Chapter Twelve
“Keep walking,” a gruff voice whispers. The man behind me is big—so big that the street lamps behind us cast a shadow in front of me.
Is Wick this big? It’s been weeks since I’ve seen him in person.
My stupid heart feels a stab of guilt that I don’t even know his height anymore. I know what he looks like, sure, but right now, I’m trying to figure out if the man behind me is my mate or someone with ill intent.
And yes, I recognize the irony of that conundrum.
“You can have my wallet,” I whisper when we come to another intersection. “I’m broke, but there’s a few hundred on the card.”
But the man makes no response. I attempt to peek over my shoulder to figure him out.
“Eyes forward,” he growls.
Shit.
It isn’t Wick.
Wick wouldn’t shove me along. He’d snatch me and leave. He has no reason to let me find another escape.
A wide palm traps the nape of my neck and directs me into a club. Deafening bass assaults me when I open the door. I don’t like having my senses stripped of me. I won’t be able to hear his demands.
The bouncer greets us and holds his hand out for my card.
Fingers squeeze my neck, the message clear.
Give the man your ID.
I do as asked, and movement close to my back sends shivers echoing across my skin. I try to turn my head again, but his thumb is harsh on my neck.
It’s not Wick. It can’t be.
The hand urges me into the hallway to a dance area.
Fear spirals and makes my eyes dart side to side. I try to catch the bouncer’s eye, but he’s already looking to the next rowdy group in line.
I’ll wait until we’re in the crowd and then slip away or scream for help.
My unknown assailant directs me onto the dance floor. People around us swell and sway with the beat of some pop-house remix. There’s a call and response I don’t know, and I use the opportunity.
“What do you want?” I yell.
The warm, smoky laugh in my ear is familiar.
“You,” Wick growls in my ear. He twirls me around and captures me in a kiss.
My emotions surge in the most confusing mix of relief, joy, worry, and annoyance.
And against my better judgment, I kiss him back.
I drape my arms over his thick shoulders, let him capture me in his arms, and have him sway me to the music while he takes vengeance for my absence.
Kissing Wickham Barrett is an event, and it’s every bit the celebration, just like the first time he pressed me against his obnoxiously expensive car.
His lips search for a smile, a laugh, something to indicate I’m happy to see him. He smiles too, his grin wide as I lean into the kiss.
Hands grip my waist and circle over my ass, pulling me flush against him.
Wick maneuvers us to the side until we’re shoved by the crowd into an empty VIP seating area. The wide, J-shaped banquette with a little table around the curve seats at least ten, but it’s only us now. There’s even a velvet privacy curtain.
A server comes over to intercept us, but my mate chucks his wallet at the woman.
It makes me laugh, and my big, ridiculous dragon grins like a fool at my joy.
We bump against the banquette, and I nearly topple over the table. He rescues me by swinging me around into his lap.
The server returns with an order book and passes Wick’s wallet back. How she knew which card to use is anyone’s guess.
“Champagne,” Wick announces. “And close the curtain.”
“They don’t close all the way. There’s always a gap. They don’t want people to you know .”
“What if you charged the most expensive bottle of champagne and tip yourself an equal amount?”
“Then it would take me a very long time to find and open the bottle.”
“Excellent!” Wick yells.
When the slim girl scurries away, I give him a scowl.
“You can’t buy people to get what you want every time,” I tell-yell him.
“I didn’t buy her—I bought us privacy.”
Before I can object further, Wick pulls me into another aggressive kiss. His teeth sink into my bottom lip, not enough to hurt but enough to feel the threat there.
I groan against him and switch to straddling him. My skirt splays out around us, and the fine fabric of his pants are soft on my bare skin.
“You really like being on top,” he says.
“It’s the most comfortable.”
He shakes his head and spins us in one quick turn.
Instead of laying me out flat on the couch, he sets me upright and kneels at my feet.
Wick spreads my knees as far as they can go and sinks his face into my crotch. He inhales then growls so deeply, I feel the vibration against my pussy.
“Fucking mine,” he rumbles, more dragon than man.
I groan, and it makes him nip at my underwear.
But he doesn’t go further.
He waits oh so patiently for me to give him an okay.
The “no” rests on my lips. I should say it.
But damn it all, I really don’t want to.
He caught me, fair and square. He found me. If he wants to punish me with orgasms, then maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to judge.
Reckless Annie has apparently also gotten bored with Organized Annie’s risk avoidance.
I rest a knee over his shoulder and toss my skirt over his head.
Wick chuckles, his body shaking between my legs.
Something sharp and pointed scrapes against my inner thigh and rockets off a series of shivers. It drags along my skin, not enough to break through but enough for the threat to heat my blood.
There’s a tug at my underwear, and then the fabric falls away from my body.
Wick wastes no time tonguing my center. His mouth falls onto my pussy, and the rest of the world falls away.
Music pounds in my ears, but all I hear is my blood rushing as he demands I acquiesce to the bond.
I grip the banquette beside me as he works his magic. He’s relentless, his lips and tongue on overdrive to make my thighs tighten around him.
I don’t know what completing the bond looks like, but if it feels anything as strong as seeing him for the first time in weeks, then I may willingly handcuff myself to his basement floor.
Or maybe the ceiling.
The man between my legs seems to grow in size. His shoulders must be muscling my knees wider.
He adds a finger, pressing it inside in time with his tongue rolling in circles around that sensitive spot, and I grip his head despite the fabric of the skirt.
Sharp teeth nip at my skin, and my muscles shutter and shake.
I missed him.
Not just for this. Not just the sex. Don’t get me wrong, I’m ready to melt into the floor, but I realize that I missed being with him.
It was only a night, but it was fun. Relaxing. Yes, he’s an overbearing asshole... but maybe he’s my overbearing asshole.
Ugh, I do not have time for a crisis of faith right now. I need to figure out how to...
Wick’s tongue seems to widen as he pushes a second thick finger into me. He doesn’t fuck me with them just yet and instead hooks them just so.
I need to get away . . .
He sucks on my clit, the roughness flicking and moving fast, and I become every awful, hormonal stereotype because there’s no circumstance in which I’ll let him stop.
I moan loud enough that it makes him chuckle, and he rewards me with a harsher nip.
Wick uses an expert touch and tongue to bring me right to the point of orgasm. Between his saliva and how drenched I am, it’s a wonder I don’t slide off the seat. The flouncy skirt has to be ruined.
My body tightens, my muscles contracting like my skin is too small.
Wick makes me want to combust, to break free of my body. My nerves are alight, and every inch of my body is engaged.
He licks with more fury, thrusting his fingers into me so hard it’s a wonder I won’t have bruises.
His demands, his loss of restraint, is this beautiful torment where I revel in being the one who made him lose control.
Gasping, my spine arches as the climax rockets through me. I grip his head under the fabric with both hands. I’m probably suffocating him, but Risk-Averse Annie cheers me on.
My body is in charge, and I’m merely a passenger to the pleasure concentrated to a pinpoint.
I slump into the bench chair. When he flips my skirt down, he’s grinning at me like I’ve professed my love for him.
Wick’s covered in proof of his success, and I use the edge of my skirt to wipe his face. Slitted, golden eyes hint at his hidden side but I kind of like it.
He leans forward, between my legs, and gives me a slow, sweet kiss.
“Come home,” he pleads.
“Yeah,” I concede, and for whatever reason, I mean it. I smile and lay another kiss on his lips. “Can I clean up first?”
He smirks and squeezes my knee but backs away.
As I head through the curtains, I look back at him to give him one last smile. He’s watching me go, but there’s no stress or worry there. He knows I’m coming back because he can sense that I’m ready.
At least, that’s what I think I am.
Because when I get to the bathroom, the extended wait in line gives me a chance to breathe.
If I go home with him, that will be it.
My freedom will be at an end.
I can’t do that just yet.
A little voice in the back of my head tells me to stay, but an even louder one reminds me this may be my only chance.
Panic seizes my thoughts stronger than the chains in Wick’s basement.
Glancing over my shoulder, I can’t see him anywhere. The curtain is still mostly drawn around the VIP booth.
I sneak around the girls ahead of me in line, squeeze through a back room, find an exit to the alley, and disappear into the night.