Chapter 5
KILLA
“Fuck,” I groan, staring down at the mess. Cass’s flushed face tells the world she came too, but thankfully, not a damn soul is looking in our direction. They wouldn’t dare.
She glances around, and I pull her bra back into position, hating that I’m covering up her glorious tits. There’s not a chance in hell I want anyone to see them. The thought makes me murderous, and that’s not good for anyone.
“Wait, I’m going to help with that.” She gestures toward my abs while I remain frozen, my hand still holding my T-shirt up.
As she slides off my lap, I expect her to grab the napkins on the table, but she squats to the floor and licks the cum off my muscles, causing each and every one of them to jerk with the stroke of her tongue.
“Jesus. What the fuck you doin’ to me?”
“Cleaning you up,” she states, and I throw my head back in a loud laugh that causes my chest to rumble.
“You’re incredible, you know that?”
When she’s finished, I help her up and place her on my lap, banding one arm around her while flooding her with dozens of feathery kisses down her neck. I’m unable to help myself; she’s becoming my obsession. Or maybe she already is.
A group of bikers has taken to the dance floor, giving them the perfect excuse to party with the locals and strippers, and Cass eyes them with longing.
I push the hair from her ear. “You wanna dance, Little Demon?” I ask, and revel in the shudder that flows through her.
She snaps back to me, and I can see the indecisiveness in her eyes, how she rolls her lip into her mouth. “I’m not sure how.”
Her words shock the shit out of me. Embarrassment floods her as crimson creeps up her cheeks and over her ears.
The prospect of being the first man she’s danced with has my chest swelling and my cock throbbing. I slide her off my lap to get out of the booth, then turn and hold my hand out for her.
“Come dance with the devil, Little Demon.” I wink at her.
Her breath catches, and when she slides her small hand into mine, I feel like the most powerful man on earth.
We stand on the dance floor, staring at one another for what feels like a lifetime. The lights catch her face, the piercing on her nose glistens, and the freckles beneath her eyes sparkle back at me.
“Fifteen,” I whisper, and our eyes remain locked, the tips of our shoes touching, our faces inches apart.
Her brow wrinkles.
“Freckles. You have fifteen.” I stroke the silky skin beneath her eyes, then down her face until I cup her jaw in my thick hand. “And two little dimples that only show up when you smile.”
She swallows roughly, and her eyes get watery.
“Wanna make you smile every damn day, Little Demon.” My voice is hoarse.
She straightens her shoulder. “Good. I want you to.” When she beams back at me, it feels like I’m holding the world in the palm of my hand. She grounds me and gives me purpose beyond the club.
She feels like home. She is my home.