He’s right about the music. No matter what era we’re in, you can never go wrong with a solid nineties playlist. “Yeah, I actually love this song.” The bartender breaks up our simple conversation, placing two martinis on the counter. I reach for my wallet, and Vince waves his hand.
“On me. Please.”
I nod, offering him a sweet smile in thanks.
“So, local? Visiting? What brings you in?”
I shrug, taking a sip of my drink, moaning at how delicious it is. “Wow, that’s good.”
“Best drinks on this block.”
I can’t help but take another sip before answering his original question. When I place the martini glass back on the bar to face him, I freeze.
“Everything okay?”
No.
He’s there. Sitting on the opposite side of Vince.
You are not real.
You are not real.
“Oh…uh…yeah. Fine.” He’s looking at me, waiting for a response. My lips fight to move, words struggling to form as not real Macareus watches me from over his shoulder. I breathe deep and shake off the chills running down my arms. “Um…visiting. Just here for the day. And you?”
He answers, but I don’t hear a word he says. I’m too transfixed on the man next to him. The way he sits, tall and threatening, like a regal knight ready to slay. His finger taps on the bar, voiding out all other sounds around me. His eyes gleam with sinister intent. His lips curve down into a vicious frown and it stirs up the emotions from the tomb. You’re not real. You’re just in my head. My body is humming from the drugs. Not—
“…do you want to?”
“Huh?” I bring my attention back to Vince.
“Do you want to dance?”
I want to say no. I want to fall back into my dream and have Macareus pull me into his arms, whispering dirty things to me. I want him to explain why he’s haunting me in my thoughts and convince me he’s real—that I’m not crazy. The way my body is buzzing with need for him to touch me again cannot be just in my head.
But he doesn’t move.
He sits there, allowing Vince to place his hand on my thigh, touching me the way I only want him to. Snap out of it, Katie. He’s not real. As soon as the drugs wear off, I’ll realize that and come to my senses.
“You know what, sure! Let’s dance.” I ignore the possessive glower from behind him and focus on Vince’s broad smile—and the fact that he’s real.
“Great!” He reaches for his glass, bringing it to his lips. When he takes a sip, the glass shatters in his hand. “Jesus!” He holds his hand back, blood seeping from his palm. “What the hell?” He stands, inspecting his palm, touching his mouth to see if he cut his lip.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” I stand with him, reaching for a napkin.
“Yeah. Strange. Excuse me. I’m going to go to the restroom and clean up.” I follow his silhouette until he disappears behind a velvet drape.
Dance with me.
My head snaps back as his voice resonates in my mind. Macareus’s accent seeps into my veins as I inhale the scent of ambrosia and spice. I twist, barely enough room to adjust myself, when I’m suddenly chest to chest with him.
“Why are you doing this? Who are you?” My hands ache to touch him. Convince myself he’s standing in front of me. Slap him for the havoc he’s creating inside my head and body. He doesn’t answer me, and I become angry at the way my body reacts to him. My skin vibrates with a need he’s created—this temptation to be bad and wild. A pool forms between my legs as my eyes drop to his lips, remembering his mouth on me.
He reaches out, engulfing me in his grip, and I allow it. He guides us to the dancefloor. Even if I want to fight, tell him no, I no longer have control of my body. I’ve become lost in his trance, submitting to him.
My arms wrap around his neck while his take hold of my hips. There’s barely a hairsbreadth between us as we move to the music. While everyone else dances to a fast beat, it’s as if we hear a different rhythm, slow and meticulous. I find myself brushing up on him, slowly grinding against his thigh. His hands grip my ass, encouraging my bold behavior. I would never be so blatant, but I can’t stop myself. His presence causes my own possessive side to break free. I want to claw at his clothes and bite at his skin, claiming him as my own.
“Are you forgetting I’m the lion, cherie?” he hums in my ear, his breath a much-needed coolant to my overheated cheeks.
I grab at his hair, gripping hard, needing him to know he doesn’t intimidate me. Real or not. “Maybe I’m trying to tell you I’m the lion.” I tug his head down, fusing my lips to his. I kiss him with an intensity, showing him two can play this game. He’s hard as stone against me, and I fight not to run my fingers down his chest, into his slacks and feel the thickness of his cock. I rub against him again, feeling myself slip. I’m losing at my own game, my legs trembling with need. I kiss him harder. He breaks the barrier of our lips, taking my mouth wholly, our tongues doing their own kind of sexual dance.
A hasty moan breaks from my lips when I realize his hand is inside my jeans. “Fierce, yet so vulnerable, cherie. Your arousal gives you away. The sweet scent hungers me. My teeth ache to bite every part of your skin, taste your sweetness against my mouth. Would you stop me if I took you right here?” A thick finger spreads me
