Page 9 of Ava After Midnight

“Another round!” Zoe’s voice cuts through the haze wrapping around my thoughts. She’s waving that black Amex like a white flag of surrender to bad decisions. “Body shots this time!”

Matthew would die if he saw me now.The thought makes me grin, wild and reckless. There’s nothing Matthew hates more than whatever I think is fun, and the realization is as uncomfortable as it is sudden.

I wanted to go hiking for our first anniversary, and all he had to say for himself was that “bugs are too abundant in July, I’m not doing that.”

For my birthday, I wanted to travel to Greece. He could afford it, and my birthday is in October, which would be the perfect time to travel. It’s the off-season, and things are cheaper there when tourists aren’t swamping every cobblestone street.

He shut it down with the excuse that the beginning of the last fiscal quarter is averyimportant time for the firm. Instead, I got dragged on a ski trip he took with a client.

Ihatethe snow.

“You’reabsolutelysure about this,princesa?” Domingo’s breath is hot against my ear, bringing me back to the heat of the moment. His accent is thicker, laced with something seductive. The nickname shivers down my spine in a way that has nothing to do with the club’s air conditioning.

“I’m not sure about anything anymore.” The confession slips out, too honest, too raw. But the tequila’s taken root in my bloodstream, and his proximity is making me stupid.

The new bartender lines up the shots, and Jade hands out salt and limes like communion wafers at a church of debauchery. Someone knocks into me, and the salt against the back of my hand spills over. Grains wedge underneath the band of my ring, grating against both my skin and my conscience. I hold out my hand again, licking it first to make sure the new salt doesn’t go anywhere. I refuse to let it serve as a reminder of promises unraveling by the second.

“Ladies first,” Domingo purrs, and before I can process what’s happening, he’s shirtless and stretched out on the bar, bronze skin taut over sculpted muscle.

His body is one that would make Renaissance sculptors weep—strong shoulders tapering to narrow hips, abs carved by the gods themselves. Zoe drags a line of salt from his navel to his chest, and my mouth waters.

I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I want to taste his skin.

“You’re up, bride-to-be,” Mia’s voice drips with artificial sweetness. “Unless you’re scared.”

I meet Domingo’s gaze—dark pools of invitation and danger.

“I’m not scared.”

My tongue traces the salt trail from his navel upward, feeling the twitch of muscle beneath my mouth, his sharp intake of breath when I reach his chest. His skin tastes like sweat and sin, like something I shouldn’t crave but do anyway.

The shot burns less than the fire in his eyes when I straighten.

“My turn,” he growls, and suddenly, I’m the one on the bar, my dress riding dangerously high. The salt kisses my heated skin, and I arch involuntarily when his tongue follows.

Time loses meaning under Domingo’s touch. His tongue maps a path that turns my bones to liquid gold, each touch more devastating than the last. The world narrows to the sensation of his lips, the velvet darkness of the club cocooning us in something raw and illicit.

My phone buzzes against my thigh—Matthew, again.

For the first time tonight, I want to answer. I want him to hear how breathless another man has made me. I want to know how this sort of jealousy would manifest from him.

“Dance with me,” Domingo commands, pulling me off the bar and into his arms. His skin is still bare, scorching against my palms as my hands roam his chest.

The DJ switches to something I imagine I’d hear in Barcelona, if I ever convince Matthew to take me. It has heavy beats and Spanish lyrics I don’t understand but feel in my soul. Domingo moves and it’s something forbidden, teaching my body rhythms I never knew it could follow.

“You’re a natural,” he murmurs, spinning me so my back molds to his front. His hands slide down my sides and rest on my hips, possessive in a way Matthew never dares to be. “You were made for this rhythm.” I feel the tips of his fingers dig into the soft skin above my hips, and it feelsgood.

I laugh, wild and unburdened. “Made for rebellion, you mean.”

“Is that what I am,princesa? A broken rule?”

I turn in his arms, hair whipping between us. “You’re every warning label I’ve been told to heed.”

His grin is wicked enough to make a devil second-guess their sins. His hands slide lower, grip tightening, voice rough against my ear. “Don’t tell me you’re the type to actually read them.”

I smirk, pressing closer. “I work in science. Throwing caution to the wind is how disasters happen—but sometimes… worth it?”

His smirk is nothing short of sinful. “Then let’s make a mess.”

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