Loud enough to block out my thoughts and dark enough to hide my existence. Unruly and crowded, perfectly suffocating.
I can’t think or hear anything outside the too-loud music, but I can move.
Allowing my hips to lead, I roll in tight circles, jutting my ass out every few times to stay with the beat, and the rest of my body plays as the after wave, following the same path, every part of me lost to the wild beat.
A few songs in, I begin to sweat, so I pull my hair into a high ponytail at the top of my head. As I pull on pieces to tighten it, a guy with short dark hair slips in front of me with a half grin, so as I bring my hands down, I string them around his neck.
His grin turns to a smirk and he grips on to my hips, allowing me to move as I wish but staying close for the ride.
When his touch slides higher, I step into him more, my hands running down his neck, and staying there. One of his palms moves along my back, down the curve of my waist, and pauses there, his fingertips teasing the curve of my ass. He’s waiting to see if I’ll protest, but I do him one better and smirk up at the golden-eyed guy.
He chuckles, bringing himself closer when I fist his shirt.
Anthony’s eyes flash in my mind right then, and I squeeze mine shut, pulling my partner closer.
He skims his lips along my jaw.
This better not leave a scar...
I bite into my cheek, tilting my head in invitation, and the guy accepts, dipping into my neck, his lips pecking me there. He cups my ass now, his mouth hovering over mine, teasing, but teasing isn’t going to help.
I grab his face, my brows caving as I press my lips to his.
His other hand glides up my arm and he deepens the kiss, his tongue fighting for entrance I’m prepared to give.
But then his sharp cry of pain shocks my mouth.
No sooner than I get my eyes open, spotting my dance partner rubbing at the back of his head and spinning around in rage, am I yanked backward like a fucking bungee cord when stretched to its fullest or tightest point.
I trip over my own feet, fighting for balance on six-inch stilettos as I stare straight ahead.
Blood drips from the back of the guy’s neck, soaking into his gray shirt as he raises his hands, but they don’t make it halfway into the air before he’s swallowed by two figures, dragged through the crowd and out of sight.
My eyes shoot wide, my feet darting forward, but the hand gripping the band of my bra through my dress reminds me of its presence and doesn’t allow it.
I’m shoved forward, spun, and pinned to the edge of the stage.
I suck in a large breath.
Wild angry marble blues with shaky lids glare into mine.
His jaw twitches, his muscles flexing and releasing over and over again. He shoves at me, even though I’m already flat against the wall, and pushes into me even though he’s already as close as possible.
And then he growls and tears away, but not by much.
It takes me a second, but I stand tall and now I’m pissed.
I push him, but he doesn’t budge, so I try again.
Ransom grabs my arms, locking them between his, forcing my elbows to bend, so now we’re eye to eye.
“Get the hell off me,” I growl, jerking in his hold to no avail.
“What the hell are you doing?” he growls back, lip curled high. “Huh?!” he shouts louder, angrier. “What the fuck are you thinking, Jameson?!”
“I’m not!” I yell instantly, and he blanches, but only for a split second. “I don’t fucking want to! I want to do whatever the hell I want!”
“This isn’t the place!” he barks, tossing my hands away.
“It’s the perfect fucking place!” I throw my arms out wide.
I’m practically hyperventilating, waves of shit I don’t want to think about or acknowledge crashing back in like a fucking tsunami now that I’m standing here, forced back into my reality by an asshole that shouldn’t even exist in it.
I look around at the average men in jeans and sneakers, to the plastic ‘Bride’ tiara in the distance and the ‘Finally Legal’ paper sash proudly worn to my right. No one knows more than the person to their left and nobody gives a shit who