Man of the House: A Dark Bad Boy Romance(141)

I couldn’t tell what she was thinking about the marriage thing. We hadn’t talked about it since then, and she didn’t seem interested in bringing it up. If she didn’t want to talk, I was fine with just grinding against her sweet f*cking ass.

But something was going on. She talked about not having freedom soon. I couldn’t imagine she was going to let herself get married off to Jetter, that f*cking Rebel traitor cunt, like some medieval slave or some shit. Janine had more fire than that, more spark. She couldn’t be tamed by some f*cking shithead like Jetter.

Maybe there was more going on than I realized. And in that moment, dancing closely with her, our bodies moving together, I found myself not giving a f*ck. All I wanted was her sweet ass pressed against my cock, moving to the beat of the music, swaying back and forth.

“You’re the sexiest girl in the f*cking place. You know that?” I said into her ear.

She turned her head back toward me, tilting her chin up. “You think so?”

“It’s the damn truth,” I said. “These little girls have nothing on you.”

She smiled. “I believe you. I can feel the proof.”

I grabbed her hips, pulling her ass harder against my cock. “Damn right. You get me f*cking rock hard. You know that?”

“Good,” she said, giving me this f*cking smile. “Come on. Let’s get a drink.”

She grabbed my hand and pulled me off the floor, heading over toward the bar. We waded into the crowd of people and I easily made room for us, parting the little * college kids with ease. They didn’t like that, but I didn’t give a f*ck and silenced their complaints with a look.

“Whisky,” I called out. “Gin and tonic for the girl.” The bartender nodded and returned with our drinks.

“Thanks,” Janine said, clinking my glass. “Here’s to not getting hammered.”

I laughed, knocking my drink back. “Why not? That’s a bad toast for drinking.”

“Can’t drink like I did last night,” she said, laughing. “I can’t physically do it.”

“I’m sure you can, but whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” she asked, sipping her drink through the little straw. I couldn’t help but see a little suggestive smile in her eyes.

“I’m here to make you happy,” I said. “It’s my job.”

“How are you going to make me happy, Clutch?”

“I’ll start by getting you back on that dance floor and making you nice and tired.”

“Work me hard?” she asked.

“That’s right,” I said. “I’ll take you wherever you want. Tonight you’re free.”

“Yeah,” she said, “I’m free.” She put her drink back down on the bar and took my hand, pulling me back toward the dance floor.

This time, we danced face to face, bodies pressed close, her arms around my neck. Her eyes were locked on mine, and I couldn’t help but let my gaze roam along her body as she danced.

I’d never felt so much f*cking tension for a woman before. Normally I knew what I was going to get, had no f*cking trouble picking a woman out and getting her into my bed. But with Janine, I knew I couldn’t do that. Even if she wanted me and I wanted her, we both knew that she was forbidden. She was way off-limits, and there was no turning back.

Besides, I had a feeling she was just acting out because of the whole wedding thing. Not that I f*cking minded, but I wasn’t interested in getting a girl in bed if she didn’t really want it.

I needed her dripping and begging for it first. I wouldn’t touch her before she was practically moaning my name.

We danced like that for what felt like an hour. Finally, she pulled me back off the dance floor and we waded back to the bar. We got another quick drink and then she turned toward me.

“I’ll be back!” she called over the music.

“Can’t let you out of my sight,” I said.

“Want to come into the ladies’ room with me?” she asked.

“I would love that,” I said. “Get you moaning in the stall.”

She just shook her head and walked off. I watched her go over the heads the crowd and saw her disappear into the bathroom.

I got another whisky and looked around. It was getting late, and the place was packed with hammered drunk douchebags out looking for their next date-rape victim. I could still feel my cock, hard and pulsing in my jeans, and I scanned the room, looking for Janine.

I didn’t spot her, so I downed my drink and got another. A few more minutes passed as I got the next glass of whisky, and Janine still wasn’t back.

Grumbling, I rolled through the crowd toward the bathroom. My mind was running through a list of possibilities, from finding her dead on the floor to realizing that she had ditched me and run off.

I could feel anxiety take my gut, and I moved fast closer to the bathrooms. I had to make sure she was okay, couldn’t fail in keeping her safe. I wasn’t the kind of man to f*ck up like that.

As I moved down the hall, I spotted her just ahead. She was standing near three * college kids, their preppy clothes marking them as total dickheads. She was frowning and talking, and I could tell something was wrong as I got closer.

“Come on, baby,” the one guy said. “Just a drink. You look like you need one.”