Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
ZACH
" L et’s go dancing," she says suddenly, her voice light, her hazel eyes sparkling with just enough mischief to make my pulse quicken.
The words catch me off guard. I glance at her, taking in the faint flush on her cheeks and the slight tilt of her lips…a mix of challenge and playfulness. The wine has softened her edges, revealing a side of her I don’t often see. It’s disarming. And dangerous.
"Dancing?" I ask, keeping my tone neutral even as my mind scrambles to understand what’s shifted.
"Yes," she says, leaning forward slightly, her fingers brushing the table as if her excitement can’t be contained. Her dress pulls down her chest as she moves, revealing the swell of her breasts in ways that make it hard to focus. “There should be a club not too far from here,” she says as she pulls out her phone.
I ignore this and her as I pick up my wine to drain, hoping she soon abandons this completely nonsensical idea. I glance around the restaurant, my gaze sweeping over the elegant women scattered at nearby tables. They’re stunning, each one polished to perfection. Yet none of them hold my attention the way she does. Even in her understated satin dress and sneakers, she commands the room…effortlessly striking in a way that makes it impossible to look anywhere else.
However, a few minutes later she exclaims much too loudly. A few heads tun and my eyes go wide.
“Sorry,” she says, her cheeks turning red. “I’m sorry.”
“Here,” she turns her phone screen to my face.”
“There is one and it’s not far. It’s dark now…they should’ve started by now. I just want to dance for a little bit. Shake off the day."
I’m about to reject the idea outright. I don’t do clubs. Loud music and sweaty crowds have never been my thing. But then I catch the way she looks at me, the faint glimmer of expectation in her eyes, and something inside me hesitates.
"You can leave, you know," she says, leaning back in her chair with an air of nonchalance, though I can see the challenge flickering beneath the surface. "Head back to the hotel. I’m just telling you what I’m doing."
Her words are a dismissal, but the thought of leaving her alone…vulnerable, even slightly intoxicated…grates against every instinct I have. My jaw tightens.
"Fine," I say finally, my voice low, deliberate. "Let’s go."
Her face lights up instantly, her smile wide and unguarded, and for a moment, I forget why this is such a bad idea. She’s radiant, and the light in her eyes is infectious. My chest tightens at the sight, the tension in me softening ever so slightly.
As she leans forward to pick up the wine bottle, her breasts once again presses against the edge of the table. My gaze flickers there despite myself, the sight stirring something primal that I force back. I glance away, shaking my head slightly as if to clear it, but when I look up again, she’s already rising from her chair, the excitement practically radiating off her.
This was definitely a terrible idea. But as I follow her out of the restaurant, I can’t seem to make myself care.
The drive is quick, the club pulsing with life as soon as we step out of the car. The music thrums through the air, vibrating in my chest, and I already regret this. Inside, it’s a chaos of flashing lights, bodies pressed together, and a heat that’s almost suffocating.
Jenny seems to come alive in the atmosphere, her head tilted back slightly as she takes it all in. I watch her, caught between irritation at the noise and an unexpected fascination with how the environment seems to suit her.
“I’ll get us drinks,” I say, raising my voice over the music. She nods, already making her way towards the dance floor.
At the bar, I order something simple…a whiskey for me and a lighter cocktail for her. When I turn back, I see her swaying to the music, her satin dress catching the light in ways that make my throat tighten. Men notice her, of course they do, their gazes lingering too long, some edging closer.
I grip my glass tighter, the coolness of it biting into my palm as my jaw locks. Across the dance floor, a man steps too close to her, his intentions written all over his face. He leans in, his hand hovering near her waist, trying to press into her space. She brushes him off with a polite smile, stepping back with a soft laugh that seems to only spur him on.
My chest tightens, a heat building inside me that I don’t want to name. I force myself to look away, focusing on the amber liquid swirling in my glass. I take a long sip, hoping the burn of the alcohol will drown out the burn in my veins.
But it’s futile. My eyes find her again as if drawn by a force beyond me. She moves with the music, her body fluid and effortless, the light catching the sheen of her satin dress as it clings to her curves. Her smile is soft, unguarded, and the way she loses herself in the rhythm is magnetic.
It’s maddening…how much she commands my attention, how she doesn’t even notice the effect she has. The pull of her is intoxicating, and I hate it. But no amount of rationality can stop the way my chest tightens every time another man circles too close, their gazes lingering far too long on what isn’t theirs to admire.
I grip my glass tighter, my knuckles whitening. The irritation thrums low and hot beneath my skin, each laugh she gives them like fuel to a fire I can’t seem to control. I want to step in, to end it, but I hold myself back. She’s entitled to enjoy herself.
But I can’t keep my eyes off her for long. The way her body moves to the rhythm, the curve of her smile, the sheer magnetism she exudes…it’s intoxicating. And maddening.
When another man gets too close, placing a hand on her waist, I can’t take it anymore. I down the rest of my drink and head for the bathroom, needing a moment to compose myself.
I shove the door open and head straight to the sink, gripping the edge so hard my knuckles ache. My reflection stares back at me…tense, flushed, and unrecognizable. The music outside is muffled but still pounding, each thump a reminder of her, of how she moves to it, how she lets them watch her like she’s meant for all of them. She isn’t. She isn’t meant for me either, but my dick doesn’t seem to think so.
My hands clench and unclench, and before I can stop myself, one drifts lower, palming the strain in my pants. My cock is thick, heavy, pulsing against my palm. The heat radiating from it feels unbearable, the veins pronounced and flushed, throbbing with every maddening thought of her. I squeeze, and the ache sharpens, driving me to the edge of control. My jaw tightens as I curse under my breath.
I squeeze hard, a sharp hiss escaping my lips, but it only stokes the fire, the need crawling through me like a fever. The alcohol isn’t helping…it’s making everything worse. Or maybe it’s just her.
I slam into one of the stalls, locking it behind me. My hands tremble as I yank at my zipper, freeing myself from the unbearable constraint. The cool air hits me, and I groan low, wrapping my hand around my length. It’s rock hard, the head swollen and already leaking, greedy for something more than my touch. I stroke it roughly, the slickness of precum easing the movement, but it’s not enough. The friction feels torturous, pushing me further into desperation.
I press my forehead against the stall wall, stroking harder, faster, imagining her…the way her dress clings to her, the sway of her hips, the teasing glance she threw over her shoulder earlier, like she knew exactly what she was doing to me. The thought of her lips, her skin, the way she moves, bold and intoxicating, has me groaning louder, my breath hitching.
Every pump is a struggle between release and restraint, the pressure building like it’s going to rip me apart. My grip tightens, my strokes become brutal, and finally, with a guttural growl, I shatter. My body jerks violently as I come, hot and thick, spilling over my hand. My head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, and all I can see is her…her smile, her laugh, her body moving to the rhythm, claiming every corner of my mind.
The relief washes over me in waves, leaving me trembling, spent, and still wanting. She’s inescapable, her presence a torment I can’t seem to escape. I clean myself up quickly, my breaths still uneven. But even now, all I can think about is going back out there and claiming her…even though I know that I have absolutely no right to.
This is torture. She’s torture.
Back on the floor, my eyes lock onto her immediately, drawn by the subtle tension in her posture. She’s surrounded by two men now, their stances too close, their smiles too persistent. She’s still smiling, but it’s polite…forced. The way she shifts her weight, inching back ever so slightly, tells me everything I need to know. She’s uncomfortable, trying to maneuver away without making a scene.
For a moment, I hesitate, forcing myself to assess the scene instead of barreling in. But when one of the men leans in closer, his hand brushing her arm as he murmurs something into her ear, I can’t hold back any longer.
I push through the crowd, my stride deliberate, each step fueled by an anger I can’t quite contain.
The music pulses around me, the bass thudding in time with my heartbeat. People part instinctively as I move, catching the sharpness in my expression.
By the time I reach her, she’s taken another step back, her discomfort more apparent now as one of the men blocks her retreat. Without a word, I step between them, my hand closing firmly around her arm. The warmth of her skin against my palm is grounding, but my focus stays on the men.
“She’s with me,” I say, my voice low and even, carrying enough weight to make my intentions clear. There’s no room for argument in my tone…just cold, unwavering certainty.
The men exchange glances, hesitation flickering in their eyes. One of them opens his mouth as if to protest, but I step closer, my frame looming over theirs, and the unspoken threat in my stance makes him falter. He mutters something under his breath…a weak attempt to save face…and then steps back, pulling his friend with him.
I don’t move until they’ve retreated into the crowd, my gaze following them until I’m sure they won’t be back. Only then do I look at her, my grip on her arm loosening but not letting go entirely.
“You okay?” I ask, my voice quieter now, but no less steady.
"Yeah," she says, her voice soft. I don’t hear her much, though I make out the word from the movement of her lips. For my own sanity, I don’t stay too long. But then she reaches up on her tiptoes for some reason needing to let me hear. Very bad idea.
Then her warm breath seeps into my ear, and my eyes shut for a moment.
I suddenly know that I cannot bear to leave her here. She needs to break away from these leeches around her. And so do I.
I don’t let go of her arm, guiding her off the dance floor. “Let’s get another drink,” I suggest, needing something to ground me.
At the bar, I glance at her and signal the bartender, reordering something new light for her…cranberry juice. No alcohol this time; she’s had enough for one night. When the drink arrives, she sips it absentmindedly, her hazel eyes scanning the crowd. It’s not until she sets the glass down that she frowns, realizing the vast difference.
“There’s no alcohol” she says, looking at me with mild disbelief.
“No,” I reply calmly, sipping my own whiskey. “You’ve had enough.”
Her lips purse in a small pout, and she waves the bartender back over, determined to rectify the situation. “Vodka. Double. Add it to this.”
I turn to her sharply, arching a brow, but I say nothing. The bartender hesitates, glancing at me for approval. I sigh and nod, letting her have her way. She watches as the vodka is poured into her cranberry juice, and then, with a defiant lift of her chin, she takes a long, deliberate sip.
I lean back, sipping my drink as I watch her, my gaze fixed on the way her lips curve against the glass. She finishes the concoction quickly, setting the glass down with a satisfied exhale.
“There,” she says, her tone slightly smug. “Much better.”
Before I can respond, she leans into me, her body swaying slightly from the alcohol. I’m seated on a barstool, and within moments, she’s closer…too close. Her hips press against my knees, her hands lightly gripping the edge of the bar for balance as she tilts her head up to look at me.
“Why so serious?” she drawls, her voice soft but teasing. Her hazel eyes lock onto mine, her lips curling into a faint smile. “You should loosen up. Let’s dance.”
“No,” I say firmly, my voice steady as I shake my head. I glance around for the bartender, intending to order another whiskey, but she’s quick to intercept.
“Then buy me another drink,” she demands, her tone playful but persistent.
“You’ve had enough,” I repeat, my tone edging toward exasperation.
“Fine,” she mutters, her lips quirking mischievously as her hand moves to rest on my chest. The sudden contact sends a jolt through me, her palm warm and soft against my shirt. My breath catches as her fingers linger, her touch light but charged.
“Jenny,” I say quietly, reaching up to take her hand and pull it away. My voice is firm, though there’s no edge to it. “That’s not a good idea.”
She frowns slightly, but she doesn’t protest as I let go of her hand. Instead, she leans back against the bar, her gaze flicking between me and the now-empty glass on the counter. There’s a beat of silence, and then she smirks, a teasing glint in her eyes.
“Still no dancing?” she asks, tilting her head slightly.
“Still no,” I reply, my tone dry but amused.
She huffs softly, shaking her head before motioning to the bartender again. The playful challenge in her eyes lingers, but I can’t help the way my gaze follows her every move. She’s a contradiction…daring yet delicate, bold yet vulnerable…and it’s driving me insane.
“Another, please,” she orders, and I shake my head at the bartender.
“No,” I say. “Water,” I tell the bartender, and thankfully, this time she doesn’t protest, just looks sourly at me and pouts, and I swear to God I nearly kiss her right there.
The air feels heavier, charged with the weight of unspoken tension. Jenny sits close, her hazel eyes bright with mischief and softened by the glow of the club's dim lighting. Her pouting lips, her playful challenge, the way her hair falls in loose waves over her shoulders…it’s all maddeningly irresistible.
She leans back against the bar, swirling the water I insisted on ordering for her in the glass, her movements lazy yet deliberate. I should be relieved she’s finally drinking something nonalcoholic, but the way her pout deepens with every sip almost makes me regret it. Almost.
I want to taste the alcohol on her tongue, taste the heat of her. Sighing once again, I shut my eyes for a moment and lean against the counter, but then all I can think of is what she would look like on her knees with my cock in her mouth as she sucks me off. Hungry, greedy, excited, radiant.
Fuck!
“Uh oh,”she suddenly says and eye yes flash open in alarm.
“What is it?”
Her gaze shifts past me, and I follow it to see one of the men from earlier making his way toward us, his posture cocky, his expression smug. My entire body tenses as he approaches, his intentions as obvious as the cheap cologne trailing behind him.
“Is she your girlfriend?” he asks, his tone laced with challenge. His accent is thick, his words sharp.
I force myself to remain calm, though my fingers curl tighter around the edge of the bar. “No,” I reply evenly, my voice low and measured.
The man smirks, emboldened. “Then you have no reason to worry, eh?”
He steps closer to Jenny, leaning in as though I’m not even there. She stiffens, her cheeks flushing as she tries to step back, but the bar limits her movement. “I’m fine, thanks,” she says quickly, her voice firm but polite.
“Come on,” he presses, his hand reaching for hers. “Just one dance?—”
That’s it. Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’ve moved, stepping between them with deliberate force. My hand finds Jenny’s arm, pulling her gently but firmly behind me as I plant myself in front of the guy.
“She said she’s fine,” I say, my voice dangerously calm. My eyes lock onto his, the challenge clear.
The man hesitates for a moment, taken aback by the intensity of my tone, but he recovers quickly, his smirk widening. “Relax, man,” he says, raising his hands in mock surrender. “No need to get aggressive.”
I don’t respond, my glare enough to make him shift uncomfortably. He looks between us, clearly weighing his options.
The man doesn’t back down. Instead, he steps closer, his hand moving toward Jenny’s arm again.
The music pounds louder, a disorienting backdrop to the flash of heat that rushes through me.
The man’s smirk only widens as I say coldly, “Let her go.”
Instead of listening, he leans in closer, his hand brushing Jenny’s arm in a way that’s too familiar, too deliberate. Jenny stiffens, stepping back instinctively, her discomfort evident. The man doesn’t care; if anything, her reaction seems to spur him on.
“Come on,” he says, his voice loud and slurred. “Just one dance.”
My patience snaps. The music, the crowd, the flashing lights…all of it fades into the background. I step forward, my presence towering over his smaller frame. “I said, let her go,” I growl, my voice low and deadly.
But the man doesn’t heed the warning. Instead, he chuckles darkly, muttering something under his breath as he reaches for her again.
And then it happens.
The world narrows into a sharp, red-hot focus. My hand moves before I can think, curling into a fist that drives straight into his jaw with a force that sends him reeling. The sickening crunch of bone echoes louder than the bass of the club’s speakers. He stumbles back, crashing onto the floor in a heap, clutching his face as blood spills between his fingers.
“Fuck! You broke my jaw!” he howls, his voice barely audible over the music. A ripple of gasps and murmurs spread through the crowd, and I can feel the weight of dozens of eyes on us. Jenny stands frozen beside me, her lips parted in shock as chaos briefly blooms around us.
The man writhes on the ground, his curses muffled by the pounding beat and the frantic energy of people scrambling to get out of the way. I tower over him, my chest heaving, fists clenched, daring him to move, to say something else, to try again. But he doesn’t. He stays down, his groans of pain mingling with the music.
Jenny’s hand closes around my arm, tugging gently but urgently. “Zack,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s go.”
Her touch anchors me, pulling me back from the edge of my fury. My jaw tightens, but I don’t move until I’m certain he won’t get up again. Only then do I turn, my arm slipping around Jenny protectively as I guide her through the parting crowd, the weight of the moment still heavy in the air.
The night is cool when we step outside, but it does little to soothe the heat still coursing through me. Jenny’s hand trembles slightly as it rests on my arm, and I glance down at her, my expression softening. She looks up at me, her hazel eyes wide and searching, and for a moment, neither of us speaks.
Finally, she breaks the silence, her voice shaky but firm. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did,” I reply, my tone leaving no room for argument.
She doesn’t respond, her gaze dropping as she swallows hard. I open the car door for her, ushering her inside before sliding in beside her. The tension in the car is palpable, the silence heavy with words unsaid. But I don’t care about the stares or the whispers we left behind. All that matters is she’s safe.
And I’ll make damn sure it stays that way.