His bulk sheltered me from the strobe lights, and I’d never felt smaller, more feminine, or more protected than I did in this moment.
And I exulted inthe difference between here and the last time I’d danced in a club—Mexico.
I knew how it felt to be unsafe and this was the opposite.
As he devoured my mouth, his tongue toying with mine, I sagged into him as he swept me tighter into his hold.
When his hands began dragging my skirt up, I didn’t argue—I knew keeping my modesty intact was a him problem.
But as the hemline brushed my knees, he froze.
I tensed, wondering what was wrong, then he released me from his kiss and, pressing pecks along my cheekbone, in my ear, he said, “Thirty seconds,liunissa.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I warned.
Grinning, he nodded, then he let go of me.
But he didn’t move far—only turned around, one arm bent back to hold me fast to him, while yelling at Luigi, who looked like he wished he’d never been born.
When someone tapped on my shoulder, I peered over it and found some numbnut staring at me.
“Wanna dance with someone who’ll give you their full attention?” he shouted over the music.
I blinked at his audacity. “I’m with someone.”
I should have figured the stranger had a death wish by approaching when a literal clearance zone surrounded me—next thing I knew, his hand cupped my elbow and he was yelling, “Come on, baby. I can show you a better time.”
I yanked my arm from his hold, but his grip was strong from whatever he’d snorted.
It didn't even register that Stan's conversation was over. A fist flew forward and as the stranger’s nose busted, blood spurting through the air, Stan snarled, “Get your hand off my woman if you don’t want me to break every finger you possess.”
The guy didn’t exactly obey, more like staggered back. His brains obviously resided in his ball sack because, head tilted to stem the blood flow, he sniped nasally, “You want to fight me over her? This stupid bitch isn’t?—”
Before he could finish his sentence, Stan grabbed the man’s hand then used it to punch him in the face. I stepped away when he did it again, having no desire to be drenched in the dude’sblood once, like predicted, Stan ensured the asshole would need cosmetic surgery to fix what he fucked up.
I tapped my toe against the sticky floor as Stan proceeded to cup the guy’s head and bring it into his knee.
“He’s not worth it,” I called over the music.
That unholy fire was back to raging in his eyes as he settled them on me. It was barbaric, but I turned to mush. That fury sparked and lit me up from the inside.
“He called you a stupid bitch,duci.”
“Men are tedious when they’re on the brink of rejection.”
His hands gripped the guy’s ears as he used them as handles to drag him upright.
“Please! Let me go,” the idiot sobbed, arms flailing in an attempt at self-defense. “Security! Security! Help!”
But Stan’s rage roared loose and free—there was no defense that’d save him from my man.
“It’s too late for tears,” he raged.
And, suddenly, I saw his hold shift.
One swift twist and the man’s neck would snap.
Fuck.
