitely impulsive.
Two things I don’t do, but there’s no fucking way I’m stopping now.
I already paid for the food, so I grab the handles of the bag and stand with my other hand out to her. “You want to get out of here?”
My own voice sounds thick with hunger, and I have no fucking clue what I’m doing...
But when she places her delicate hand in mine and smiles, I don’t have a clue or acarebecause what I’ve got is the girl.
EVERLY
Ifollow my own growly anti-prince charming down the dimly lit hall, leading to the back door of West End... At least I follow until he apparently decides we’re far enough away from the crowded bar and stops suddenly. He drops his bag of food to the floor and pins me against the rough wall, next to Maddox’s office door.
I’m five five, and this man towers over me. His big chest and broad shoulders test the cotton of the soft, black t-shirt stretched around him, doing a lousy job of hiding a body I want to touch... To taste... To lick. Every. Last. Inch. Of. It.
I make the mistake of staring into his dark eyes as I try to remind myself I’m detoxing from men. And this guy... I bet this guy isall man.
His mouth hovers over mine as big hands press against the wall on either side of my face. Hands I want on my body. “Tell me you want this, Cinderella.”
Cinderella?
I like it.
Two strangers.
Only we’re not dancing at a ball.
Ever since I was a little girl, my ballerina mother has told my twin sister and me that we have matching black-and-white swans on our shoulders. Like little angel and devil ballerinas watching over us. Mom owns a dance studio where Gracie and I grew up. It wasn’t hard to imagine our swans. And right now, my white swan is straightening her pristine tutu and fixing her perfectly slicked-back bun as she whispers,No.Strangers are a hard no.
I don’t have too many hard no’s. But she’s right. Strangers are a hard no for me.
