Elena’s Point Of View I sat there, still completely disoriented, staring at the dark velvet opening of the booth while my breath came in shallow, ragged hitches that made my chest ache.
My head spun, heavy and light all at once, floating somewhere up near the neon-lit ceiling while the rest of my body burned like a live wire.
Nothing made sense.
The world had narrowed down to this small, shadowed space and the thunderous pounding of my own pulse.
I tried to piece together the last few minutes, but the memories kept sliding away from me like wet soap, impossible to hold onto for more than a second.
I was still hot.
Still so damn horny.
A low, throbbing ache lodged right between my thighs, a heavy pulse that refused to settle no matter how many times I swallowed past my parched throat.
I needed release, and I needed it badly.
My skin still remembered the ghost of his touch, an imprint burned into every nerve ending, and the memory alone was enough to send another wave of heat crashing through me.
I pressed my thighs together, as if that might somehow smother the fire he’d lit, but it only made things worse.
Every small movement reminded me of exactly where his hands had been, and my body, traitor that it was, seemed almost eager to remember.
How dare that scumbag do all that and leave me?
Just like that?
Who walked away from a woman he’d just unraveled like a piece of string, leaving her sitting there, hollowed out and aching?
I wanted to be angry at the audacity of it, at the sheer nerve of a stranger who could reduce me to this trembling, needy mess and then vanish without so much as a backward glance.
I pressed my palms against my flushed cheeks, my skin hot enough to fry an egg on, my heart thumping against my ribs like a trapped bird desperate for the sky.
Was I furious?
I was supposed to be furious.
He was an arrogant, unmitigated ass who had treated me like a toy, manhandling me, pulling me into his lap, setting every nerve ending in my body on fire with those long, clever fingers, only to drop me like a hot stone and walk out into the dark.
And yet some traitorous part of me kept replaying the low rasp of his voice, the way it had curled around my name like he owned it.
I hated that I wanted to hear it again.
I hated even more that some reckless, half-drunk part of me was already wondering if I’d ever see him again, and whether I’d let him do it all a second time.
“Pervert!” I screamed at the empty silk curtain, not giving a single damn that my voice cracked like a teenager’s or that three different people walking down the hallway turned to stare.
“That’s what you are!
A total, absolute, arrogant, suit-wearing pervert!
I hate you!” I blew a massive gust of air out of my mouth in sheer exasperation, my bangs flying straight up toward the ceiling before flopping right back down onto my sweaty forehead.
My whole body trembled, caught somewhere between rage and a humiliating, aching want I refused to name.
I dug my nails into the leather cushion beside me, grounding myself against the dizzying spin of my own thoughts.
My pulse still hadn’t found its way back to normal, and some small, exhausted part of me wondered if it ever would.
My skin was still prickling, every inch of it humming from where his hands had been.
My core still pulsed with agonizing, unbearable heat, completely wrecked by a man whose name I didn’t even know.
A stranger.
A gorgeous, insufferable stranger who smelled like cedar and expensive whiskey and pure trouble, the kind of trouble my father had warned me about in a voice reserved for cautionary tales.
I could still hear his voice in my head now, tutting disapprovingly, and I nearly laughed at how right he’d been.
He would have taken one look at him, one look at that smirk, and dragged me out of the club by my ear.
How dare he?
How dare he climb all over me, slide his hand all the way up my silk dress, turn my brain into hot, useless porridge, and then just walk away like he’d hit a pause button on a TV remote?
Who does that?
What kind of sick, twisted game was he playing?
Did he do this to every woman who wandered too close, or had I simply been the unlucky one standing in his path tonight?
The thought needled at me more than I wanted to admit, curling somewhere uncomfortable beneath my ribs.
“Unbelievable,” I muttered, my voice shaking as I grabbed the leather edge of the booth to haul myself up.
“An absolute scumbag.
A villain.
A…” My knees immediately gave out.
I didn’t even get two inches off the leather before gravity slammed me right back down onto the cushioned bench with a heavy thud that rattled my teeth and sent my hair flying across my face.
A short, undignified squeak escaped me, one I chose to pretend nobody heard.
I sat there motionless for three long seconds, staring blankly at the dark wood of the table.
I blinked once, blinked twice, and then a strange, bubbles-in-a-soda feeling rose up in my throat.
I burst into a stupid, helpless, hysterical giggle, the kind that came from somewhere deep and unhinged, half amusement and half sheer disbelief at my own life.
Tears actually pricked at the corners of my eyes, though I couldn’t have said whether they came from laughter, frustration, or something else entirely.
Maybe all three had decided to gang up on me at once, which, given the night I was having, seemed about right.
Was I mad at him?
I mean, yeah!
I was furious!
He left me hanging!
But at the same time, my body still practically sang from the way his mouth had felt on my neck, and the sheer absurdity of it all hit me like a bucket of ice water.
I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling my heart still racing beneath my palm, half convinced it might never slow down again.
What was wrong with me, that I could feel both things so completely at once?
I’d never been the kind of woman who let a stranger get under her skin like this, and the novelty of it left me equal parts thrilled and terrified.
“Okay,” I whispered into the empty, shadow-drenched booth, raising a hand to pat my own knee like a sympathetic old friend.
“I think…
I think he was actually right.
That drink is way too strong.” I leaned my head back against the tufted leather, resting my hands on my stomach while the club’s bass thrummed right through the soles of my heels.
I took a deep, shaky breath, braced both palms flat against the sticky table, and pushed myself up again.
This time, I promised myself, I would actually stay standing.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
My legs wobbled beneath me like wet, overcooked noodles, but by some absolute miracle of God, I managed to stay upright.
Victory.
Absolute victory.
I allowed myself a small, triumphant fist pump, wobbling dangerously in the process.
A passing waitress gave me a look somewhere between pity and amusement, but I decided not to dwell on it.
I had far more pressing concerns, like remembering how legs were supposed to work.
I took one tentative, shaky step forward, swaying sideways like a palm tree caught in a category five hurricane, then quickly planted my foot to check my balance.
My high heels felt like stilts.
I was not about to have a free, unprompted facial reconstruction by face-planting onto the club’s concrete floor tonight.
Absolutely not.
We had to protect the face.
That would completely ruin my dramatic exit.
Step.
Pause.
Re-evaluate life choices.
Balance.
Another step.
I squeezed past the heavy, dark silk curtain, creeping out into the dimly lit hallway as slow as a snail on strike, one hand trailing along the wall for support I refused to admit I needed.
Each step felt like a small negotiation between my body and the floor, one I wasn’t entirely certain I would win.
I focused hard on breathing, on placing one foot in front of the other, on anything but the lingering warmth still humming beneath my skin.
The corridor was a sensory nightmare.
Strobing pink and purple lights flashed against the walls, making my vision dance with big, glowing spots.
Now came the actual math problem: where the hell was Lexy?
I’d been mildly tipsy when I left our table to look for the restroom thirty minutes ago, and I couldn’t even find my way back then.
Now?
Now I was fully, gloriously, hopelessly drunk, floating somewhere near the stratosphere, my thoughts arriving a beat too late for my mouth to keep up with them.
Every booth looked the same, every shadow indistinguishable from the last, and my sense of direction had apparently packed its bags and left with the stranger in the suit.
I stood in the middle of the hallway, swaying gently, staring down the long row of identical, shadowy booths.
I could just start opening curtains one by one until I found her blonde head.
The idea seemed almost brilliant in my current state, a stroke of pure genius born from desperation and one too many cocktails.
No, I thought, shaking my head so fast my brain sloshed violently against the inside of my skull.
Security will literally pick me up by my collar and throw me into the alleyway.
On my face.
We already established we are protecting the face.
I giggled out loud at my own genius deduction, my hand clapping over my mouth to muffle the sound, though a few nearby patrons still shot me curious, faintly concerned looks.
Let them stare.
I had bigger problems, namely locating my best friend before I either passed out or accosted a stranger.
“Elena!
Elena!” I blinked, turning around so fast my left ankle buckled, and I nearly went down right there in front of a tray-bearing waitress who sidestepped me with the practiced ease of someone used to drunken near-collisions.
Through the strobing pink lights and my wildly hazy vision, a blonde hurricane came marching down the hall toward me, her arms crossed tight over her chest and a look on her face that could peel paint off a wall.
“Lexy?” I squinted, reaching out to grip the wooden wall molding for moral support.
“Is that you, or do I have double vision?” “Where the hell have you been?” Lexy yelled, storming up and grabbing both of my shoulders.
She shook me just enough to make the entire hallway tilt forty-five degrees to the left.
“I’ve been looking all over this godforsaken place for thirty minutes!
I called your phone four times only to look down at the table and realize you left your entire purse in our booth!
I thought you got kidnapped by a bouncer or passed out in a stall!” I leaned forward, completely ignoring her rising panic, and collapsed my full weight onto her shoulder with a loud, hiccuping giggle.
“Lex, oh my god, Lex,” I slurred, my words sticking together like melted gummy bears.
“You are never, ever going to believe what just happened to me.” Lexy grunted, using all her strength to prop me back up by my armpits.
She stepped back, narrowing her eyes at me through the dim light, and raised her left eyebrow so high it nearly merged straight into her hairline.
“What?” she asked, her voice dripping with pure, unadulterated sarcasm.
“Did you finally find the bathroom, or did you get lost in a broom closet and decide to adopt a mop?” “No, stupid,” I giggled, swaying back and forth in front of her like a heavy clock pendulum.
“I kissed someone.” Lexy’s jaw dropped.
She froze completely, her hands still gripping my arms, staring at me in the middle of the crowded hallway as if I’d just announced I was flying to Mars on a pink scooter.
“You did what?”