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I don’t see anyone else.
Then again, I didn’t actually see him until he Dark Knighted his ass out of the poorly lit hall that leads to the private entrance.
Our gazes lock and remain locked as we enter a wordless stalemate.
Because this is what happens when stubborn pisses off headstrong.
Neither want to be the first to crack.
And headstrong isn’t afraid to send stubborn to see McCoy in the med bay by way of a kick to the balls.
I wait a moment more for him to explain himself, his almost unfathomable presence, or simply remove the cloak clothing to allow me to see his face before stating in a clipped tone, “I have to get back to work.”
“For me.” He slowly lowers his hood. “In here.” Gloves are ripped off next. “For the rest of the night.”
His mask removal exposes his ticking jaw, forcing me to fight against myself not to reach up.
Cup it.
Use my thumb to calm and soothe it.
Him.
“You’re right,” slips out in a vindictive tone at the same time I fold my hands in front of my frame. “Good evening, Mr. Wilcox. My name is Brynley, and I’ll be bringing you pleasure this evening.”
New waves of rage rush through his narrowed glare. “That is not how you speak to patrons of this establishment.”
“It most certainly is.” The slight angling of my face occurs to add to my spitefulness. “Especially when I’m serving them in here.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“That’s profitable, sir.”
“Do not call me sir.”
“My apologies, Mr. Wilcox.”
“Wes,” he practically hisses.
“If the client would prefer me to use his first name, I most certainly can and will.”
Additional anger races to plant itself in his expression, encouraging me to continue to make him squirm.
His displeasure worse.
Painting a secondary vengeful smirk barely precedes the purred question. “What would you like me to slip between your lips tonight?”
“I won’t allow anyone to treat my woman like she’s an escort.” Wes’s taut frame contentiously steps closer, overwhelming my senses with his delectable scent and primitive presence. “Including. You.”
“Your woman?” Keeping my voice steady is almost an impossible task. “What the fuck makes you think I’m your woman?”
“Because I don’t come out of fucking private for anyone less.”
Wes doesn’t wait for my approval or agreement to roughly smash his mouth against mine. The impact alone is enough to receive the parting of my lips, however, having both sets of fingers latch onto the back of my head in a wordless demand for me to surrender, to submit to the force, is what has them lowering further.
Our tongues tumble.
Tangle
