But it was fun, and I was in good company, dancing the night away with—
I shake off that train of thought.Don’t think about him, Leti.
Searching for a distraction, I consider joining the people on the dance floor and losing myself in the sea of bodies where I can forget not only my past, but my present. The heavy bass vibrates through my body. I could—no. That's a bad idea.
Dancing on one of the club’s table tops lets me avoid the crush of bodies, the sweat, and the grabby hands that are prevalent in a club like this. Maybe that’s why Maxim ordered me to climb up here.
An unexpected laugh escapes me.
He would never tell me to do something for my benefit, only ever his own. The only reason I’m up here now is so he can look up and gawk at me—the pervy bastard. Not that it matters. Moving down to the dance floor isn’t going to be permitted. He’d lose track of me, as would his men.
So much for that idea.
The song changes and I adjust my pace, slowing to the tempo of Niykee Heaton’sBad intentions.The provocative song and my more languid dance moves have several men stopping close by to watch and stare.
They’re paying more attention to me than Jill and her new dance partner, something I find incredibly annoying. Those two want the attention. I definitely don’t.
Some of the guys are discreet with their attention, but others— like the small cluster of thirty-something year old guys on my right—are much more obvious about their perusal of my body, openly leering as they angle their heads for a better glimpse up my skirt.
Pigs.
The skirt of my black bodycon dress is short. But notthatshort. None of these assholes are getting a look at anything I’m not willing to show. I slipped on a pair of black boy shorts underwear before I left my house tonight as a precaution. They cover as much of my ass as the bikini bottoms I wear to the beach do. More, actually.
“Yeah, baby. Shake that ass,” a man shouts, cupping his hands around his mouth as though he’s not loud enough as it is.
I flip him off, and he chuckles before releasing a loud whistle, catcalling me again.
Asshole.
“Don’t be like that,” he cajoles.
I turn away, ignoring his efforts.
“Why don’t you climb on down from there. I can show you a good time.”
I doubt that.
With a roll of my eyes, I flick my long brown hair over my shoulder and pretend he doesn’t exist. I won’t be going home with him or anyone else, for that matter. Not even my date. Though I don’t imagine Maxim will be alone after we leave the club.
Not if he sticks to his recent patterns of bringing along a third wheel that he plans to fuck later after he drops me off at home.
It’s awkward as fuck, but I can’t really do anything about it.
Maxim can’t screw me for another six months, and there is no way in hell that he’ll sacrifice his sex life until then. He’s tried getting me on board to dootherthings with promises and pleas that if he can have a taste, it’ll be enough to take the edge off. That he’ll be kinder with me. Softer. If he isn’t so wound up around me, since I’m just such atease.
Bastardo—bastard.
Like I care about helping him take the edge off of anything. His promises are bullshit, and I’m not the one at fault for his lack of self-control. Leave it to a man to blame a woman for their own behavior, though.
I made the suggestion a few weeks ago that he find a way to fulfill his needs elsewhere before our wedding, feigning concern that we’d take things too far in the heat of passion. Neither of us can afford for me to lose my birthright and I empathize with him, feeding him the same bullshit he tries to feed me about him having needs and me understanding that of course, he has to ensure those needs are met. Only my solution is that he take care of them with someone else. A proposition no true fiancé would ever suggest, but all he heard was “free pass” and latched on to it.
The notion of celibacy is beyond him. As is the concept of fidelity.
It’s funny to think he believes me ignorant enough not to realize he’s been sleeping around behind my back since the moment we got engaged. I wasn’t born yesterday. I know what men like him are like.
No longer worried about the risk of being caught and upsetting me, Maxim is only too happy to sleep his way through Richland until he can have me. Like being married will change anything.
Even if I bothered to stick around—which I won’t— he’d continue with his man-whoring ways.
