MEEKA'S POV::
"Fuck!" I curse as my head pounds like it's being hit with a hammer.
I lean against the sink, trying to steady myself, but the restroom won't just stop spinning. Or am I the one spinning? I don't even know.
Ugh!
Please remind me never to drink again, because when I get too drunk, I forget everything, sometimes even my gender.
My lipstick is smeared, my hair is falling out of its pins, and I laugh softly at my reflection. Perfect little Meeka Clemson, drunk at two a.m.
My Mom will faint if she sees me right now.
I stumble out of the restroom, my heels wobbling, heading back toward the club. My friends are still out there somewhere, dancing and celebrating, but honestly? I just want my cozy bed right now.
I groan under my breath. "God, I really need to go home."
I continue to stagger my way out of the restroom, and that's when I slam into something hard.
Wait. Did the walls of this club suddenly grow legs? Because I'm pretty sure there wasn't one here a second ago.
But I soon realize this isn't a wall I just bumped into. This is a chest. A solid, unyielding chest.
Before I can hit the floor, rough hands grab my arms like steel, steadying me. My head tips back, and the world tilts again, except this time, it's not the alcohol.
He's not like anyone I've ever seen before.
He has broad shoulders, and a jagged scar slashed across his jaw, drawing the eye to the danger carved into his face. His eyes are dark, so dark they look lethal. His jawline is razor-sharp, with a solitary mole resting on the left side like an intentional mark of sin. His nose is straight and dangerously defined. And he smells of whiskey, and dark oud — an intoxicating scent that clings to him like sin itself, the kind that drags you closer even when every instinct tells you to run.
My pulse slams into my throat instantly. I should step back, as every instinct is screaming at me to retreat from the aura radiating off him. But I don't; instead, I inhale him like someone who's already lost her mind. And honestly, that might not be far from the truth.
"Careful, Little Rebel," he says, his voice low, brushing against my skin like sandpaper.
God. That voice and accent.
"I'm not...." I hiccup, shaking my head. I even raise a finger like I'm in court. "Not a rebel."
His lips curve in a mocking smirk as he leans closer. "Could've fooled me."
Right now, all I want to do is pull away, and just whisper "sorry" and stumble back to my friends like the good girl that I am. But I still can't find myself doing that. I'm frozen on the spot, heart drumming, and my body betraying me like it's been waiting for this collision.
Believe me, this is the alcohol talking. Or moving. Or whatever. Tomorrow, I'm never drinking again.
Okay, fine, I'll make that decision when I'm sober.
The man's gaze drags over me slowly, like he's memorizing every inch, and my breath catches as his eyes roam around me.
"Are you lost, Baby Girl?" His voice is thick now, daring me to play along.
Hm. Baby Girl.
Why do I like the sound of that?
Damn me. No normal girl would meet a total stranger and melt at the name he gives her. But then, I never told you I was normal.
I tilt my head, fighting a grin. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."
His brow arches, but he doesn't move. That makes me bolder. My gaze slides over him shamelessly, drowning my filter in vodka.
"God, you're unfairly good looking. Like.... stupidly good looking. Bet you already know that, though."
The corner of his mouth twitches, but he doesn't answer. He just watches me, silent and intense, which only eggs me on.
I sway closer, my finger tracing the edge of the black leather jacket he's wearing.
"You've got that whole dangerous thing going on in you. Rough, scarred and broody." My lips curl. "Pretty boy in a very bad-boy package."
His laugh rumbles darkly and low at my words, vibrating down my spine. He leans in, close enough for me to breathe in his scent, smoke and something utterly sinful.
"Are you flirting with me?" he asks, a dangerous smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
I smirk too, reckless and daring. "What if I am, pretty boy? What are you gonna do about it?"
My mother has always told me how reckless, stubborn and daring I always am. But it's today I believe her.
I can't believe those words actually leave my mouth.
God!
See? This is why I should stick to water only.
His laugh deepens, darker now, curling heat low in my stomach. His lips brush my ear when he whispers, "Don't play with fire, Little Rebel.... unless you want to get burned."
A giggle slips out of me, followed by a hiccup. "What if I say...." I whisper back, "I want to be burned?"
Just stop talking, Meeka!
But it's too late already, because the moment those words leave my mouth, his eyes shift instantly. The amusement in them vanishes, and hunger takes its place. It's raw, feral, and aimed straight at me.
And then his mouth crashes against my throat. It's rough, and consuming, instantly knocking the breath out of me. My back hits the wall as his body pins me there, and every thought I've ever had about being perfect..... Nathaniel, my engagement..... the rules drilled into me since birth, shatters.
For once, I'm not perfect.
And for once, I'm alive.
~~*~~
Sunlight breaks through the silk curtains in my room the next morning, stabbing my eyes. My head throbs, and a groan slips out. But it turns into something else.
Soft moans, and echoing dreams I don't want to let go of.
And then the memories hit me hard. His mouth on my throat, hands gripping my hips. The growl against my neck that still vibrates through me right now.
"Fuck! Yes....oh my God. Faster. Ugh! This feels so good."
I quickly blink the memories out of my head.
The bed beside me is empty. The sheets are rumpled, and the air is thick with the scent of him.... dark, masculine and addictive, still lingering around me from yesterday.
Heat floods my cheeks, and my lips curve before I can stop them. I'm smiling.
Why am I smiling?
Smiling, after betraying my fiancé with a stranger? Smiling, when I should be horrified?
Well, unfortunately I'm not. I'm not horrified, or disgusted or disappointed.
No one has made me feel like that. Not even Nathaniel who hardly even touches me.
For once, someone made me feel like I was wanted and desired. And God, for once, I felt seen. I really, truly felt seen yesterday.
And if I'm being honest with myself, Nathaniel was probably with one of his girlfriends last night, having his own kind of fun, anyway.
So maybe it isn't so wrong that I let myself go. Just once. After all, I've been nothing but the perfect little fiancee.
For the first time in my life, I wasn't perfect. I wasn't composed, and I sure as hell wasn't predictable.
I let go.
And the worst part? The terrifying, intoxicating part?
A small, shameful piece of me liked it. No, it actually even wants more.
My chest tightens painfully. Jesus.
Why am I thinking about him? Why does his touch still linger when Nathaniel's doesn't?
Why do I feel awake.... alive?
Why is....
BANG!
The sharp crash slices through the silence, jolting every nerve in my body. My head snaps toward the sound, heart leaping into my throat.
No. No, no, no.
I scramble off the bed, nearly tripping over the sheets as I stagger toward the noise. The closer I get, the worse my instincts twist.
Please don't let it be what I think it is.
Please—
I turn the corner and see it on the floor. Shattered.
My...
A strangled scream tears out of me, loud and absolutely feral.
"NOOOOOOO!"