Page 15 of Claimed By the Villain
Ass?
Since when do I think of Jackie in those terms? I feel like a pervert for even seeing her like that—but that doesn’t stop me.
Her dark brown hair, like layers of bitter chocolate, falls over her shoulders and down her back and chest.
Her face is like caramelized porcelain. Perfect skin with a golden glow, like the sun shines from inside her.
Jackie has delicate features, which contrast with her fierce personality. At a glance, you might think she’s soft. Passive. But then you reach those almond-shaped eyes—blue with hints of gray—and you see her soul.
She’s pure fire on the inside. A small, defiant blaze, and in this unplanned encounter, I let myself look at it—really look—for the first time.
Her full, pink lips are slightly parted, like they’re waiting.
I’m caught off guard by the wave of desire that crashes over me, just from being this close to the stunning woman she’s become.
“Don’t go. Stay with me tonight. Just tonight. I just want your company, Lucifer,” she says, yanking me out of the filth in my thoughts.
I can’t.
Not just because being seen with me could put her life at risk—if someone’s tracking me, but for reasons she doesn’t even suspect.
“Go back inside, Jackie. Go enjoy yourself or head home. I won’t let you put yourself in danger.”
She steps even closer, and I catch the faint scent of alcohol.
“You’ve been drinking.”
“Yes, I’ve been drinking,guardian. And you know what? I’ll drink even more tonight, because I’m done waiting for you, Lucifer. Maybe I don’t want protection anymore. Maybe I want risk. And maybe I’ll find someone tonight who’ll give me that.”
Chapter 7
I run back into the club.
Sadness wells up inside me—tight, bitter. I’m a ticking bomb of frustration.
I go straight to the bartender who served me earlier and ask for a double shot of whiskey.
Fine. Tonight, I’ll make sure my “guardian” earns his job. He wants to watch me from a distance? Then tonight, I’ll make it hard for him.
After downing the drink in one go, I head for the second-floor dance floor. It’s a little more exclusive, older men, probably divorced. But definitely men, not boys.
Right now, I wonder if I’ve been sabotaging myself my whole life. I’ve never truly liked anyone because, maybe on purpose, I was always chasing the wrong type.
Too young, too dumb, too polite. Everything in excess, except the kind that excites.
Lucifer’s got plenty of “toos” too, but all of his make my knees go weak.
Too dark, too hot, too tall, too strong, too protective.
Scratch that last part.
I don’t need protection anymore.
I’m looking for someone who’ll slam me against the wall like I’m a spring-loaded doll—someone who wants me.
Most of all, someone who sees me as a woman.
Determined, I step onto the dance floor alone, not giving a damn that it’s full of couples.
