I glanced at the door.
Barely. Just a flicker.
But he noticed.
His gaze darkened, and he exhaled a thick stream of smoke before murmuring, "You still seem to think you have a choice."
My chest tightened.
He stepped closer, and I panicked. I didn't think, actually I hadn't been thinking since I stepped out to follow him and just been doing shit, anyways, I moved, trying to dart past him toward the exit.
Big mistake.
Before I even made it three feet, his hand shot out and snatched me by the arm. A second later, I was slammed back onto the nearest velvet couch like I weighed nothing. My body bounced once, and suddenly he was over me, one hand pinning my wrists above my head, the other still holding that damn cigar between his fingers.
My breath caught.
"Wait, wait! Please, don't, look, I'm sorry, okay? I was drunk, I'm still drunk, I won't ever bother you again, I swear, "
He said nothing.
Just stared at me, unreadable.
Then, with that same haunting calm, he leaned in, lowered his head until his mouth was inches from mine, and blew smoke right into my face.
I coughed hard, eyes watering, twisting under his grip.
He finally spoke.
"You have no idea who you're messing with do you?"
Then, still holding my wrists down with just one large hand, he brought the cigar to his lips again. Took a long, lazy drag. His eyes never left mine.
And then he lowered it toward my shoulder. Like he was about to burn me, leave a warning mark.
I froze and stopped breathing.
I could feel the heat of the ember, the barest sting of a threat. I clenched my eyes shut, heart thudding like it wanted to escape my chest.
But it never touched me.
Instead, I heard it.
His laugh. Low. Amused. Cruel.
I opened my eyes, gasping.
"Where'd all that fire go?" he murmured. "Weren't you going to punch me again? Give me a lecture? Be a hero?"
I hated him.
God, I hated him.
But my body was betraying me. My skin was burning, not from the cigar, but from the way he hovered over me. From the weight of him, the heat of his body, the sharpness of his cologne, the pressure of his hand on my wrists, keeping me down like he owned me.
It's just the alcohol, I told myself. Just the tension. That's it.
He pulled away slightly, not releasing me, just enough to reach into my pocket.
"What are you, hey-" I squirmed. "Stop, give that back, "
He pulled out my wallet like it belonged to him, opened it slowly, casually, and slid my ID out effortlessly with one hand.
He read it.
Then laughed again.
"Noah Bennett," he said aloud, like tasting the name on his tongue.
I tried to twist away. "Give it back. I mean it."
He ignored me.
"Are you gonna report me?" he asked. "Gonna sue? Tell your mommy?"
"Return the fucking wallet or I'll-"
He finally looked at me again, eyes colder now. Lips still smirking.
"Or you'll what?" he asked, leaning in until his breath brushed my lips. "Go on. Finish that sentence."
I didn't. Couldn't.
My mouth had gone dry. My heart was a mess of shattered rhythm. Blood roared in my ears and… lower.
He pulled back. Finally. Slid my wallet into the inside pocket of his coat like it was his now.
Then, almost as an afterthought, he pulled out a wad of cash, tossed it at me with a flick of his wrist.
"Go home, Noah," he said. "Sleep it off."
Then he turned and walked out like he hadn't just wrecked me with nothing but words and smoke.
I tried to follow. Tried to stand.
But my legs gave out halfway up and I collapsed to my knees.
There, in the middle of the VIP room, surrounded by leather and shame, I stared at the floor as my heart sank, and my jeans tented.
I looked down.
Oh my god.
No.
No, no, no,
A full-blown erection.
Why?!
I wanted to cry. Or scream. Or die. Any would've worked.
Instead, I just sat there.
Hard. Defeated. And completely humiliated.