I grab my bag and let the false identity of Grace take over. Confident, capable, lone wolf, but also lost and needy, and eager for his attention. It’s complicated, but I can pull it off. I unlock the door and reveal Christopher. He smiles as he scans over the top of my head. I pull the door closed before he gets any smart ideas about taking this further right here, right now.
“Anticipation is good for us,” I say. “Good things shouldn’t be rushed. They should be savored.”
A frown forms between his gray eyes as he moves back and guides me toward the curved booth. I slide onto the supple leather with him following behind me. A gleaming silver ice bucket containing an open bottle of champagne sits on the table beside two empty crystal flutes. Well played, trying to lure me into thinking my drink could never be laced with something if the glass is empty. Unfortunately for him, I’m not stupid. He tops both glasses up, and we click them together, the sound of expensive crystal tinkling in the air as we toast the night and whatever comes of it. Death, preferably. His, not mine. Womendripped in sultry luxury move around the club, some serving the patrons, others under the spell of the men who hand-picked them to be here. I didn’t expect a stage with a neon light statingwomen for sale, but I am surprised how normal everything appears to be. Perhaps it’s happening on the top level? I need to make a plan to scout the place. I relax my limbs and encourage my heart rate to stay steady as my mind registers that somewhere in this building lurks the devil responsible for all my nightmares. I cannot panic. Panic gets you killed.
“What job did you do?” Christopher asks, like he’s remotely interested. Mentally I roll my eyes hard enough to see my ass.
“Vet assistant.”
“Really?”
“What? I don’t look like I care for animals?” Rude.
Surprise flickers in his gaze. “I pictured you in a tight little skirt being the secretary of a tyrant whose advances you rejected, and that’s why he sacked you.”
Of course he did. He’s already formed some sort of fantasy in his head about me. Best to lean into it. “Close enough, but switch the skirt for scrubs and you have yourself a close picture of my life.”
“Did you report him?”
A test. I shrug as I pretend to take a sip of the champagne. “What’s the point? Boys will be boys.” I swallow the need to vomit from those words. Boys will be boys is a fucking terrible excuse. It reinforces the narrative that society expects behavior based on their gender. That we as women should accept their domineering lecherous advances as something simply a part of life. It’s not. I don’t buy into the thought that men are predators, and we are suffocating their desires by not letting them hunt us. There is a movement becoming a little more known that has to do with primal play. But it’s consensual; there are rules, safewords, and an acceptance of boundaries. Consent is everything, no matter what your kink is.
But there’s a rotten core of society who believe men’s desires should take precedence, that their needs outweigh ours. Total bullshit, if you ask me.Even in the wake of the Me Too movement, their crimes still go unanswered, and the seedy underbelly continues to thrive. We claim to be an evolved species. I sometimes wonder how we can assert that in a world of depravity. Christopher is part of that problem. I could dispatch him quickly, but that won’t help me get closer to the head of the beast. I have to be right under Jonathan’s nose.
“I can see we have the same values, the same needs,” Christopher says as his warm hand skims my knee. He’s not sweating like the pig he is. No, he’s chilled, relaxed in his domain.
I push my lips up and glance at him. “What needs would those be?” My voice is breathy and warm. Inviting. Excited.
His fingers tense, his manicured nails digging into the sensitive flesh of my thigh and pulling them apart. I freeze, closing my knees together and trapping his hand there. Christopher wants a challenge. If I hand myself to him on a platter, it will be too easy, and I’ll be fucked, out on my ass before the hour is up.
Instead of asking about my needs, he falls into my trap and assumes I want whatever it is he wants. That my pleasure would be tied to his. Fucking idiot. Give me the unicorn of a man that asks what you want, then weaves in his own take on it to give you earth-shattering orgasms. Give me a man that cares. Alas, they seem to be hiding at the end of the rainbow along with the elusive pot of gold.
He tilts his head like he’s trying to get a read on me. “You want to be fucked hard,” he starts. Truth. But not by him. “You want to be dominated, controlled, held down as I take mypleasure and my wrath out on your body.” Wrong, wrong, sort of, and definitely not. He shouldn’t quit his day job. Psychic is not his forte.
“Really? And you think you are strong enough to control me?” I taunt.
He smirks as his fingers dig into my thigh, nudging my legs open. Okay, so he works out. Doesn’t mean he knows what he’s doing. He might have height and muscle on me, but I know sixteen places where hitting anyone, no matter their size, will incapacitate them, and I’m not afraid to use those moves. I might have been a data analyst for the military, but I’ve ensured I can defend myself against men like Christopher, knowing I will need those skills as I get closer to Jonathan. I’m also a fucking exceptional shot and practice at least once a week at a range. I can’t afford for my skills to get rusty.
“I know I am,” Christopher mutters as his gaze drops to my mouth. I run my tongue over my bottom lip, his eyes tracking the movement. He sucks in a breath, making me chuckle.
“Anticipation,” I remind him. A perfect excuse until I get my eyes on my true target. Perhaps we should dance. There’s a small area where couples are basically having sex with their clothes on under the guise of dancing. Then I remember I resemble a drunken newborn giraffe in stilettos, which is not exactly enticing.
“Later, Grace, I’m going to thoroughly enjoy unleashing my pent-up frustration on your body. You may regret making me wait.”
Oh, Christopher, the only one regretting anything will be you.If he tries putting his dick anywhere near me, I might not resist showing him my knife skills.
I skim my lips over his. It’s not a kiss. It’s a promise. For him, that promise is where else I’ll put my lips. For me, it’s a reminder of the very dangerous world I’m tiptoeing through.
“How much anticipation are we talking about?”
“An hour, maybe two,” I answer with a smile.Enough time for me to drop this tracker on someone close to Jonathan, but not too long that you lose interest.
“Are you waiting for me to carry you out of here on my shoulder?”
Oh, he’s really leaning into this caveman behavior. In a world between two consenting adults, I can understand the appeal. But, again, we’re back to that word men like Christopher find a turnoff. Consent. I have no doubt he will push me until I’m past my limits and ask him to stop. That’s where his genuine excitement begins.
He pulls away and takes another sip of champagne. I pretend to do the same, my gaze not leaving his. He, however, tears his hungry eyes away from me, and a wide genuine smile breaks free.
“Jonathan! You’re here, old friend.”
