You’re just like everyone else.You used me and left.
Don’t ever come near me again.
Asshole!
When he doesn’t respond, my heart sinks into my stomach.By my third drink, the fluttery ache in my belly has dulled to a gentle quiver.By the fifth, it’s no longer there, replaced with a sloshing warmth.When a man pulls up a barstool next to me and offers me a sixth drink, I barely look at him before agreeing.I lap at my drink like a thirsty dog, not caring that I can’t even recognize the flavor.
He sits close, talking next to my ear about something.Sports, maybe?Was it sports?I let him chatter at me, occasionally nodding my head in agreement, or maybe it’s just bobbing along to the music.I’m not sure.When a gentle hand lands on my shoulder, I turn my head toward him, actually looking at him for the first time.He’s a decent looking man in his forties, not quite as cute as the bartender, but handsome in his own right.
Maybe I should go home with him.The thought flits through my mind and I scoff, maybe inwardly or maybe out loud.The concept makes my lips pucker and my nose scrunch up in disgust.I realize immediately that there’d be no point in going anywhere with him.He’s not the man my body is pining after.He won’t make me come so hard that I see stars.Only one man has ever done that to me.I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing away the memory of that asshole’s hands on me.
It feels like he’s everywhere, like I can’t shake the thoughts of him out of me.Even now, I can smell the dark aroma of vanilla and leather, a scent that’s uniquely him.A pained grunt at my side draws my attention back from my thoughts.The face of the man beside me ripples with pain as his hand falls away from my shoulder.His eyes are wide and frightened, tears dripping from the corners.Wait, something isn’t right.There’s still a hand on my shoulder.
I whip my head around, the room slightly spinning as my eyes land on the hulking figure beside me.His face is pulled tight and his eyes burn with anger.My body instinctively leans toward him before I right myself, pushing myself back on my barstool until my back bumps into the bar.
“Ma—” I begin and quickly stop myself.I will not call him master.I will absolutely not call him that, no matter how much that nagging, horny part of my brain wants to.“Gray,” I utter as dryly as I can.
Unable to shoulder the weight of his gaze, my eyes lower to his chest.“Leave me alone.”I hate that my voice wavers.
The guy next to me whisper-screams in my ear, “Shit.Is that your husband?He looks pissed…and I think he broke my fucking hand.”
I open my mouth to tell him that he is absolutely not my husband, when Gray cuts me off.
“Yes,” he answers, his lips pulling up into a wolfish grin, “and I’m taking mywifehome.Now.”
I open my mouth, an argument on the tip of my tongue, but no words come out.They get strangled in my throat, choking me under the weight of his gaze.His eyes sparkle with unspoken challenge, like he’s daring me to fight him.His hand darts out, pinching my chin between his fingers.I whimper when his thumb digs into my skin in a silent warning.
“Let’s go,wife,” he draws the word out like he’s tasting it.
He bends forward, pressing his lips against the shell of my ear.His breath whispers across my sensitive skin, goosebumps rising in its wake.“You wanted my attention, precious.Now you have it.”
I slurp down a mouthful of my drink, finding my mouth suddenly as dry as the Sahara.Gray drops a wad of cash on the bar that looks like significantly more than what my drinks cost before unceremoniously hauling my body over his shoulder.My head sways back and forth against his back, the alcohol sloshing in my belly with his steps.
Without permission from my brain, my body relaxes into his hold.The warmth of his body tingles through me, warming places I didn’t realize were cold.The motion of his steps rocks me as we move.My eyelids begin to droop as we sway.Through the haze of drunkenness, my thoughts tumble through me.
I didn’t realize I was tired.I'm so tired.He’s so warm, like a big, angry blanket.Why does he smell so good?He smells like sex and sugar cookies.Oh, crap.Did I say that last one out loud?
The chuckle that rumbles through his chest confirms that I might have, in fact, said that last one out loud.
Shit.
