Page 7 of Tempting Tessa

I sip my whiskey, hidden in the shadowed VIP section of Solstice, watching her move on the dance floor below. I had her followed as soon as she left her apartment.

She’s wearing a slip of a dress that clings to every curve like it was painted on. The silvery fabric catches the light when she moves. Her purple hair is loose tonight, falling down her back in waves I want to wrap around my fist while I pound into her from behind.

The bass throbs through the club, and she throws her head back, laughing at something her friend, Natalia, says. I’ve never seen her this relaxed. This free. My little control freak, always wound so tight, finally letting go.

It makes me want to fuck her even more.

“Another drink, sir?” The waitress appears at my elbow, her tits practically spilling out of her top. I don’t even glance at her.

“No,” I don’t take my eyes off Tessa. “Tell the bartenders not to serve the woman in the black slip dress with purple hair anymore. She’s cut off.”

The waitress hesitates. “Sir, I don’t think⁠—”

“I don’t pay you to think.” I slide a handful of hundred-dollar bills into her palm. “Do it.”

Contessa twists away from him, saying something with a shake of her head. Smart girl. She just saved that asshole’s fingers from being broken one by one.

“You look like you’re plotting a murder,” Alvarez says, sliding into the booth beside me. My head of security scans the crowd, following my line of sight.

“Keep your fucking voice down,” I growl, not bothering to deny it.

He shrugs, sipping his water. “Just saying, boss. She’s a complication you don’t need.”

“Did I ask for your opinion?”

“No, but I’m giving it anyway. She’s young enough to be your daughter.”

I turn to look at him, letting the coldness seep into my eyes. “Careful.”

Alvarez raises his hands in surrender. “Your funeral. Or maybe just your kneecaps when Gallo finds out.”

I turn back to watching Contessa. She’s at the bar now, leaning forward to order. The position makes her ass look even more fucking peachy, the short dress riding up just enough to make my mouth water. I imagine walking up behind her, pressing my cock against that ass, letting her feel how hard she makes me.

“Conrad won’t get anywhere near my knees,” I say, more to myself than Alvarez.

“Whatever you say, boss.”

On the floor, Tessa’s brow furrows as the bartender shakes his head at her. She argues, her fiery temper flaring, but he stands firm. Good boy. Smart boy. He gets to keep his job tonight.

She stomps off, water in hand, flipping the bartender her middle finger as she rejoins Natalia on the dance floor. The fury in her movements makes my cock strain against my zipper. I’ve never wanted to taste someone’s anger like I want to lick it off her skin right now.

I watch her begin to move again, her body finding the rhythm of the music even as irritation radiates from her. The water bottle dangles from her fingers as she lets herself go, hips swaying, arms raised above her head. The position makes her breasts push together, the silver fabric catching the pulsing lights. Every man in a twenty-foot radius is staring at her, and I want to gouge out their fucking eyes one by one.

“I need to go down there,” I mutter, already sliding to the edge of the booth.

Alvarez puts a hand on my arm. “Boss, that’s not a good idea. You’re too recognizable. People talk.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” I shake him off, but he’s right. I can’t be seen publicly obsessing over her. Not yet at least.

I lean back, gripping my whiskey glass so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. Contessa deserves a private audience. She should only dance like this for me, in my bedroom, wearing nothing but the jewelry I’d drape on her body. No one else deserves to witness this—her joy, the sensual way she moves, as if she’s being fucked by the music itself.

These men surrounding her are fucking vermin, unworthy to breathe the same air as her, let alone feast their eyes on what’s mine. I’m unworthy too, but the difference is, I take what I want, regardless. And I want her. All of her. Every fucking inch.

She belongs to me, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

I know I don’t deserve her either. She’s young, vibrant, untainted by the shit I’ve done. But I’ve never let not deserving something stop me from taking it. I get what I want. Always. And I want her writhing underneath me, screaming my name. Calling me fucking Daddy.

My control snaps when I see someone touch her.