“What? Are you serious?”
“Yes,” he replies with a laugh as he grabs a smaller glass and holds it up for me to see. “And this is a pink pussy.”
He downs the drink before I can even register what he’s said and by the time he is looking back down at me, my face is beet red. The way he just spoke those dirty words and the smirk that played across his lips has me weak in the knees as heat floods between my thighs. This man is dangerous. I play it off as I awkwardly take anothersip of my drink.
“Those are some weird names for drinks. Must be a States thing.”
His eyes sparkle in amusement as a few men walk up to the section we are in and Frankie steps towards them. I have no idea what I’m talking about or if it’s even really a States thing. I’ve never so much as been in a club in Italy, let alone somewhere where they name drinks this way. I can't say I’m not enjoying this experience though. It feels fun and freeing just being somewhere like this. Before I know it I find myself dancing and swaying to the music surrounding me as Frankie watches me curiously.
Every once in a while I see women coming up to the guards and some being allowed entrance inside the VIP while others are turned away. Women orbit Frankie like he’s gravity itself. I watch as they drift close to him, laughing too loud and brushing against him like they know him too well. He handles them easily like he’s used to being the center of attention. Every time I get close enough to hear a part of their conversation, he has them sent away.
“You sure have a lot of women wanting your attention,” I say, after one particularly persistent woman finally gives up and leaves after he says something to her. He glances at me, his mouth curling into a sly smirk.
“Jealous, Datura?”
My nickname on his lips makes my stomach flutter but I scowl at him anyways.
“Of course not,” I snap, but the denial tastes bitter even as it comes from my mouth. There’s a twist low in my chest because, yes, I think I really am jealous. “I was just making an observation.”
Something unreadable crosses his features and I watch his mouth turn down. Before I can make more of a fool of myself, I twist around and grab another drink. I already feel tipsy from my first one but I need something more to make meforget about this feeling I get every time I see another woman near him.
It gets worse when another woman is allowed entrance into the VIP. A blonde in a red dress with legs for days, leans in and whispers something in Frankie’s ear that makes him smile. She trails her fingers down his arm and I watch as he sits down on one of the couches and she takes the opportunity to sit on his lap. I try not to watch as she leans over, pushing her boobs right into him, but I can’t help the anger that courses through my body. I don’t know why I’m so angry. He’s not mine and I’m not his, yet I can’t help the possessiveness I feel towards him. I watch him look up at me, that stupid smirk on his face again, while the woman whispers to him. I don’t think. I just act. I slam my drink down and wedge myself between them and the table, causing both the woman and Frankie to look up at me in surprise. Then I grab Frankie’s hand and pull him up while her body slides off of him abruptly. He doesn’t even look back at the woman but he does stop me to quickly speak to the guards as we leave VIP.
“Don’t let any more women in here,” I hear him say and I smile to myself as I pull him onto the dance floor.
“What…” he starts, but I cut him off by pressing in close, closer than I should.
His hands immediately lock around my waist and he pulls me against him hard. The strobe lights flicker as we dance. I feel his body so closely molded to mine that I couldn’t tell you where he ended and I began. The alcohol in my body has me boldly gliding my ass against him and feeling the hard length of him as his hands run up my thighs and stomach. If I could breathe right now, every breath would be a dare. A dare to find a dark secluded place and do more than just dancing.
It’s almost too much but it’s also not enough. The heat between us and the way his grip tightens any time I pull too far away. It seems like hours we dance like that, stuck in our ownlittle world, before Frankie jerks back, like he’s been shocked. He pulls his phone out and looks down at the screen with his eyebrows scrunched tightly.
“We need to go,” he mutters, so low I almost can’t hear him over the music.
I push my lips out in a pout, causing a small smile to form on his face.
“I’ll bring you back another time, Datura. It’s getting late…and you’re drunk.”
“Am not,” I say as he drags me through the crowd and outside where his SUV waits for us.
The cool night air hits me as we exit the club, clearing my head just enough to make me realize how tipsy I actually am. The world tilts slightly as Frankie guides me to the SUV, his hand steady at my lower back.
"I was having fun," I protest as he helps me into the passenger seat, my dress riding up my thighs. I catch him looking before he quickly averts his eyes and shuts my door.
When he slides behind the wheel, I turn to face him, propping my elbow on the center console.
"Why were all those women throwing themselves at you? It's like they knew you."
Frankie's jaw tightens as he pulls onto the street, the club fading behind us.
"I used to go there a lot before…"
"Before what?" I press, studying his profile in the dim glow of the dashboard. I’m definitely drunk right now.
"Before I was assigned to guard you," he replies, his voice low and rough. "That club is owned by the Sanchez family."
I blink and sit quiet for a moment as I process this new information.
"So you're, what, a regular? Is that why they let us into VIP without question?"
