17. LYLA #3
Of course I knew the men at the club leered at me.
I heard their catcalls, and I tolerated them because I needed the money they threw at the stage more than my pride.
But hearing it from him—a man who scared the hell out of me, a man who could snap necks without hesitation? Knowing I had affected him ?
It sent an electric current straight between my thighs.
“You don’t have to get naked to sell desire,” he went on, his voice rough and hot like a shot of vodka.
“You do it with every roll of your hips, every fucking arch of your spine. You walk out under those lights and wrap every man in the room around your little finger, and they’ll line up to buy you, sunshine. Every last one of them.”
I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood, clenching my hands at my sides.
A part of me disliked that he’d watched me perform, but the other part wondered what he would do if I put on a private show just for him.
I didn’t want to feel this way about a man like him, but I did , and it was getting harder to lie to myself about it.
He saw something in me I kept buried. Something primal. Something I thought I could only ever let play out in my darkest daydreams.
And worst of all, I liked that he did.
I shook my head. “Stop—”
“No,” he said firmly. “You need to hear this.”
“I’m not like that,” I said quickly. “I—I wouldn’t let it happen. I can quit. I could walk away tomorrow. He wouldn’t— Delgado wouldn’t—” My voice faltered. “I don’t think I’m his type to…to sell. He makes a lot of money off my act. I’m like—like a curiosity. Nobody buys the circus girl.”
His stare was unflinching. “You think a man like Delgado lets an asset walk just because she decides she’s done?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
He leaned in, close enough that his lips touched the shell of my ear.
“Hard-headed little thing, aren’t you?”
My body began to betray me then. My breathing turned shallow, and I shivered—more from his nearness than the cold air.
“I’ve always liked women with some fight in them,” he murmured.
“Makes it more satisfying when they finally break.” His gaze dipped to my rapidly rising and falling chest, and he grinned as though he was accepting some kind of challenge.
“Not all the way. Just enough to ruin them for any other man. To teach them what obedience tastes like—with rules, with discipline, with pain.”
I stared at him, too stunned to speak. But something inside me responded. My pulse jumped. My thighs clenched before I could stop them.
His voice dropped to a purr, wicked and low. “Most women either act like nuns or lie back and spread their thighs the second a man with money looks their way. But you…” His eyes gleamed. “You run. You fight. You mouth off like you’ve never lost a battle in your life.”
This was going too far. I needed to back away, needed to tell him to fuck off. But my feet wouldn’t move.
“And that,” he said, “makes you interesting.”
I drew in a shaky breath.
“What you really need,” he whispered, “is to be dragged across my lap and spanked until your ass is cherry red, your pride is cracked wide open, and your mind stops lying about what it wants.”
My lips parted in a silent gasp.
The cold didn’t matter anymore. The snow, the street, the world—it all faded away. I was transfixed by the way he was looking at me, by what he’d just suggested he wanted to do to me. My heart pounded. My skin burned.
His eyes descended, slowly and possessively, taking in every inch of me like he was already imagining carrying out his threat.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmured.
In response, my whole body vibrated—with shame, arousal, defiance, need. I wasn’t even sure which one would win.
But I wasn’t running away.
“Don’t move,” he said.
His voice was low, so quiet I almost missed it. But the seriousness of his tone? It froze every nerve in my spine.
He pulled away slightly, focusing on something just over my shoulder, his usual glacial, I-want-to-kill-someone look returning. His jaw was clenched tight enough to crack.
“Glance at the window reflection only,” he said. “Don’t be obvious.”
I turned slowly, following his instruction. A man stood partially shadowed beside a parked car, head angled. Watching us.
My stomach dropped.
“Delgado’s man,” he said, running his knuckles down my cheek. “The one who’s been following you for days. Carmine warned you about him.”
“What?” My voice cracked. “Why the hell would he be—”
“Because Delgado’s getting itchy,” he said. “He likes to think his property is loyal. You, little lamb, are starting to look like a risk.”
I stepped back on shaky legs, but he followed, towering over me. The air itself seemed charged. He lifted his hand and slid it around the back of my neck.
My breath caught.
He curled his fingers into my hair, tugging just hard enough to make me tilt my chin up.
“I should let them have you,” he said, brushing my lips with his, each word striking like flint against steel.
“Let the El Salvadoran rats drag you underground and eat you alive because you got yourself into this mess. But since Delgado already wants to start shit with me, I might as well give him a reason.”
Then—with no warning—he kissed me.
Not soft. Not coaxing.
It was all power, pressure, and punishment. A collision.
His mouth crashed into mine, and I shattered.
His hand clenched tighter in my hair, the other seizing my ass and pulling me hard against him. My legs gave out, but he didn’t let me fall.
I whimpered. Actually whimpered.
His mouth demanded more, and I complied. My hands flew to his hair. I yanked him closer, trying to climb him with my body. He groaned into my mouth, and the sound did something unholy to my insides.
My back hit the brick wall next to the window. Snow melted beneath my overheated skin. The world faded away and there was nothing left but him.
He ran his teeth over my bottom lip, nipping it hard enough for me to taste blood, and then his tongue swept into my mouth, claiming, taunting, tangling with mine until I couldn’t think straight. He devoured every sound I made—every breath, every moan—like he was starving for them.
I was drowning in him, in his scent, his heat, his brutal grip. Aching with need, I pressed my center against his thigh. My body was betraying me with every heartbeat.
Then he ripped his mouth away.
I swayed in place, my eyes still closed. The cold air brushed against my heated face as I stood there, dazed.
“Delgado’s man is gone,” he said. “Off to tell his boss I was here, marking you .”
I blinked up at him, lips swollen, pulse erratic.
My stalker looked at me like he already owned me, then released my hair and stepped back.
The loss of heat, the loss of contact, felt like free fall.
“That’s what it feels like to be kissed by a real man,” he said with a smirk.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
His voice dropped, becoming cold again. “Don’t get too excited. That was just a message.” He adjusted his coat, as if none of it had affected him. “I kissed you so Delgado knows I’ll take what I want. Even from him.”
My body still hadn’t recovered. My lips still tingled.
He stared down at me, his eyes merciless.
“You should listen to Carmine and leave this city while you can. But that fucked-up look on your face tells me you won’t.” He shook his head once. “Not smart. You’d better wise up, sunshine.”
Then he turned and walked away, the snow crunching beneath his boots.
I stood there, breathless, shaking, stunned.
What the hell just happened?
One second, he’d been threatening to ruin me with discipline and pain, and the next, he was kissing me like I was already his. Then suddenly he was acting as if none of it mattered.
Brutal emotional whiplash.
I pressed my fingers to my lips, bewildered.
I should go. Just get on a bus. Back to Tennessee. Back to my safety net.
But then I thought of Ruby Vance and my chance of a lifetime. I thought of my shitty little apartment and my roommates and the way I’d clawed my way here with nothing but a duffle bag and a heart full of dreams.
No! I wasn’t about to give up.
Fuck him. Fuck all of them.
I wasn’t just some little country mouse who ran at the first sight of danger. Not anymore.
I brushed the snow from my coat and marched back into the coffee shop.
Trina looked up from behind the counter, one brow raised. “You good?”
I nodded once. “Fine.”
She smirked. “That kiss didn’t look fine . It looked like a damn claim-staking, panty-melting, ruin-your-life kind of kiss. You sure you’re not gonna spontaneously combust?”
I shrugged, grabbed a towel, and started wiping down a table.
But my hands were still shaking.