15. Wilder #3
My eyes flash down to the diamond choker hiding the now fading bruises I left, and my jaw tightens.
Not because he covered them, and not even because they are fading, but because the expensive necklace clinging to his throat wasn’t put there by me.
It was bought by Matt, just like his whole outfit, and for some reason I can’t stand the thought of it.
“I think we both know it was more for me than you,” I find myself saying, delighting in the way he shifts under my now intense focus. His hand slips from my thigh and I instantly miss the warmth, so much so I find myself leaning in closer. “Did you know blue is my favorite color, Prescott?”
For once, his eyes don’t fume at the sound of his name as his stare burns into me, and I can practically taste the tension in the air.
Trying to keep a barrier between us, he takes more of his drink, and my eyes dance down to watch his throat work as he swallows.
I remember all too well, just how good it was when it was me he was drinking down.
As if reading my mind, Prescott’s stare burns into me as he finishes his drink, but before he can say anything, the waiter appears out of fucking thin air again.
“Keep drinking that fast and I’m going to start to think you’re doing it on purpose,” he drawls, plucking his empty glass from his hand before it even hits the table.
I slink back into my seat to stare up at the asshole, but he isn’t even paying me any attention, his focus solely on the man beside me. Not that I can blame him, but if he doesn’t look away in the next five seconds, we’re going to have a real fucking problem.
Not taking the hint, the guy leans down, bringing himself into Prescott’s vicinity, and my hands flex with the need for violence.
“My friend is throwing an afterparty later on,” he starts, letting his gaze trail over what doesn’t fucking belong to him.
“Why don’t you come?” The emphasis he places on the last word isn’t lost on either of us, and I’m ready to explode..
Grabbing Prescott’s hand, I tug him up roughly as I jump to my feet. “We can’t, we’re busy,” I tell the sorry little fuck, who is now assessing us both with fresh eyes, but I don’t linger long enough to let him respond.
Instead I drag Prescott to the opposite side of the fucking club, so the stupid prick of a waiter can’t even lay his eyes on him again. “Where are we going?” Prescott asks, still dutifully following me, and it makes my dick hard as fuck.
I loathe how quickly he submits to me, and I loathe even more that I am a fucking liar.
I pull him until we are tucked away in a back corner of the dance floor, only then do I reluctantly release his hand to find him frowning at me in confusion.
I’m sure he is wondering what the fuck just happened, but honestly I am still asking myself the same question.
An unfamiliar feeling curls inside of me, one that feels a lot like what I imagine jealously to feel like, but that’s impossible. Right?
“What the hell was that?” Prescott searches my stare, forcing me to pretend the very sight of him isn’t undoing me completely.
“What?” I ask, as if I have no clue what he is talking about, and he glares at me now.
“You know what.”
I know he is trying his best to be stern, but fuck, I don’t think he realizes how fucking good he looks right now.
The flashing lights illuminate his hair perfectly, and it’s only now I’m close enough to him that I notice the silver shimmer he has painted across his lids.
He has paired it with black eyeliner and a little layer of mascara, making his lashes look fuller and longer.
There is also a splash of glitter across the top of his cheeks, looking too perfectly applied.
I want to ruin it all, and see it spilling down his face as I make him cry out in pleasure beneath me.
“Come on, we both know he wasn’t your type,” I shrug, trying to act nonchalant, which is hilarious considering how fucking hard I am for him right now.
Prescott only smirks, crossing his arms and making his biceps strain against the see-through black fabric. “Oh yeah, and what’s my type?”
I let my eyes trail over him purposefully, showing him exactly what kind of thoughts are in my head, before I take a step closer, erasing the last bit of space between us.
“Not him,” I reply gruffly, delighting in the way he doesn’t pull away from me, as I grip his hips in my hand and pull him against me.
Not that I wouldn't follow him if he tried. I would, hunting him is becoming a little too hard to resist anyway. Still, his automatic reaction is to look a little panicked, eyes flaring wide as he checks our surroundings, until I shift him to the side slightly. “Relax, Blue, I won’t let anyone get to you, tonight you can just be Reed.”
His eyes shine with appreciation now, and it takes every ounce of restraint I have not to kiss him again. “And who will you be?” he asks, as his body begins to move with the music, and I don’t stop myself from joining him.
“I’ll be whoever you need me to be.”