Page 26 of The Shadows We Keep

“Keira,” he says again, but my mind is wandering in a completely different direction. It’s hard to focus when he was so perfectly on display for me seconds ago.

“Mmm,” I mumble, my imagination running away with me. Images of his sculpted chest scored through with red slices from my nails as I sit on his cock and ride him hard. His stomach taught as pleasure wracks through his body. His head thrown back, lips telling me what a good girl I am for pleasing him so well.

The fantasy builds a pleasurable throbbing deep inside my core. My chest heaves, and I try to catch my breath. My nipples harden against the smooth fabric of my shirt. The thin material cut to pieces, doing nothing to control their sharpness against my growing arousal.

“Sweetness, are you going to answer me or just stand there?” His deep tone is sensual and not helping with my current predicament. I focus on ignoring the pulse between my thighs.

“Yes,” I puff out, gaining a molecule of clarity.

“Yes, you’re still at Gypsy’s?” His brows turn down in seriousness.

“Yes, Harkin,” I snark, the alcohol feeding my boldness. I’m feeling feisty, my irritation rising that he turned down my invitation, but he’s obviously not working.

“You lied.” My hand flies up to cover my mouth, the accusation spills out.

“And what did I lie to you about?” One eyebrow quirks this time, his face sculpting into a handsome portrait that I want to capture and display on my wall.

“You’re not working.” I pout.

The crowd from inside grows loud and music fills the air again, pulling my attention away from the serious man in front of me.

“I didn’t lie, sweetness. I was working earlier. I promise you that.”

“Keira.” My name sounds across the sidewalk. My eyes shift from the mesmerizing view at the tips of my fingers. My head whips toward the call. And Stacey stands in the club's doorway, arms waving for me to head back inside.

“Goodnight, Harkin.” I smile at him and hang up, shoving my phone back into my bra for safe-keeping.

“Who were you talking to?” Stace questions as my body settles against hers. We make our way toward the stage but choose to stay closer to the back of the club, standing closer to the bar, where tables outline the crowd.

“Just a friend.” I shake my head, trying to throw her off the trail.

“Want another drink?” she asks but doesn’t wait for my answer before her hips are swaying as she gallivants back to the bar.

I shake my head, knowing she’ll get exactly what she wants by the end of the night.

THIRTEEN

HARKIN

Shackles – Steven Rodriguez

Her call fades to black. Someone distracted her as she said goodbye to me. I’m up out of bed and walking toward the closet, pulling on my black jeans, and throwing a tee shirt over my head before tearing my leather jacket from a hanger and shoving my arms into it.

John should have been keeping an eye out for her, but apparently all he was worried about was pouring her more drinks than she needed.

From that call alone, I could tell she was beyond the point of feeling tipsy, shifting very close to being wasted, and I just can’t have that. My front door slams behind me, my boots picking up speed as I choose the stairs over the elevators, not willing to wait for its arrival. I’m quick to get to the curb in front of my building, hand waving in the air, trying to hail the cab.

It’s creeping past midnight, but this is the city that never sleeps and that includes paid transportation. I jump in the cab, rambling off the address—when I probably could have just given him the name of the bar and he reset the fare counter. My knee bounces as nervous energy courses through me. I keep the screen of my phone lit, hoping she calls me back but knowing she’s likely back in the bar listening to the music.

“Can you hurry!” I shout to the driver and he startles, but the car accelerates, throwing my body backwards against the seat. Within minutes, we’re pulling in front of the bar. A couple of people stand in groups along the sidewalk smoking. Matt guards the front door of the bar looking bored out of his mind. He nods me in, recognizing me right away.

It’s dark outside, but the bar is darker. My view’s hindered by the blinding stage lights and fabricated fog for the performers.

Then I hear it.

Her laugh somehow cuts through the roaring crowd. My gaze shoots straight to where she stands at a high table with her friend Stacey, the same blonde from the club last time.

They’re not alone. A small cluster of grimy concert goers huddle with them around the table full of shots.

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