Page 109 of Stabby Little

I'm turning the corner when I see him.

He walks out of the back hallway with Arlo's Daddy Constantine. A fitted suit hugs his Dad bod erotically, even sexier than the previous times we've met. A gold wristwatch hangs off his left wrist, bezel diamonds shimmering in the club lights. His chiseled jaw cuts through the air like a machete, firm and mighty and powerful.

Everything in me grinds to a halt. What's he doing here? I thought he'd be in the black room waiting for me.

He lifts his eyes—and time stops when he fastens them on me.

He squeezes Constantine's arm and then crosses the floor to my side. "You."

Stepping back, I tighten my grip on my silver serving tray. "I'm working."

"I apologize for last time." He tucks a strand of black hair over his face mask. "I shouldn't have asked your name. It was wrong of me and I needed to get your consent before I did it."

"Yeah, well you should've thought of that first," I snap, holding up the pendant around my neck. "I can press this any time and my boss will kick you out of the club."

My mystery man takes a step toward me. His deep, dark eyes bore into mine. Suddenly, I feel so Little. Every inch of my body shrinks into itself and trembles with need. Tremors of desire course across my flesh, turning my arms into a goosebump minefield.

He slams his hand on the wall next to me. "Why do I feel like you need to get fucked hard tonight, sweet boy?"

"You're so delusional."

"Would you scratch me again if I crushed our lips together?"

I jut my chin out in defiance. "Back off. I won't warn you again."

He moves closer. "Say it again. Then I'll know you're serious."

I open my mouth to speak. But I can't push the words out.

Our corneas kiss through our masks.

My heart races a zillion miles a second.

He crushes his lips to mine.

34

GRANT

I'm a filthy animal.There's no other explanation. This boy clearly doesn't want to speak to me and yet I can't control myself around him.

One look at him from across the room, in his adorable kitty outfit, made my heart throb with need. Tension built behind my temples and stole my ability to think. A whirring noise sounded in my ears, blocking out Constantine's voice, preventing me from hearing anything in the club.

There was only my kitty.

Alone.

Holding a serving tray with rosé.

He shouldn't be serving shit—he's the type of boy who deserves to bewaitedon, who needs ten butlers and a personal assistant to take note of what he wants, buy him luxurious things, cart him off to spa treatments and massage appointments to work out the stress that lurks in his bright blue eyes.

He's the type of boy who deserves to be worshiped in a private room, not paraded around a crowded kink club thronged with people, packed with Daddies who can't control their lust.

I pray to God no man offended him tonight or made him uncomfortable. If anyone did so much as lay their pinky finger on him, I swear to God I'll put a bullet in their skull.

The President of the United States himself couldn't stop me.

I'll grab my AK-47, ram it with fresh bullets, and pack round after round into the bastard who attempted to claim my kitty.

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