Atlas
Summer doesn’t take a sip of the drink the soon-to-be-repeatedly-punched-in-the-face clown brought her. I wanted to get her here, and that’s the only reason I let him take her out. As much as it hurts my pride to admit, I can bet my left nut she would’ve turned me down flat.
Sneaking out from the booth, she avoids the fucktwit’s touch, and I’m grateful, because otherwise I would’ve had to make a scene and then be kicked out of the club. I’d much rather have my hands on her.
Every sway of Summer’s body falls into a rhythm designed to make a man obsessed. Probably possessed, too.
A guy tries to approach her, and I grip the metal ramp before me, ready to rip his throat out if he lays a finger on her.
The way she pushes him off leaves no doubt that she knows how to handle herself, but what stands out even more is the fact that she didn’t check him out. She’s not here for a hookup.
Given the subzero attention she’s paid me throughout the day, I should probably consider the possibility that she might not be into men. If that’s the case, which I doubt, she’ll still have to fuck one man.
I gloat as another guy bites the dust when she pushes him away.
Their hands have no place on her. Only mine do.
Will-the-dickweed snakes his arms around her waist, and she struggles to get them off her, pushing him away like a piece of trash. The darkness of this club is not enough to hide the irritation on his face when he fails to get what he wants.
He’ll be getting what he deserves soon enough.
But I’ve watched from the shadows for too long. Let the real hunt begin!
I’m not going to let Summer see me coming, lurking in the crowd, until escape is no longer an option.
After following her around for the last day and a half, trying to figure her out, I don’t have much, but right now it doesn’t matter.
She’s a gorgeous prize. Not the kind you win, but one you take.
And she’s right there, waiting to be taken . . . by me.
I should’ve made Link run a background check, but following her is so much fun. The thrill. The anticipation. Fuck, the rush of it. Those exact same emotions overtake me while I prowl through the throng.
Every move of her body puts me in a trance, and all I can think of is getting my hands on that delicate frame, feasting on her skin, and burying my cock so deep inside her that she’ll be left screaming my name for decades to come.
As I lurk right behind her, that sweet scent lures me into taking a bite, or maybe more than one.
The way she moves makes her dress lift an inch up, and I have to restrain myself from stripping it off her body. In my mind, I’ve done that a thousand times since the moment I saw her coming out of the building she resides in.
When I bracket her hips in a firm grip, her rhythm falters. Without checking who’s holding her, she tries to pull away, but I keep her anchored in place.
I expect Summer to finally turn, come eye to eye with me, but no such thing happens.
Her head dips a little, locating the source of the forceful restraint before gliding her hands over mine.
My grasp slips a little before I can stop it, enough for her hips to start moving again.
She sways slowly now, more seductively, while her fingertips offer the gentlest touch, leaving me craving more.
Gripping her waist, then her throat, I drag her back against me until my face is buried in her hair, stealing a moment I have no intention of giving back.
A sharp pain in my ribs knocks me away from the deep reverie she put me under.
She fuckin’ elbowed me?
It hurts, but I smile anyway.
Reclaiming my hold on her waist and throat, I apply just enough pressure that her pulse beneath my fingertips goes rampant. Gentle hands find mine, and once more, a single caress is enough to make me ease off the hold.
Summer finds the rhythm again, ass-teasing me briefly, before pulling away.
Freeing her delicate throat, I move the long hair to one side, baring her neck for a kiss.
That’s not enough to halt her movements, but the outcome is radically different once my teeth sink there.
Her whole body goes rigid. Then a traitorous little shiver runs through her.
No fighting, or screaming, or even trying to turn.
I smile against her soft skin, not letting go of that bite.
She starts swaying, wary, while a hand skates on my neck, fingertips tracing my jawline first, before languidly reaching up my cheek, setting a fire wherever her touch lingers.
One swift move is all it takes for her gentle caress to turn rough, as she grabs my hair and yanks me by it, forcing me to let loose of the bite I was savoring.
Baseline established. Every time I push, she pushes back.
It’s like some fucked-up game.
And I love it.
Summer holds me captive by my hair, but when she releases me, her moves quicken with the sole purpose of driving me insane. Her ass teases me again, and that’s the final straw. Self-control? Gone.
Kisses don’t mean shit to me, but right now, I want to kiss the creature in my possession more than I’ve ever wanted a fuck.
Wrapping her hair around my fist, I flip her and then lock my lips on hers, starving for any form of intimacy.
In my head, she fights it. Pushes me off.
Reality? Her arms wrap around me tight. One hand fists my hair, the other lands on the back of my neck, and she kisses me back, like she owns me.
Girls always go pliant at my kiss, and I’m in control. This one . . . she takes what she wants from me without apology, demanding undivided attention.
No crowd.
No music.
It’s only her . . . and whatever the hell she just set loose in my bloodstream.
Her tongue dances with mine in a fight for dominance, and she tastes like . . . salted caramel chocolate? Sweet like her looks. Salty like her twisted nature. And so goddamn addictive, I can’t stop chasing her flavor.
I have no idea how long that kiss lasts, but when she tries to break away, I know it’s not nearly long enough. I barely let her retreat mere inches, and it’s already too much.
When her eyes peel open, the desire to flee from me is unmistakable. She scans for an exit like a wild animal caught in a cage. She didn’t know who she was kissing? Or she knew, but she’s now regretting it? Either way, it fuckin’ stings.
Summer takes a cautious step back, like it’s a minefield she’s stepping into, but I wrap my hand around her arm, yanking her closer to me again. I’m not letting go. Not now that I know what she does to me.
Those dark blue eyes narrow to slits, same as they did the day we met. Her free hand lifts, and I expect a strike, a scratch, a shove, anything. Instead, she gives me a slow, mocking wave goodbye. When I look back at her face, she’s smiling. Wicked. Does she really think she’s getting away?
Movement flickers at the edge of my vision as her hand strikes the back of a man’s head with calculated force, and the smile she’s sporting turns into a full-blown grin.
By the time that guy, who happens to be the dickweed who brought her here, turns to face us, her smugness is gone, replaced by surprise and disapproval, blending so flawlessly on the gorgeous canvas that is her face.
“Why did you do that?!”
She shouts those words loud enough for Will-the-fuckwit to hear, framing me and leaving me no choice other than to let go of her in order to deal with him. Her face paints such a convincing picture of pure shock that, for a second, I question my own memory. Was it really me who hit him?
Sneaky little minx!
No! That would be a compliment.
She’s a twisted fuckin’ demon and nothing short of that. But why the fuck do I want her even more now, after what she just pulled?
Will takes a step forward, though the weary look on his face suggests confronting me is the last thing he wants. But my focus is on Summer as she darts for the booth where she left her jacket and bag.
Too distracted by her wolfish grin, the next scene my mind skips to is one where I’m holding a certain clown by the throat. I only get to offer her a deranged smirk before she disappears into the crowd.
I’ll take my time here, beating up a very punchable face, but you, my dear Summer, are so gravely mistaken. You think the game is over. You think you’ve won.
Oh, no!
This is just the beginning, Succubus, and I’m coming for you.