Page 11 of Power Struggle

“Yep.” He pops the p with an awkward chuckle. I find his face again, seeing his cheeks pink and a slightly bashful look replacing the previous stony expression. It softens me, and I mentally kick myself for being such a freak. “I see we have a match. I knew white would be my lucky color.”

I tilt my head to the side, feeling more myself than just moments ago. “Lucky?” I don’t miss the tiny purr in my voice. His body reacts to the sound as though I just moaned loudly. He shifts, tilting in my direction until he’s practically leaning over me. Well, that accelerated quickly.

“Yep,” he says again, his voice deeper. “Look at you. You’re everything this bracelet represents.”

I blink rapidly once more, this time in shock and confusion. “What does that mean?” My purr has now been replaced with a hiss. Apparently, I’m a fucking cat. A point that doesn’t escape assface if his next sentence is anything to go by.

“Ah, Kitten,” he laughs, tutting me. “No need to get all feral on me. I just meant you look so innocent with this long, blonde hair and bright blue eyes.” His hand reaches up as if to touch my hair, but I jerk away, utterly uncomfortable. Unrepentant, his eyes rake down my body. “A face made by God with a body made by the Devil.” He cocks his head to the side, finally returning to my face. “I approve.”

Just like that. One look. One declaration, and he thinks I’m his. It’s baffling in a way that rocks me to my core. His finger trails a slow path down my forearm, ghosting over the bracelets there, and I shiver, my brain still struggling to keep up. He mistakes the reaction for one of pleasure. Releasing a smug snicker, he grips my wrist again and tugs me forward, using my shock to his advantage. I stumble, catching myself on his chest. His other hand finds my hip, and his lips descend on my neck. Within seconds, he’s gotten my much, much smaller body under his control without my permission.

This submission—this touch—is nothing like what I just experienced with Jack. My body burns everywhere he touches, a feeling that’s echoed in my mind when he whispers into my ear. The same ear Jack whispered his beautiful, degrading demands earlier. “Come to my room with me, and I’ll corrupt you with my cock, Angel.”

Okay, one: Ewww. Who says that?

Two: Hell to the no.

The audacity of this prick. My body wants to run. My mouth wants to scream. But my heart is breaking. I want Jackson. As soon as the thought hits me, I rear back and bring my knee into the prick’s prick…his very hard…very disgusting prick. He growls, shoving me back forcefully. I stumble again, this time into another partygoer. I suck in a breath, thankful for the woman who catches and rights me with a glare at the asshole who pushed me, clearly having seen everything.

Quickly, she whispers, “It’s okay. Security is here.” It’s then that I realize I’m shaking. I watched dazedly as two hulking security guards escort the limping, growling man away. The woman gives me a soft, sad look, then disappears with the crowd, leaving me utterly alone.

What was that? Why? Why do men think they have a fucking right to touch what isn’t theirs? The voice in my head chooses that moment to chime in again. You didn’t care when Jack did it. Overwhelmed, starving, exhausted, and emotionally drained, I suddenly find myself no longer in the mood to party.

My arm tingles where the angry man had gripped me, and I look down, finding already blooming bruises sprouting up on my porcelain skin. Memories of my past, similar injuries, and power plays come to the forefront of my mind. Panic overwhelms me, and I feel myself spiraling down that familiar road. My breaths come in panting bursts, and my hands shake. I ball them up, hiding them against my chest. I blink rapidly, bringing the room back into focus, only to immediately lock eyes on a sight that has me growing dizzy. Acid churns in my empty stomach, causing it to cramp.

Fuck.

I think I might actually pass out. This…this is why I can’t get attached. This is why I don’t let myself feel.

This is why I ran.

Jackson Lowell—the man who is relentlessly trying to force his way into my soul, my life—currently has a pretty brunette smiling up at him as she drags him into the voyeur box not even ten feet in front of me. In the middle of the expansive room is a glass box that creates a makeshift bedroom. The lighting all around us is dark and minimal, but the box is lit up bright with red spotlights, drawing everyone’s attention to a plush red bed sitting in the center of the box. The walls are lined with toys. Whips. Restraints. Dildos.

It’s clearly meant for public sex, where everyone can watch but not interact. In any other situation, literally anything but this, I’d probably suggest jumping in there and having a good time with someone. Someone like the man currently heading in there with a woman that isn’t me.

As it stands, all I can bring myself to do right now is choke down the vomit in my throat and suppress the sob building in my lungs.

Black spots fill my vision, and without a second thought, I do what I always do and run.

Chapter Eleven

“I told you no,” I growl for the umpteenth time, fighting the need to physically push this woman off me. I won’t because I don’t get rough with women—well, unless they want me to. But also because it’s utterly obvious that this woman is drunk as hell.

She pouts up at me, the same way she did the last time I denied her advances. I sigh and look around me for help. Maybe a manager or someone can get her a room to sleep it off. It’s not safe for her to be alone in a room full of horny men.

All thoughts of the drunk woman disappear, as does everything else when I catch sight of an upset Addison frantically rushing for the elevators that lead to the suites upstairs. I have a moment of heart-wrenching pain as I search for whoever she’s with. Relief like I’ve never felt before wooshes through my body when I realize she’s alone, but it’s only brief as concern for my girl trickles in.

Without a second thought, I disentangle the prying woman’s fingers from my arms and pass her off to a random woman next to me.

“What the f—” Her eyes widen when she takes in the pouty brunette who, objectively, is cute. Nothing like my Addy, but cute all the same. The lady I pass her off to takes one look at the short, curvy octopus and grins, smoothing her hair back. “Aww, aren’t you precious, Love.” Something in my brain registers her British accent, but nothing else clicks as I throw her a grateful smile and rush off.

On the way to the elevators, I pass by a staff member and toss a loose finger in the direction I just came from. “There’s a small brunette woman beside the Voyeur tank that’s really fucking drunk.” The waitress bats confused eyes at me, but I don’t wait around for her to follow through. I bolt through the straggling, horny, and tipsy partygoers, shoving my way through the heavy double doors that lead upstairs.

The long hallway is bright as hell compared to the dark, red-hued room I just spent the last few hours in, and I have to blink rapidly to fight the burning in my eyes. The sound of the elevator arriving to my left snags my attention, causing my head to whip to the side. A high blonde ponytail swishes as she disappears in the lift. I charge forward, opening my mouth to call out to her but think better of it at the last second. I don’t want to give her a reason or warning to push me away.

The door slides closed just as I reach it, but I quickly shove my hand out, catching it at the last second. Slowly, so fucking slowly, the doors part, revealing a tear-stained, pink-cheeked Addison, causing my heart to crumble. I don’t pause. I don’t speak. I just barrel through the doors, catching her up in my arms before she can protest. She sucks in a sharp breath, and the elevator closes once more before the ascent begins.

“Shh,” I whisper, pulling her tense body into me. I have no idea what the fuck happened between the time when I’d seen her flirting with that big mother fucker ten minutes ago and now, but clearly, something did. “I’ve got you, Addy.”

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