Page 17 of Wild Fire

“What’s your poison?” he asks, breaking my momentary thought.

I chew my lip, debating what to say.

I’d planned on getting a drink, but being offered is a lot better. Especially by a specimen like this guy. He kind of reminds of Evan’s stockbroker, actually; which only makes me want him more. I’m not a vengeful person or a vindictive one, but maybe I should be. Maybe I need to be more of an asshole and the universe will start to reward me. Because every asshole I know is confident, successful, and doesn’t give a shit about feelings. Though if I am applying for a gig here, I probably shouldn’t canoodle with the patrons, but…

What’s the harm in having a little fun? I’ve had a rough week.

Hell, I’ve had a rough go since we moved to Kentucky.

And maybe I like the way he keeps looking at me.

Maybe I like a little attention. Who doesn’t?

“Don’t suppose I can get one of those Hard Lemonade things here,” I joke, trying to be cool. But Mr. Sexy Suit frowns. Shit.

I fucked up. Should I have said something pretentious and stuffy like scotch on the rocks or something?

Before I can respond, he shakes his head. “Tell you what, how about you let me decide what should go in that pretty little mouth of yours.”

It’s the way he says the words. Sharp. Precise. Like they aren’t words, but some sort of code. But the way he’s looking at me—at my mouth and…

“Uh…” Heat floods my cheeks and I start to stammer, because it’s been way too long since a hot guy looked at me like that and bought me a drink. “Sure,” I say, swallowing hard, anxiety and excitement building within me.

Maybe my luck’s finally starting to change.

I’ve lost count of how many drinks Michael—if that is his real name—has bought me, but I swear I’ve never felt better. The music throbs in the air, and my entire body feels hot and sweaty, but that’s from the lights, I think.

We’ve been dancing for… I don’t know how long.

I can’t remember the last time I let go like this. It feels… good.

Too good.

And so does Michael’s dick that he’s been grinding against me all night.

“Why don’t we take this upstairs?” he purrs in my ear.

I giggle, feeling the effects of the sugary cocktails he’s been buying me. I swear they don’t even taste like there’s anything in them.

I open my mouth, attempting to find the will to speak, but words are hard, and everything’s blurry.

So fucking blurry…

Especially when I feel his hand slide over my cock and squeeze me. All I can do is yelp as I try to catch my breath.

He pulls on my hips, and I stumble from the motion, nearly falling over into someone else who shoves me back.

“Watch it, asshole,” they say, and I swear the room’s spinning.

Shit.

I’m really drunk.

I reach out to steady myself against a high top table, but I miss, and instead I fall right into Michael who just laughs that dark laugh. Someone’s hands settle on my waist, and I feel a hardness press against my ass. I blink, looking up at Michael, and that’s when I realize someone else is behind me. Grinding their erection against me.

I blink as my stomach starts to turn. I think I’m going to be sick.

“You can have him when I’m done, Beck,” Michael says, his voice cold, sharp.