Page 16 of Room Ten: Put on a Show

The men scrambled out the door. Troy flipped the lock and took my hand, guiding me toward the sink.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softer.

I nodded, leaning back against the sink.

“That was hot. Possessive.”

Troy smirked and tugged at my top in a silent request for permission.

“Trust me, I wanted to break that waiter’s fingers. He looked like he was two seconds away from licking the alcohol off you, but I’m the only one who gets that privilege.”

“Really?” I held my arms over my head. “Then you better get busy.”

Troy stripped my top off and tossed it in the sink. I’d decided to go without a bra tonight, granting him immediate access when his mouth dropped to my chest, kissing and nipping along my collarbones, trailing down my breasts. Hooking his hands behind my knees, he lifted me onto the edge of the sink, pressing his hips between my thighs.

I threaded my fingers through Troy’s hair with a sigh of pleasure as he sucked at my nipple, teasing and flicking it with his tongue. Skimming one hand down his chest, I found his belt. Traveling another inch lower, I brushed against the hardening bulge of his cock. He groaned against my skin, grinding into my palm.

Desperate now, I slid off the sink and turned in the circle of Troy’s arms, pushing my ass back against his crotch. He sucked in a sharp breath, his hands falling to my hips with a fierce squeeze.

“Needy little thing,” he whispered against the curve of my neck and shoulder. “I bet you’ve been hungry all week.”

I moaned, dropped my head back against Troy’s chest.

“You have no idea.”

He brought his hand around to my front and the gritty rasp of my zipper made my stomach twist with anticipation. A moment later, his fingers slid through my folds.

Then the lights went out and the room was plunged in pitch darkness.

Troy’s hand came up to rest against my lower belly. I leaned back against him, comforted by his solid warmth.

A murmur of confusion echoed outside, carried by dozens of voices. Uneasiness prickled along my skin.

“I think it’s time to go,” Troy said. His voice carried a sharp edge of worry that I didn’t like. It made my stomach swoop and twist with concern.

The weight of his palm left me. I heard the rustle of clothing behind me for a second and then his hands were on my shoulders, draping his leather jacket over me. The fabric was still warm from his skin and it smelled like him—black coffee, ink, and cologne.

“Miss Newhouse?”

Baron’s booming voice, just outside the door. I tugged Troy’s jacket tighter around me as Troy moved to the door and opened it.

“In here.”

Then Baron and Merrick were there, the glaring flashlights on their phones lighting up the room in a garish glow.

“Are you all right?” Merrick asked in his raspy, low voice as he slid a wary glance in Troy’s direction. As if the loss of power to the entire building was Troy’s fault.

“I’m fine. What happened?”

“The bartender is looking into it,” Baron replied. “Meanwhile, I recommend we leave. Now.”

Just as I took a breath to respond, a deafening noise split the air.

Crack!

A collective gasp went up outside, followed by the shatter of glass, and someone’s shriek.

“Gun!”

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