Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Sylus
The desert sun sets behind me as I step through the back door of Vortex, the anticipation of that space of time between the day ending outside of these walls and life expanding inside them filling me.
The club is stirring but still caught in the calm before the storm. I grab a rag from behind the bar and start the ritual of washing down everything while the DJ starts up the first track. Soon, the bass thrums through the floor, the pulse quickly syncing with the beat of my heart.
It’s early in the night, but Vegas doesn’t give a fuck about the time. The club’s dim lights and swirling neon make you forget the outside world, creating a cocoon of escapism I’ve come to rely on.
“Hey, Sylus, make sure to fill up the bottles. We ran out of vodka yesterday,” Sienna calls over.
I nod, aware that I could tell her to get her own shit, but I drop the rag and head to the back. The storage room is cool and quiet as I grab a couple of bottles, mentally checking off what we need .
After only three months at this job, it’s become routine. Nothing special, nothing amazing, but what I needed when I started here—a distraction—something to keep me occupied, to keep me from sinking into the abyss.
The nights are the worst.
The money doesn’t matter, and neither do my coworkers. I’m not here to make friends. I’ve got friends, the kind who are more like brothers. But right now, we’re all mourning the same person, each of us dealing with it in our own way. And since everyone except me decided they needed space to grieve alone rather than lean on each other, I had to find my own way to cope that does not entail the shit I used to do in the past to keep me from spiraling.
Maybe that makes me as selfish as the rest of them.
Alaric hides in his room, even more of an asshole than usual. Ezra throws himself into work, always busy with one more case, one more lead. And the twins? They are lost in their plans for revenge that may get all of us killed.
Just like their Uncle Oscar.
The man who was more of a father figure to all of us. He and Ezra saved me from my reckless ego and a future behind bars or worse . They showed me I could use my talents for good. They pulled me out of the darkness, away from my abusive father and neglectful mother, giving me a chance at a life I never thought I could have.
I owe them everything. Without Oscar, I wouldn’t be living in a mansion in Vegas at fucking twenty-five, free from the worries of money and hunger that had haunted me for most of my life. He gave me a chance, a way out, a family. And now, the weight of his absence is a constant ache in my chest.
Don’t think about it, Sy.
Returning to the bar with the bottles, I set them down as I continue my prep while the club slowly comes to life around me.
“Hey, handsome, a mojito and your phone number, please,” a hot blonde purrs as she leans on the bar.
“Mojito coming right up,” I reply, tossing some mint into the glass and giving it a quick muddle.
She watches me work, a mischievous grin on her lips. “Are you working all night?”
“Yeah.” I flash her a quick, fake smile as I add the rum and ice.
She tilts her head, her hair falling over one shoulder as she leans closer. “Good to know how much time I’ve got to convince you to take me home.”
I chuckle, shaking my head along with the cocktail before pouring the contents of the shaker into a glass and sliding the drink across the bar to her. “That’ll be twenty bucks.”
“Worth every penny.” She winks, her eyes lingering on mine a moment longer than necessary.
Goose bumps start to form on my arms, and I know right away it’s not because of the woman I’ve just served. I wipe my hands on a towel and let my eyes drift toward the entrance as if drawn by a magnet, drawn to her, the one thing I allow myself to obsess over these days.
She steps into the club, her skin shimmering with glitter that catches the light, and the crowd parts around her as if she’s their queen.
The woman who literally sparkles and shines in the darkness of my night.
And with that one glance at her, I’m already sporting a semi. It’s been months since I’ve touched anyone but myself, grief taking its toll. Before everything fell apart, I had my fair share of women, never more than once, never serious. I tend to get bored way too quickly for anything else.
That face, though.
That perfect body, the way she moves—it’s been three months since I first saw her, and she still hasn’t become boring. Not once. I doubt she ever will, especially since she’s not fucking interested in what I’m offering.
You ever wanted to fuck someone so bad shit is on your mind all fucking day?
Yesterday, she seemed more intrigued than on any of the other nights. Of course, I’ve noticed how she looks at me as if she likes what she sees, but every time I try to flirt with her, it doesn’t seem to register. And it’s not because she’s dense. It’s quite the opposite. She’s sharp and funny, at least from what I’ve seen watching her night after night. She’s a party girl, loud and flirty, and she never goes home alone.
The way she does it, you might think it’s all a game to her—picking up guys—like it was for me when I picked up girls. But I know a fellow tortured soul when I see one. It’s in her eyes. Those haunted eyes look so sad, even when a grin spreads across her face. It’s as if I’m the only one who sees it. Or I’m the only one who cares.
Maybe that’s what fascinates me about her.
Or maybe it’s because she’s the hottest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on, and she’s fucked everybody in this club but me.
I probably spend too long obsessing over Sparkle because the blonde who was in front of me and so determined to sit my shift out is gone.
Oh well.
If I start hooking up again, it wouldn’t be with her anyway. It’d be with the brunette already surrounded by a crowd of guys on the dance floor like every damn night. She and her glitter are a flame, and every straight guy’s dick turns into a moth when she walks in.
God, I need to work on my metaphors.
I’m ready to grab the Jack, but she doesn’t even look my way, and where she usually gets herself a drink first and then flirts around to find a guy to take home, taking her time, tonight it seems she’s… in a hurry?
One guy is dancing at her back while another stands in front of her, talking. She doesn’t appear interested in what he’s saying. Instead, she reaches up and pulls his head down to her, kissing him while she grinds into the guy behind her.
Holy shit, that’s hot as fuck.
Their hands roam over her body, sliding over her cami and under the hem of her short skirt, and fuck , what I would give to be one of them. The idea of getting my hands on her, feeling her body move against mine the way she does with them.
Goddammit.
Shifting uncomfortably, I adjust my stance so I can subtly rearrange my hardening cock behind the bar. The last thing I need is to pop a full-on hard-on while I’m supposed to be working. Except it’s impossible not to react when I see her like this, lost in the music, her hair a wild tangle around her face, her eyes closed, lips parted while one of the guys licks up her throat.
I imagine she tastes sweet with a hint of whiskey, and my mouth waters at the thought. Clenching my jaw, I will my body to calm the fuck down, but I can’t tear my eyes away. There’s a hunger in her movements that’s raw and almost painful to watch. Something seems off with her tonight. She’s not truly enjoying herself.
Once more, I’m the only one who seems to see the cracks in her facade and how her eyes don’t quite match the intensity of her actions. She seems to be trying to drown herself in sensation.
I know that feeling all too well .
She takes the guy she was kissing by the hand and drags him into the women’s bathroom, leaving the second standing there like an idiot while he watches them go. It’s nothing new. I’ve seen her disappear with guys in there more than once. And honestly, I prefer it to the thought of her taking someone back to her place. This city is full of assholes with bad intentions. Though with her being a stripper, she’s probably used to dealing with pricks and knows how to handle them.
A stripper.
I don’t know why that surprised me. I would make money with that body, too, if I were her. Is she doing extra? Is that what this is? Is she looking for clients? Tonight, is she that desperate because she’s out of money?
I try to focus on anything else—serving drinks, watching the ever-growing crowd, chatting with Sienna—but it’s no use. My mind is stuck on Sparkle, and I can’t easily breathe until I see her come back out of the bathroom, guy in tow. She looks disheveled and fucked but not content.
I swear I would take better care of you.
Lucky Guy, who just fucked her, on the other hand, looks blissed out. Fuck , I would crawl over broken glass to lick his dick, simply to maybe get a taste of her.
And I’m not into cock.
The guy who was dancing behind her earlier storms up to them, yelling and getting into Sparkle’s face. She tries to slide away from between them, but Angry Guy grabs her wrist, keeping her there. His fingers dig into her skin, and even from behind the bar, I see pain flash across her face. The guy she fucked walks off as if she isn’t his problem anymore.
Hell no.
I jump over the bar and charge toward them, my heart hammering in my chest and adrenaline flooding my veins. The pounding music fades to a dull throb, replaced by the roar of blood rushing in my ears. Just as I reach them, the asshat releases Sparkle’s wrist and raises his hand, ready to backhand her. Without thinking, I seize his wrist a second before it connects with her beautiful face, feeling his bones grind under my grip.
Letting go of the fuckface, I’m ready to rip him a new one when Sparkle swings hard, landing a solid punch right on his nose.
Holy fucking shit.
I’m stunned, almost ready to drop to one knee and propose on the spot, but she shakes out her hand, wincing, and I instinctively move to pull her toward the bar to get some ice to cool her knuckles. Before we can take a step, the asshat clutching his bleeding nose grabs my shoulder and jerks me around. His fist crashes into my jaw, splitting my lip open.
Ahaha, fuck.
Pain explodes through me, but it only takes a second for shock to twist into something darker. I raise a hand to my lip, feeling the warm, wet blood trickling down my chin, and I taste its metallic sting in my mouth. My vision narrows, focusing solely on him.
I wipe the blood away with my thumb, a twisted grin spreading across my face as I step closer. His scowl falters when he realizes the shift in my expression.
“You really shouldn’t have done that.” I chuckle before lunging at him, slamming him down onto the filthy, sticky dance floor with one punch.
A dark thrill pulses through me as I pin him down with my knee, the crowd around us dissolving into nothing but a blur. My fists come down, and his cheekbone cracks under my knuckles as his blood spatters onto my hands.
The crowd around us scatters, and security shouts in the distance, but all I can focus on is making this guy pay for daring to hurt my Sparkle. My fists connect with his face repeatedly, each impact sending a jolt through my arms. I’m vaguely aware of Sparkle yelling something, but the roar in my ears drowns out her words.
Then I hear Oscar’s voice in my mind.
“Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent, Sylus.”
I immediately stop my assault and feel Sparkle’s small hands gripping my elbow, her voice cutting through the haze, “They called the police!”
The panic in her tone clears the last of the red mist from my vision. Reluctantly, I stand, still looking down at the guy who’s now a bloody mess on the floor, groaning and barely moving.
Yeah, I don’t need to get an earful from Ezra for this.
Sparkle tugs at me insistently, and I let her pull me away. We weave through the crowd, bodies pressing against us from all sides. Grabbing her hand, I intertwine our fingers, not giving a fuck about the blood that coats mine, and make a beeline for the bar.
“Sienna, I’m done for the night!” I shout over the thumping bass, and without waiting for a response from my coworker, I pull Sparkle out the back door, shoving it open with my shoulder. We stumble to a stop in front of my bike.
I turn to look at her, noticing how the streetlights make her glitter-covered skin shimmer like she’s some kind of ethereal being.
“What the fu—” she starts, but her words falter as her eyes lock onto my face. Her gaze narrows, focusing on the blood trickling from my split lip, pooling at my chin, and dripping down onto the pavement.
The coppery taste registers again, and I turn to spit out a mouthful of blood, the crimson droplets splattering across the sidewalk .
Fuck, that damn small nick is bleeding like hell.
“Oh my God, you’re bleeding!” Her voice rises with panic, her hands fluttering aimlessly at her sides before she reaches up to grab my face in both hands, which is only possible because I lean down to meet her. “You got hurt. You got hurt because of me. ” She starts trembling, her breathing becoming shallow and rapid, a whisper escaping her lips. “ This is my fault. ”
“It’s only a split lip, Sparkle, a little blood.” I chuckle, trying to downplay it, but she doesn’t seem to hear me, so I put my hands on top of hers, stroking the backs of them.
So damn soft.
She steps back, and I release her reluctantly when her eyes fix on the blood-stained pavement, her whole body trembling. Her face turns pale, and I see the panic attack building when her gaze comes back up to mine. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“What?” I laugh. “No, I’m fine .”
“What if it gets infected? I can’t… I can’t let you—”
“Hey.” I grab her shoulders, giving her a firm but gentle shake. “ Hey, it’s a little blood. I promise it’s nothing serious. Look at me. I’m okay .”
Her eyes keep darting from my lip to the blood on the ground, then back to my face. She’s fighting to regain control while I let my thumbs stroke over her collarbones, mixing the glitter with the guy’s blood, which is still all over my hands.
Slowly, her breathing starts to even out, and she blinks, coming back to herself, just as the distant sound of sirens pierces the night air.
“We need to get you out of here. I have a first-aid kit at home. I can clean it up. If you don’t want to go to a hospital, I-I can help.”
The sirens are getting closer, the wail echoing down the street. I could go home and have Alaric have a look at it if it is worse than I thought, but damn if I say no to spending more time with her.
“All right,” I agree quickly, realizing we need to move if I don’t want to end up arrested and having to wake a grumpy Ezra to bail me out. “Let’s go.”
She rattles off her address while I grab my helmet and place it on her head, using the chin strap to pull her close, then fastening it securely.
“Safety first,” I mutter, more to myself than her.
For a second, our eyes lock and the urgency fades away until the sirens grow louder, almost upon us now. Without wasting another moment, I lift her effortlessly and set her on the back of my matte-black Yamaha R1, her thighs gripping the bike as I get on in front of her.
She doesn’t need to be told to hold on tight. Her arms wrap around my waist instinctively, her body pressing against mine, every curve fitting perfectly. The feeling is enough to light a fire under my skin, but I force myself to stay focused, my grip tightening on the handlebars. The roar of the engine fills the space between us, drowning out the temptation to get lost in the way she feels against me.
The road demands my attention. I can’t afford to let my mind wander—not with her safety in my hands. But every so often, as the neon lights of Las Vegas blur into streaks of color around us, I catch the soft pressure of her chest resting against my back, the way her fingers grip me just a little tighter with each turn. It’s grounding and distracting all at once.
When we pull up to her apartment building, I cut the engine and help her off the bike, steadying her as she finds her footing on those impossibly high heels. She pulls off the helmet, letting her hair spill out in a wild, sexy mess, and I set it on the bike before she grabs my hand, her grip firm, tugging me into her world and guiding me through dimly lit hallways that smell faintly of old carpet and stale perfume.
Her apartment door swings open to reveal a small living room with a bright pink couch and a television that appears to have seen better days. The cramped kitchen off to the side is cluttered and messy. Dishes are piled everywhere, and the counter is covered with trinkets and mismatched mugs. Little jewels are scattered all over the floor, couch, and table, like somebody shook a fairy too hard over them.
There’s a comforting, lived-in feel to the place unlike the polished surfaces of my own home.
“Come on.” Sparkle pulls me into a small bathroom, where she washes her hands thoroughly while I watch, then she towels them off and points to the sink. “Wash your hands. Get rid of the blood.”
I nod like a good boy and turn on the faucet, scrubbing my bruised knuckles under the warm water, watching the blood swirl down the drain and breathing in the scent of the sweet soap. She kneels beside me, rummaging through a small cabinet under the sink, clattering bottles and boxes as she searches. Finally, she emerges with a first-aid kit, a look of triumph briefly flashing across her face as if she didn’t quite believe it would be there.
When I’m done, she grabs a new towel and runs it under the warm water. “Hold still.” She’s about to dab at my face, but I take it from her.
“Let me first,” I murmur and carefully press the towel against her collarbone, wiping away the dried blood I smeared there earlier.
I don’t want anything of that guy on her.
She shudders slightly at the touch, and my eyes find hers briefly before they’re drawn again to the trail of skin revealed beneath the glitter and redness, fascinated by the way her skin glows under the light.
The towel quickly becomes a bloody, glittery mess, but I continue, lost in the task, lost in her , until she stops me with a hand on my wrist while I’m gliding the towel to her right shoulder.
“Let’s check your lip,” she whispers, and I hand her the soaked towel, my focus shifting back to her collarbones, now sparkling with only a few stubborn flecks of glitter.
When I look up and find her watching me, her pupils are dilated, the fear that had gripped her earlier now replaced with something softer, more vulnerable as she takes the clean side of the towel and reaches up to tap it against my chin.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For stepping in.”
As I lean down to make it easier for her, she rises on her tiptoes and cups my cheek, gently dabbing at the cut on my lip. Suddenly, I become acutely aware of how close we’re standing.
“Always. But let’s be honest, you had it covered. I think you broke his nose,” I tease, watching her closely and taking in the concentration on her face. Her lips are pressed together in a thin line, brows furrowed in focus. “Where’d you learn to throw a punch like that?”
Her form had been fucking perfect.
She shrugs, still focused on my lip. “You pick up a thing or two growing up in rough neighborhoods.”
Soulmate.
The word flashes through my mind so fast that I almost don’t register it, but it leaves an echo behind I can’t ignore.
I must have zoned out because, before I know it, she’s applying something to my lip that burns like hell, making me jerk back instinctively.
“Oh, come on,” she teases, a playful glint in her eyes as she tilts her head to the side. “Tough guy can pummel someone into the floor but can’t handle a little antiseptic?”
Despite the sting in my lip, I grin, feeling the heat from where she dabbed the ointment. “Hey, I was trying to impress you with my bravery. But if you keep torturing me like this, I might actually start crying.”
She laughs, her breath brushing against my skin. “Guess I’ll have to be gentle, then.”
I tense when I catch a whiff of her scent, sweet as a fucking candy store, and my mouth waters. “Not too gentle, though.”
Our eyes lock again for a long moment, and I’m about to say fuck it and kiss her when she breaks the spell and sets the ointment down on the edge of the sink, her fingers lingering there for a moment as if lost in thought. Then, with a determined look, she reaches for my right hand, cradling it in hers while her thumb glides over each bump and scrape.
“We should put some ice on these,” she murmurs, concerned. Her gaze flickers to mine again, and there’s a softness that makes my heart beat faster.
I turn our hands so hers is on top, noticing her knuckles are red and swollen. “If anything, we should ice your knuckles,” I suggest and link our fingers together.
She exhales deeply, her shoulders relaxing a bit, making her look even more exhausted. “All this shit has sobered me up.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to have killed your vibe,” I tease, chuckling. “Want me to go out and grab a bottle, or do you have something here?” I watch her carefully, noting how her eyes light up at the mention of a drink.
Interesting.
“I have whiskey. Are you going to join me for a glass?” she asks with a hint of vulnerability .
And that brief glimpse is all it takes for me to reconsider my eight years of sobriety from alcohol for a fleeting moment. “I don’t drink. I’m sorry.”
“A bartender that doesn’t drink?”
“Correction. I don’t drink anymore, ” I clarify, and she nods like she gets it.
But she couldn’t understand. I don’t think she could even grasp how much darker my thoughts always got when I was drunk and looking for a fight.
There’s a flicker of something in her eyes as if she wants to press further, but she stops herself. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I give her a reassuring smile. “Like you said, I’m a bartender. I can definitely watch you get wasted. It’s kind of my job.”
“Yeah, but you’re off duty now,” she counters, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
I should probably tell her I can leave to give her space to unwind. Except, fuck , I can’t. Not when I finally have her all to myself.
“I have a counteroffer.” I reach into my back pocket and pull out a metal case, flipping it open to reveal a neatly rolled blunt. “You down?”
“God, yes,” she breathes out, her smile widening.
We step out of the bathroom and onto her balcony, and I pull the blunt from the case, placing it between my lips. I reach for my lighter, but before I can flick it, Sparkle produces a small, shiny metal case from nowhere. She strikes a match with a quick flick and leans in to light it for me. The flame dances between us, casting a warm glow on her face, and I raise an eyebrow.
Who the hell uses a matchbox?
We both take a few drags, and I watch as her whole posture loosens as she leans back against the balcony railing .
“So, you living alone here?” I ask, exhaling a cloud of smoke and passing the blunt back to her.
“Soon,” she replies, shrugging casually and taking a long drag. Then she blows out a thick stream of smoke that drifts lazily into the night. “Oh, wait, if you count the stray cat that comes and goes as she pleases, I guess I have a roommate.”
I glance over the balcony’s edge, peering into the darkness below, and then back at her, a skeptical look on my face. “You’re on the second floor. How does a cat get up here?”
“I have no fucking clue.” She chuckles, the sound bubbling up and spilling out, growing louder until it bursts into a full, unrestrained laugh.
I laugh with her but decide it’s probably better to hog the joint for a while. The way her laughter spills out, too loose, too unguarded, tells me she’s had enough. I don’t want her out of it completely. Not tonight. Not when it’s the first time I have her to myself. I want her real thoughts and reactions. Not just the haze she hides behind.
“So, when you say soon , I’m guessing you mean because Blondie’s going off to live with her Romeo?” I ask, leaning back against the balcony railing as well, my eyes never leaving her.
“Yep.” She pops the P, then closes her eyes, a content smile spreading across her face.
God, she’s so damn beautiful.
“And no other friend is moving in after she leaves?” The idea of her being alone here doesn’t sit right with me.
She shakes her head, opening her eyes and meeting my gaze with a mix of humor and honesty. “I don’t have friends.”
I blink, surprised. “You’re the most outgoing person I’ve ever seen. ”
She snorts softly, a sound that’s somehow adorable coming from her. “There’s Belle, and that’s about it,” she admits, furrowing her brows and glancing away for a moment as if she’s just realized she let something slip. Jackpot . Maybe tonight I’ll get lucky, and she’ll slip her name too. “Honestly, I think you’re the closest thing I have to a friend besides her.”
What?
“Me?”
This is the longest we’ve ever talked.
“Yeah, funny, isn’t it?” She giggles again, her laughter soft and slightly embarrassed.
“Not really, no,” I reply. “I want to be a lot of things to you, Sparkle. I guess I can be your friend, too, while I’m at it. Let’s just say I’m your person.”
She shoots me a sly look, her lips curving into a playful smile. “Oh, Hottie , I don’t shit where I eat.”
I laugh, caught off guard. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Vortex?” She rolls her eyes, grinning wider. “It’s like a second home to me.”
I freeze as the penny drops, my eyes widening. “That’s why?”
“That’s why… what? ”
“That’s why you’ve fucked every dude around but never me?”
She giggles again, a mischievous sparkle dancing in her eyes. “You think it’s easy keeping my hands off you?”
The playful challenge in her voice makes my pulse quicken, and I grin. “Well, then.” I step closer until there’s barely any space between us. “Sounds like I have to quit my job.”
“Oh, shut up.” She laughs, but there’s no bite to her words, only that playful spark I’ve come to crave .
Noticing the blunt is now burning low, I press it out against the railing and flick it off the balcony.
“That’s it,” I announce as I pull out my phone and start typing. I’ve watched her for months, seen the way she carries herself like she owns the world, even when I can tell it’s a lie. She’s the kind of woman who makes you want to be better, even if you’re sure she’ll never let you close enough to try.
But maybe she just told me what I need to do to get my chance.
“What are you doing?”
“Quitting.”
I quit. Don’t bother calling.
I send the message, then show her the screen when it shows as delivered. Her eyes go wide, disbelief and amusement flickering across her face.
“Wait, are you serious?”
Putting the phone in my back pocket, I smirk before I grab her by the throat. “Dead serious.” I pull her to me, capturing her lips in a kiss that sends a sharp sting through my split lip. But I don’t care. I’ve dreamed about this moment for months, and now that it’s finally happening, I’m not holding back.
She responds eagerly, her hands coming up to hold my wrist, her lips soft against mine, parting as she kisses me back. I deepen the kiss, my free hand sliding down to her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the heat of her body against mine, smelling her candy scent.
Sweetest fucking treat ever.
When we finally break apart for air, she looks up at me, breathless, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that? ”
“Fuck that job if it keeps me from you,” I murmur against her lips. Without another word, I scoop her up, and her thighs instinctively wrap around my waist. Her arms loop around my neck, holding on tight as I carry her back inside, and she guides me to her room.
I lay her down on the bed, moving to straddle her thighs, my hands planted on either side of her head as I hover over her. Her hair fans out on the pillow like a halo, her green eyes dark with anticipation, and I feel my desire surge in response.
She reaches up, pushing my hair out of my eyes, a smile playing on her lips. “You think this will be worth it? I don’t date,” she whispers teasingly, but there’s an edge of sincerity.
“She asks if she’s worth it…” I snicker, leaning down to kiss her again, this time slower, savoring the taste of her lips and the way her body arches up to meet mine.
Nothing was ever worth more.
My hands move to her hips, fingers digging in, anchoring her to me as the kiss deepens.
Her hands slide up my back, nails grazing my skin through my shirt as I press closer, feeling her heartbeat against mine. There’s no more pretending, no more playing it cool.
She breaks the kiss and pulls off her cami, and I groan at the sight of her tits, perfectly perky and inviting. I have to lean back to get a better view, take her in, and appreciate her the way she deserves.
“You have no fucking idea how many times I fantasized about scattering your glitter all over my bedsheets,” I confess with a grin, making her laugh. “But your bed will do too.”
I cup her cheek, my thumb brushing over her lips, feeling the softness of her skin beneath my touch. This feels like a fucking dream. I start to trail kisses down her throat, my lips grazing her warm skin as I move lower. Her head tilts back, giving me even more access, and I take full advantage, pressing a line of open-mouthed kisses along her pulse point. Her heartbeat quickens beneath my lips, each beat coming faster as I continue my descent.
Pausing at her collarbone, I press a kiss to the delicate skin I cleaned earlier, feeling her shiver beneath me. Her fingers are in my hair now, her breaths coming in shallow, hitching gasps. I continue down, taking my time, and when I reach her breasts, I take one in my hand, marveling at how perfectly it fits in my palm.
I look up at her, and our eyes lock as I gently bite down on her already-peaked nipple. Her sharp gasp fills the room, a sweet sound that goes straight to my cock, making it throb, and I have to force myself not to rut against her thigh, but this might be the only time I’ll get to touch her.
Nothing could make me rush this.
My lips and tongue trail down her body, tasting every inch of her skin. My face is probably covered in glitter by now, but I don’t give a fuck. The feel of her beneath me, her warmth, her scent—it’s intoxicating. When I reach the hem of her skirt, I hook my fingers under the waistband and slowly pull it down, sliding her panties along with it, revealing more of her skin, inch by inch.
A small tattoo catches my eye as I peel the fabric down over her hipbone. It’s a delicate red heart with an A above it, tucked just beneath the curve of her hip.
Ace of hearts.
Is my girl a little gambler?
Or does the tattoo stand for Vegas?
Curious, I glance up at her face, but she has her eyes closed, her head tilted back in bliss. Her hands continue to massage my scalp, fingers tugging as if guiding me lower, urging me on. She bucks up her hips toward me, a silent command to keep going.
“Yes, ma’am,” I murmur with a chuckle, pressing a soft kiss to the tattoo.
The moment my lips touch it, I feel her whole body stiffen, her muscles locking up as if she’s bracing for impact. I lift my head again, sensing the change in her.
“Sparkle—” I start, but the look in her eyes when they snap open and meet mine stops me cold. Her breath hitches as if I’ve pressed on a bruise she forgot she had, and panic flashes across her face before she locks it down behind a mask of steel.
Her hands leave my hair, moving to her side as she pushes herself away from me and covers her breasts with one arm.
Fuck, what did I do?
I grab her cami from beside me and hold it out for her, but she doesn’t take it. “Wha—”
“Get out.” Her voice is calm, almost eerily so.
“Wait, what did I do?” I ask, confused, my heart pounding as I search her face for answers. I reach out for her, but she flinches back, her face hardening even more.
“Just go, ” she repeats, and I can see her hands trembling.
I stay frozen, struggling to process what’s happening. “I didn’t mean to—” I begin, but she cuts me off with a sharp look.
“I said, get out .”
Her body language is stiff and defensive, and now, even the flicker of vulnerability in her eyes has disappeared. She’s shutting down, closing off. There’s a wall going up, but it’s made of glass, and I can already see the cracks forming.
Realizing I’ve crossed a line I didn’t even know was there, I slowly get up, my hands raised in surrender. “I’m sorry.”
She turns her head away, her gaze fixed on the wall. The silence between us is suffocating, filled with all the things I don’t know how to fix, all the ways I didn’t mean to hurt her.
Finally, I leave her room and continue out of the apartment, closing the door behind me.
What the fuck was that?
I lean against the wall in the hallway, running a hand over my face, trying to steady my racing thoughts. When I’m finally able to push myself off, I walk down the narrow hallway, the realization hitting me with the force of a sledgehammer.
I probably just fucked up the only chance I’ll ever have with her.
All the months of wanting, of imagining what it would be like to finally have her gone.
I should’ve known better. I should’ve seen it coming. She pulled back whenever I got too close, using the glitter and the guys to keep everyone at arm’s length. But I thought… I don’t know what I thought.
That I’d be different?
That she’d let me in?
The more I think about it, the angrier I get at myself for fucking things up, and by the time I reach the exit, I’m practically seething as I fling the doors open and storm out onto the street. My bike is sitting there, parked where I left it, and I grab my helmet off the seat, gripping it so tightly my knuckles turn white.
Without thinking, I hurl it across the yard, watching as it crashes against the side of a trash can with a loud clang, then bounces away, rolling into the darkness.
“ Fuck! ”
I don’t know what just happened, but I know one thing for sure.
I’m not giving up.
Not yet. Not until she looks at me without that storm in her eyes, without that wall between us.