Menace (Scarlet Scars #1)(36)
I avert my eyes as I stroll through the club. Instead of heading for the exit, where the bouncer still lurks, watching me, I veer toward the back of the place. Halfway down the hall, my footsteps falter, and I pause in an open doorway, the soft glow of red lights spilling out all around me.
I’m not supposed to be back here. The glares women give me as they strut past, leading guys to and from these rooms, tells me so. No sex in the champagne room. We’ve all heard it. They say it doesn’t happen, but I know, in some places, in some situations, sex is negotiable.
Flash enough cash and * can be yours.
I know it happens here.
But Scarlet? She’s not even naked.
Not right now, at least.
She’s dancing. She looks so utterly bored. Does nobody else notice? Although she smiles, there’s no fire in her eyes, her stare damn near vacant. I’ll give her credit, though—she’s got rhythm. Her hips sway perfectly in tune with the music, like her body is feeling it even if she’s not.
The little red, lacy see-through get-up she’s wearing leaves little to the imagination, even less as she slowly unfastens her top, teasing the guy as the straps fall down her arms.
She pulls it off after a moment, tossing it aside, exposing the most stunning set of tits I’ve ever laid my eyes on. They’re small, barely a handful, but f*ck if they’re not perfect—perky, and natural, with the kind of nipples that beg to be tasted.
The man reaches for her when she turns toward him, his hands moving on their own, like it’s instinct around a set of tits that beautiful, but she grabs his wrists without missing a beat, stopping him as she shakes her head. No touching.
He obliges, dropping his hands to his side, shoulders slumping with disappointment. Can’t say I blame the guy. She teases him for a moment, shoving them in his face as she dances, straddling his lap and pushing him until he’s lying on the lounge couch. His eyes drift closed, his hands linking together behind his head, as Scarlet turns around.
Her expression glazes over.
Bored. Bored. So f*cking bored.
Her eyes are fixed to the ceiling, to the lights shining down on her, as she half-heartedly grinds her ass against his crotch. I watch her for a moment before taking a step into the room. She’s quick to sense my movement. Her head lowers, and a hint of panic sparking in her eyes. Alarmed. Her gaze meets mine, the guy not noticing a difference, but I can sense it. I see the way her posture changes, her breathing labored, shaky exhales escaping her lungs as she watches me. I slowly approach, my footsteps undetectable over the sound of the music.
If she’s truly bothered by my presence, she doesn’t let it show, not missing a beat as she dry humps the guy. It’s not like in her apartment, not like when I had her pinned to the door, thrusting against her, driving her to the brink.
No, she’s getting nothing from this. No arousal. No excitement.
Fucking boredom.
I pause in front of her, cocking an eyebrow, as she continues going through the motions. A small smile twists her blood-red lips. It does something to me, that smile. I don’t know how to explain it. People don’t get to me the way a look from this woman claws its way under my skin.
Nudging her chin, I tilt her head up further, watching her throat flex as she swallows, like I might be making her nervous. Good. Her lips are parted, her warm breath greeting me as I lean down toward her, tilting my head. My thumb slowly swipes along her bottom lip, smearing her lipstick, just a breath away from her mouth, when she whispers, oh-so-shakily, “Kissing is gonna cost you.”
I laugh under my breath and press my lips to hers—once, twice, three times—soft, barely a peck, but she bites my bottom lip the last time, sending a sharp stab of pain through it. I wince, licking my lip as I stand back up, a slight copper taste on my tongue. She drew blood.
She knows it, too.
There’s the spark.
It lights up her eyes.
Squeezing her chin, I lean down again, kissing her once more, rougher this time, before whispering, “You taste better now.”
She still hasn’t missed a beat.
The woman is good at what she does, that’s for damn sure.
Letting go, I retreat a few steps, my eyes scanning her, my gaze lingering on those tits. There’s more I’d like to stick around and do, but I know damn well Amello is watching my every move.
I’m going to have her, though.
No doubt about it. I’ve made up my mind.
Men like Amello get their panties in a twist when you steal from them. He called me a thief, so that’s what I’ll be. Like I said, if you don’t appreciate what you’ve got, someone like me will be more than happy to take it.
Scarlet’s cheeks flush, visible even through the thick layers of makeup, her eyes twinkling, every ounce of boredom gone in a blink.
Definitely not the only one getting a thrill out of this.
I stroll toward the doorway just as the song changes. It’s barely a second of silence before the music starts up again, but something happens in that moment, a shift in the air when someone off in the distance screams. My footsteps falter. Turning my head, glancing back, I watch Scarlet come to a stop. She springs to her feet, alarmed, snatching her top off of the floor and fumbling with it, desperately trying to put it back on, but there’s no time.
No time.
Chaos erupts. More screaming. Running. Voices shout over the music, incoherent words I don’t understand, but Scarlet seems to. Eyes wide, her body trembles as she mouths something, but her voice doesn’t seem to work right now.