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Squaring my shoulders, I stepped out of the dressing room and into the controlled chaos of the club.
I weaved through the crowd, nodding at the security guards and ignoring the drunken come-ons from patrons. Just as I made it to the exit unscathed, I locked eyes with Venus. She was perched on the lap of some Wall Street type, her golden skin glowing under the lights. She gave me a wink and a little wave, and I smiled back. For all her faults, Venus was a sweetheart.
I was so distracted by Venus that I didn’t see the man until I practically ran into him.
“Well, hello there, beautiful,” he slurred, his meaty hand landing on my arm. “Where are you running off to? The party’s just getting started!”
I plastered on my best fake smile, the one that showed too many teeth to be friendly. “I’m afraid the party’s over for me, sir. Perhaps you’d like to order another drink?”
He leered at me, his breath reeking of expensive scotch. “Only if you’ll join me, sweetheart. Come on, let me buy you a nightcap.”
I opened my mouth to deliver a scathing retort when Dana appeared at my side like an avenging angel.
“Mr. Carmichael!” she exclaimed, all bubbly enthusiasm. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Your wife’s waiting for you in the VIP lounge.”
The man’s face paled, and he released my arm like it had burned him. “Ah, yes, of course. Thank you, my dear.”
As Dana led him away, she threw a wink over her shoulder at me. I mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ and made my escape.
The blast of cold air as I stepped outside was a shock to the system, but a welcome one. I took a deep breath, letting the icy air clear my head. The streets were relatively quiet at this hour, but I kept my guard up as I made my way to the subway station. New York might never sleep, but it got a hell of a lot more dangerous after midnight.
I carefully picked my way across the sidewalk, cursing myself for not splurging on a cab. But old habits die hard, and the memory of scraping by on tips and cheap noodles was still too fresh.
The subway platform was mercifully empty, save for a group of teenagers huddled in the corner. They eyed me warily, and I returned the favor, keeping one hand on the pepper spray in my pocket. The tension didn’t leave my body until I was safely on the train, the doors closing behind me with a hiss.
As the subway car rattled through the tunnels, I let my mind wander. It drifted, annoyingly, back to Fury. What was his deal? Why was Gavin so interested in him? And why couldn’t I shake the feeling that his arrival was going to change everything?
The walk from the subway to my apartment was blessedly uneventful, and by the time I reached my building, my feet were screaming in protest. I dragged myself up the three flights of stairs, cursing the broken elevator for the millionth time.
As I fumbled with my keys, Mrs. Goldstein from 3B poked her head out. “Late night, dear?” she asked, concern etched on her wrinkled face.
I mustered up a smile. “You know how it is, Mrs. G. The glamorous life of a talent coordinator never sleeps.”
She tutted disapprovingly before smiling and retreating back into her apartment. I finally got my door open and tiptoed into my place, praying that the click of the lock wouldn’t wake Vanessa. My roommate had a sleep schedule opposite of me, working early mornings at the hospital while I was busy wrangling drunk VIPs and entitled dancers afternoons and evenings. It was a miracle we ever saw each other.
My cat, Whiskers (shut up, I was going through a literal phase when I named him), meowed a greeting from his perch on the windowsill.
“Hey, buddy,” I murmured, scratching him behind the ears. “At least someone’s happy to see me.”
I kicked off my heels, wincing at the blisters that had formed. Note to self: break in new shoes before wearing them for a 16-hour workday.
I contemplated a long, hot bath, but the thought of falling asleep and drowning in my own tub wasn’t exactly appealing. Shower it was.
The hot water cascaded over me, washing away the stench of overpriced cologne. I closed my eyes, letting the steam envelop me, but instead of relaxing, my mind drifted to Fury. Those dark eyes, that crooked smile. The way his hand felt in mine as we ran through the rain.
It was stupid, but I couldn’t help it.
I palmed my breasts, squeezing gently as I tweaked my nipples. My breath caught as I imagined it was his hands on me. That stupid grin of his as he teased my peaks to tight buds.
I tilted my head back, letting the water pour over my face. My hands roamed lower, caressing my thighs and hips. In my mind, it was Fury’s tongue exploring every inch. I toyed with one nipple while my other hand ventured south, delving into slick heat.
It felt so real. Fury’s mouth on me, his fingers plunging inside as I arched into his touch. I bit my lip, craving more.
I grabbed the showerhead, angling it to blast my clit. My legs trembled as the hot jets pummeled my sweet spot. I pumped my fingers in and out, wishing it was Fury’s cock instead - thick and hard, buried to the hilt. I pictured how he’d move, starting slow then building to a frenzied pace as he lost control. The thought made me clench, and I surrendered to the rising wave of pleasure.
My inner walls pulsed around my fingers as I cried out, panting heavily. The shower rained down on my flushed skin, but all I saw was Fury’s face, all I heard was his name on my lips.
“Fuck,” I muttered, cranking the cold water to snap out of it. What was wrong with me? I barely knew the guy, yet here I was getting off to fantasies about him in the shower.
