((Spice warning - 18+))

For a moment, I think he's going to grab me and chain me back to the bed. His forehead ticks, jaw clenched so tightly it looks painful.

But he doesn't. He closes his eyes for a moment, seemingly gathering the willpower to keep his cool. When he opens them again, his face settles back into its perpetual state of lazy wickedness.

He leans his hip against the sink, taking his time looking me over in the tiny black dress, and then picks up his glass and downs the rest of his liquor with ease.

"I'm not the only monster here, angel. You go out there and you'll be surrounded by them."

I almost laugh. I doubt there's anyone more fearsome than Sinclair Black, but I nod as if I'm considering his words. "I'll keep that in mind."

He says nothing, looking oddly intense as his eyes glare into mine. I turn before he gets the urge to stop me, tensing as he calls out one last time, "Angel."

My fingers still around the doorknob. "What?"

"For fuck's sake, don't get shit-faced this time."

...

I don't have a plan for tonight. If anything, partying was far from my mind until I saw Amber all over him and couldn't decide if I wanted to strangle both of them or take her place.

God, I need to get laid. At least to wipe the memory of Sinclair from my mind. Create a clean slate.

That's why when a blond-haired man slides into the spot next to me at the bar, I flash him a flirty smile.

He returns the favor. "Hey."

"Hi."

"You're hot."

I laugh, unsure if I should be flattered or disgruntled. He's alright looking as far as human men get. Fair-haired, blue-eyed. Square jaw, cleft chin. From his aura of arrogance, I'm guessing girls usually fall over him—girls that haven't been hypnotized by a certain brooding set of steel-colored eyes at least. "You're forward."

"I usually am when it comes to getting the things I want."

My fingers tap around my vodka as I hold back a grimace. I take a sip, reminding myself of what matters—the dangly bit that hangs between his legs.

I never thought I'd lose my virginity to a douchebag at a bar, but I guess life throws you all sorts of turns you never expect. Like getting kidnapped by a demon and craving his touch with the depravity of a middle-aged housewife that hasn't been fucked by her husband in years.

I smile around my glass, hoping I don't look as tense as I feel inside. "Is that so?"

He grunts, glancing at my nearly empty cup. "Can I buy you another glass of that?"

It's another brand I've never heard of. I asked them to give me a glass of their most expensive liquor. I shrug, smiling crookedly at him. What he doesn't know won't hurt him. "Sure."

Once I'm nursing my second glass, I notice he's transfixed on something behind me. He notices the way I stiffen, throwing me a small smile.

"Have a boyfriend?"

"Um," I glance behind me, half-expecting Sinclair to emerge from the sea of bodies and throw me over his shoulder "No?"

"Huh," he says, drumming his fingers on the bar. "That guy's been staring at you since you sat down."

I turn my head, frowning. Sure enough, a man sits at the far end of the bar. He smiles as his eyes meet mine, entirely unapologetic and drool-worthy as hell. His short brown hair is slicked back on his head, hazel eyes framed with lashes so dark I can make them out from several chairs down.

He notices the appreciative look in my eyes and his grin widens, revealing two dimples on both sides of his cheeks.

I blink, turning away. Damn. Why couldn't he have approached me first?

I sigh, sagging in my chair. "Don't know him," I say, unable to keep the glumness out of my voice.

He grunts, sending the stranger a look of warning. It feels like the equivalent of a dog snarling at another over its favorite bone.

I withstand the urge to roll my eyes, leaning closer to him instead. "What's your name?"

He draws his attention back to me. "Brandon."

"Brandon, how would you like to fuck me tonight?" Somehow the words come out with the upmost confidence regardless of the small feeling that festers inside of my gut.

If the fact that I'm a raging virgin is obvious, he doesn't seem to mind. "Goddamn," he rasps, shifting in his seat as his eyes trail appreciatively down my body, "that was forward."

I smile.

...

I push him into the bathroom stall, taking his lips against mine. The kiss is wet and messy and makes a sliver of repulsion rise in my stomach that I quickly push away.

Judging from the way he hikes his hand up my skirt and pants into my mouth, he doesn't feel the same way. When his fingers graze the bare skin of my ass, he stills. "Damn, baby." His fingers squeeze around me. I know it probably makes me look desperate, but the only reason I'd gone commando was that I couldn't steal a pair of Sinclair's boxers without it showing under the tiny skirt. "Sure you don't want to go back to my place?"

"That's alright." I'd pulled him into the bathroom as fast as I could, terrified Sinclair would find me and drag me back into his bedroom. The idea of even making it out the front doors is preposterous. "I want you right now."

He grunts, hand sliding around my thigh and grazing the mound between them. I tense, fingers digging into his shoulders. I thought this would be easy. Maybe I should have asked him to buy me a third drink.

My head spins from the alcohol. I'm definitely drunk. Just not enough to enjoy this, I guess.

I wince when he pushes a finger inside of me. There's no caresses, no touching. No arousal to make the insertion pleasurable.

"Holy shit, you're tight." He leans forward, sucking on the skin below my ear.

I push his head away. I have a feeling that Sinclair won't be happy if he can see any evidence of the night on my skin. "Don't do that."

Brandon frowns at me. "Why?" His eyes darken at the worried look plastered over my face. "Oh. You do have a boyfriend, don't you?"

"No," I wince. "He's not my boyfriend, but if he sees that there's a hickey on my neck he'll—"

"Fucking kill you," a deep voice rumbles on the other side of the stall door. My stomach tumbles over on itself as I push Brandon off of me. "Open the door, boy. Your cock better be in your pants or I'll have no whims about shoving it down your throat."

I send Brandon a warning look as he reaches toward the door. He has the decency to adjust his hard-on in his pants before he grapples at the lock with shaking fingers.

"Idiot," I murmur, wringing my hands nervously as I eye the distance from the toilet to the top of the next stall over. Maybe if I'm quick I can climb out and make a break for the door.

The look on Sinclair's face makes me cut the idea off abruptly. He looks a hair away from killing the nearest moving creature.

I gasp as he takes Brandon by the throat, dragging him out of the stall and pushing him against the yellowing tile walls. He scratches at his large hand to no avail, face turning purple with lack of oxygen.

Sinclair's severe expression gradually smoothes out as he watches the life drain from his body until all that's left is cool calculation.

"Holy shit. Let him go." Because apparently I also have a death wish, I approach him and lay a quivering palm across his. "You're going to kill him."

He turns those indifferent eyes upon me and sends me a look that tells me he plans to eat me alive. My body heats under his gaze. From fear or anticipation, I can't tell.

"I know."

The dark words send a shiver down my back. I realize that nothing I can say will make him take his fingers from his neck, so I try a different approach and smash my lips against his.

It's rough and desperate, our teeth clinking together noisily, but his hands fall away from Brandon's neck and settle tightly around my waist as if he's scared I'll try and run away from him. I wind my fingers through his hair, tugging a few strands loose from the knot at the back of his neck.

The scramble of Brandon's footsteps against the floor tells me he's managed to make it away safely. Sinclair pays him no mind, pushing me back into the stall as his mouth takes mine.

When he locks it behind him, I pull back, sucking in a lung-full of air and trying to cool the heat that simmers in my core. "How did you know?"

His fingers brush over my cheek, tracing the flush that rises over my skin. "Did you really think I'd leave you unattended?"

My brow knits as I try and decipher his words. I hadn't seen a lick of him or Oliver, unless...

"The man at the bar." With the dimples. I almost sigh—I should've known it was too good to be true. I sag in his arms, the fact that not a single second of my time alone tonight had actually been spent in freedom. I'd been set up from the start.

He grunts in acknowledgment, features darkening as he senses the shift in energy. I startle as he starts to pull away.

"Wait." I catch his wrist, tugging it back in place on the dip of my waist. I don't know what I'm doing but something feels oddly right about this. "I want you."

He stares at me, chest heaving. Something worrisome flickers in his gaze but he doesn't remove his hand.

"What?" I say, drunk on lust and expensive vodka. I have a feeling I won't feel very good about this tomorrow but right now he feels so perfect pressed against me. "Having buyer's remorse?"

"Turn around."

My eyes narrow at the suggestion. Something about defying him is just too tempting to resist. "No."

"Turn the fuck around, Calli."

When I don't attempt to move, his strong hands grip my waist and swivel me around with the ease of throwing around a rag doll.

I barely brace myself against the the stall door as he yanks my lower half closer to him. "Arch your back."

The dark note in his voice makes me follow his command. He grunts, running his hand over the span of my ass. The heat of his palm feels red-hot through the thin fabric. "What were you thinking?"

I'm too focused on the trail of his fingers as they gripe lower to fully comprehend his words. "Huh?"

"Letting a man like that try to fuck you." They slide lower, down the back of my thigh and lazily make their way to the aching need that pulses between them. "He wouldn't try and please you. The only thing you'd be getting out of him is a fresh case of STDs." I gasp as his large hand finally finds its target, the expanse of his palm cupping my core.

He makes a small pained sound as he holds his vise-like grip still. "Where the fuck are your panties?"

My hips move on their own accord, rubbing myself against him, desperate for friction. "You didn't give me any."

He grunts darkly, running a finger into my wetness. The noisy recognition of my arousal makes me glad I'm facing the wall so he can't see how brightly my face burns. "Tell me this isn't for him."

I don't say anything, the possessiveness in his voice making my lips curl.

His other hand tightens around my waist, thumb teasingly drawing large circles on the flesh around my clit. I shudder around his touch, nearly begging for him to soothe the need he gradually builds under his fingertips.

"Fucking. Tell. Me."

"Christ," I pant as his grip on my waist keeps me from shamelessly grinding against him. "Fine. It's from you. All of it."

He's quiet for a moment, his fingers still. I'm almost tempted to shout at him in frustration until he positions his lower half flush against me, kicking a leg between mine to secure my widened stance. His erection presses against the fabric bunched around my ass.

"Good," he says thickly, sounding all too satisfied with himself. Without warning, he wets his middle finger in my arousal and thrusts it inside of me.