For a long second, neither of us moves. Then his arms band around me, tight, possessive, almost desperate. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to. I feel it anyway. The thing neither of us wants to name.
The thing that scares us both. The words he said the things I felt.
He’snotletting go.
He’s not letting go.
He pulls out slow.
My thighs tremble, slick with both of us. There’s an ache between my legs already—deep, throbbing, raw, like he carved himself into me and left the shape behind.
It hurts to clench around the emptiness he’s left. I hate how much I want it back.
His cum slips from me, his fingers catch it, sliding softly over my clit before he brings them to my lips and and I suck.
My eyes catch his and they’re are filled with fire, glinting like the piercings on his lips.
His taste mixed with mine salty and binding explode on my tongue. I swallow as he pulls his fingers from my lips.
Fuck.I can’t.
I can’t. This is a job.
Heis a job.
I slide off the desk. He tucks himself away. I scramble tugging up my jeans, tangled in my panties. I want to scream. I want to cry. My chest is on fire. My throat squeezing in on itself.
His eyes are burning into me, but I don’t look at him. I pull my shirt on, straighten myself, zip up my jeans and pull open the office door.
If I’m a weapon, then I’m yours.
His voice echoes in my head. The way it cracked something open in me. I rush through VIP, heart pounding too loud in my ears. I need air. Space. Distance.
Halfway down the stairs I realize—I’m barefoot.
I didn’t grab my boots.
I almost laugh. Almost cry. Almost turn back.
I don’t.
The bass downstairs hits like a second heartbeat. Bodies everywhere. Sweat. Smoke. Color.
Blue lights flash across the dance floor.
Blue.
His hair was blue the first night I saw him. Blue that matched his eyes. Cold and clear and impossible to look away from.
Everything about him is blue.
His eyes.
His touch.
The way he consumes.
And everything else about him is gray.
