Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
KITTY
Playlist recommendation:
Addicted - Simple Plan
“Where are we going?” I called over the roar from the engine.
For the first time in our history, Stan hadn’t stuffed us into a town car, but a Lamborghini the color of rubies instead.
Honestly, he was such a poser sometimes.
“You’ll see,” he hollered, but his secrecy was worth it for the smile he flashed at me.
Tonight, life lit him up from the inside out, and I never wanted to see him any other way.
As he revved the engine, raced along stretches of barren streets, and to some of my favorite songs, which told me he was using my playlists against me, I could feel my own blood stirring in delight at a side of the man I’d never witnessed before.
By the time he pulled up outside a nightclub, I pouted at our personal party coming to an end.
“Liunissa,” he crooned, throwing a glare at the valet who dared to try and open the passenger door for me.
One hand held out for mine, he used the other to toss the keys at the poor guy who was only doing his job.
When I stood beside him, he stared down at me and shook his head. “I must have been mad to let you out in this.”
Smirking, I pressed a hand to his chest. “It’s for you, Custanzu.”
“Keep talking like that and I’ll be fucking you in the VIP lounge before I let you on the dance floor,” he growled.
I stepped deeper into his personal space. “That sounds like a promise.”
“You’ll purr for me by the end of the night,” he vowed, liquid madness in his eyes.
My breathing hitched in response.
A memory stirred into being as I leaned up and, instead of biting it, I pressed a kiss to his chin. “Don’t I always?”
His hand glued itself to my hip as he dragged me closer then steered me away from the car and toward the club.
Russu.
Dumb of me to not figure out that was our end destination considering his mood.
I had to admit I was curious about the club. Entry cost a lot, and I’d only managed to get in once or twice over the years—the last time Lara had still been in town—and I’d never imagined that I’d be back on one of the owners’ arms.
Stan guided me past a seemingly endless line of clubbers awaiting entry. He moved his hand to cup my butt, making me feel more of a boss-ass bitch in my overlay sheath dress that only provided shadow coverage for the more intimate areas.
Neev had spotted the dress during one of the many shopping trips we’d gone on together—spending Stan’s money on outfits he’d enjoy stripping me out of seemed like a win-win—and while her ideas were usually invariably out there, his reaction = priceless.
“You must have timed this!” I yelled at him as one of my favorite songs blared on the second I stepped into the club.
He grinned and guided me to the dance floor.
It surprised me to realize that my man had rhythm.
His size should have shown some hindrance. Sheer bulk alone didn’t create the best dancers, but he didn’t need to be—he just shadowed me. Literally tracked my body’s movements as I danced, hands glued to my hips unless they traced my arms while I shifted them to the beat of the music.
He stalked me.
And I loved it.
He focused on me.
And I reveled in it.
No one else existed to him—only me.
And I blossomed.
My skin turned dewy with perspiration as he slid his fingers over me. My dress clung in all the right places, providing less coverage, and he noticed—just as I noticed his erection.
My lips chased his when he slowly bent me over his arm, dipping me low in a space that existed only because of who he was—humanity packed the rest of the dance floor. Except around us.
When, finally, his lips caught mine, I fell into him with a whimper.
His bulk sheltered me from the strobe lights, and I’d never felt smaller, more feminine, or more protected than I did in this moment.
And I exulted in the difference between here and the last time I’d danced in a club—Mexico.
I knew how it felt to be unsafe and this was the opposite.
As he devoured my mouth, his tongue toying with mine, I sagged into him as he swept me tighter into his hold.
When his hands began dragging my skirt up, I didn’t argue—I knew keeping my modesty intact was a him problem.
But as the hemline brushed my knees, he froze.
I tensed, wondering what was wrong, then he released me from his kiss and, pressing pecks along my cheekbone, in my ear, he said, “Thirty seconds, liunissa.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I warned.
Grinning, he nodded, then he let go of me.
But he didn’t move far—only turned around, one arm bent back to hold me fast to him, while yelling at Luigi, who looked like he wished he’d never been born.
When someone tapped on my shoulder, I peered over it and found some numbnut staring at me.
“Wanna dance with someone who’ll give you their full attention?” he shouted over the music.
I blinked at his audacity. “I’m with someone.”
I should have figured the stranger had a death wish by approaching when a literal clearance zone surrounded me—next thing I knew, his hand cupped my elbow and he was yelling, “Come on, baby. I can show you a better time.”
I yanked my arm from his hold, but his grip was strong from whatever he’d snorted.
It didn't even register that Stan's conversation was over. A fist flew forward and as the stranger’s nose busted, blood spurting through the air, Stan snarled, “Get your hand off my woman if you don’t want me to break every finger you possess.”
The guy didn’t exactly obey, more like staggered back. His brains obviously resided in his ball sack because, head tilted to stem the blood flow, he sniped nasally, “You want to fight me over her? This stupid bitch isn’t—”
Before he could finish his sentence, Stan grabbed the man’s hand then used it to punch him in the face. I stepped away when he did it again, having no desire to be drenched in the dude’s blood once, like predicted, Stan ensured the asshole would need cosmetic surgery to fix what he fucked up.
I tapped my toe against the sticky floor as Stan proceeded to cup the guy’s head and bring it into his knee.
“He’s not worth it,” I called over the music.
That unholy fire was back to raging in his eyes as he settled them on me. It was barbaric, but I turned to mush. That fury sparked and lit me up from the inside.
“He called you a stupid bitch, duci.”
“Men are tedious when they’re on the brink of rejection.”
His hands gripped the guy’s ears as he used them as handles to drag him upright.
“Please! Let me go,” the idiot sobbed, arms flailing in an attempt at self-defense. “Security! Security! Help!”
But Stan’s rage roared loose and free—there was no defense that’d save him from my man.
“It’s too late for tears,” he raged.
And, suddenly, I saw his hold shift.
One swift twist and the man’s neck would snap.
Fuck.
Bewildered and oddly turned on—which was beyond politically incorrect of me, but not enough for me to cringe—I ducked into Stan’s space. “If you kill him, then our night will be derailed, baby.”
“He insulted you,” he seethed.
“Yes, he did. But he’s already beat to fuck. I think that’s enough.”
Stan’s teeth ground together.
“I don’t need you to do this for me.” I didn’t know if I’d gotten through to him, so I tacked on, “Please, my love.”
That seemed to bring him back to me. But not before he brought up his knee again. This time, he jabbed the asshole in the family jewels twice then tossed him on the floor like trash.
He twisted around to yell at Luigi, “Throw him out. Put him on the ‘no entry’ list.”
Luigi nodded like this was normal, picked up the guy’s foot, then used it to drag him over the crud on the dance floor.
I stacked my hands on my hips. “Is this how every evening out is going to go?”
His scowl darkened, but before we could argue, he hauled me into his arms, sweeping me wide as he carried me over to the bar.
With my mouth close to his ear, I bit the lobe. Enough to hear him hiss in pain.
Then, I settled with a pout as he carried me through a back room, where the music didn’t throb through the walls as much.
“I liked it out there,” I argued.
“We’re going to the owner’s area.”
“Why do you have one of those?”
“Jen likes to dance and Luciu got sick of keeping men off her. I understand why now.”
Ahh, that was why it looked like it wasn’t Luigi’s first time.
"Lemme guess, you gave him shit for it?”
“I did.”
“You owe him an apology.”
He grunted.
I was no lightweight, but that he lugged me around like I weighed nothing went someway to cutting out my funk with him.
Especially as we traversed only God knew how much territory.
The back end of the club appeared bigger than the front, which was surely an impossibility or an improbability—talk about a Tardis.
Never mind that the corridors were practically labyrinthine and wound us around in what seemed like circles.
When we reached the box, I’d admit it was an upgrade.
It consisted of an intimate dance floor for max four people, or two people fucking, the music vibrated off the walls, a table to the side hosted bottles of Champagne, a wet bar housed hundreds of spirits, and an open door led to a gorgeous bathroom—complete with a freakin’ hot tub!
“You ready for me to put you down?”
I arched a brow at him. “You were picking me up before Luigi interrupted us.”
“Fucking Luigi. Need to wash my hands, duci. Not going to touch you with the same ones that handled filth.”
“And they say romance is dead,” I cooed. “I’ll let you put me down.”
His nose scrunched up like he didn’t know if I was mad or not. I wasn’t about to clue him in, so I simply watched him once he’d carried me over to a small restroom and deposited me beside the door.
“I’m not bridging the fifth wall, remember?”
Now, his lips curved. “I’m just cleaning up.”
I peered around. “You showering? I wouldn’t mind the show.”
“Later.”
The answer had me wondering, “Do you have to work?”