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This protection is my obsession
Her soul I’ll keep, my reins she holds
Whips to lash out at my soul
This imprint, delicious
There’s bliss in this torment
I’m breaking my promises now
She’s holding me under
Golden hair spun in white moonlight
She’s holding me under
Vanilla cream on my tongue, a temptation I can’t resist
I’ll slide into forever for this
I’m breaking my promises now
Addicted to rough lips on soft skin
The taste of cream, my poison
She can’t escape this love, it’s hopeless
Birthed of broken promises, my dark obsession
This love is dangerous, endless
I’m breaking all my promises now
“Oh my God,” I breathe. Even if his eyes weren’t locked on me the entirety of the song, his voice thick and husky, a promise to strip me bare and use me until I’m raw—I know this song is meant for me. No, it’s not just meant for me.It’s mine.
“Holy shit.” The shock in Candace’s voice echoes my own. “Cash is in a mood.”
I have no words. The crowd has gone wild. If he didn’t already star in the darkest fantasies of every woman in this club, he does now. In the time I’d been faking this with Cash, never once had I heard such an eruption from the crowd.
“He made it obvious that song was about you.”Candace leans in close, hand tightening around my arm. “We should sit.”
“Why?”
“People are starting to stare, take photos and—” She starts to pull me off the dance floor. “Sometimes people can get out of hand when someone else has something they want. Right now, every vagina in this room wants your man.”
He’s not my manis on the tip of my tongue. Then the lyrics begin to play in my mind, and I’m not so sure anymore if this is fake.
What promise is Cash breaking? The promise to let me go? To feel nothing for me at all? The promise to keep things simple, uncomplicated, and easily forgotten?
He shattered that promise with his very first kiss.
Candace pulls me into the booth at the side of the stage as Cash grinds out an old crowd favorite. I count four pairs of panties tossed on the stage at his feet, but I don’t care, because he’s not the only one with the strappy grave of unmentionables under the soles of his boots. Kane’s got quite the pile tonight, but unlike Cash, who kicks them to the side, Kane grins proudly at his dirty little collection.
“Urgh,” Candace huffs. She’s got one hand pointed to where Ian stands on stage, a lump of frosty blue material on the toe of his boot. “Gross. Like, who tosses their crab infested undies on someone else?”
“Ew. I’m less concerned about the STI and more about the money they’re throwing away. Panties aren’t cheap, and those definitely aren’t from a bag.”
