“I can’t do that,” she says, finding her panties and pulling them on.
He’s standing now too. “Can’t we try? See how we go, and if it doesn’t work out then we’ll go back to our usual arrangement.”
She shakes her head. Clips on her bra. “No, Matt. You’re my best friend. I like what we have going, but what you’re asking for, I can’t give it. You understand? I can’t.”
Tears fall now because she knows that this between them is over. She won’t give herself and her heart away for something that Matt will believe is real, but she knows can never ever be anything even close to real. And what hurts the most is that she’ll never be able to explain to him why, because deep down, she doesn’t understand it herself. All she knows is that her fabric is different from other girls. And so far, these differences have proven to be a curse.
Finding her skirt on the floor, she steps into it and pulls it up her legs. “I’m not good for you.”
He grabs her arms and forces her to meet his gaze. “Shouldn’t I be the one to make up my own mind about that?”
She pulls away from him. “No. Not in this case. Not with me.”
Ariana picks up her shirt and puts it on. Next, she grabs her bag and heads to the door. She opens it, then looks back at Matt as he stands in the middle of the small room. His shoulders are hunched. His eyes are so sad.
“It’s best if we don’t see each other again,” she says, trying hard to hide the tremble in her voice, and walks out the door.
Chapter 3
Ariana spent the entire day looking for work and avoiding the landlord after she shoved the remainder of her money under his door last night when she got home from Matt’s. After stopping by with her résumé at every bar within a twenty block radius from her apartment, she managed to find a job at a high-end club.
Now, as she strides up to the entrance, her stomach tenses with nerves. She wears a long, blood-red dress, low-cut at the back and with a plunging neckline. She has dressed it up with white stilettos and her only sophisticated jewelry—a white faux-pearl necklace and earrings.
Ariana pauses when she spies the man covering the front door. He’s familiar. As she moves closer, she realizes who he is. The guy who offered her a lift home when she sprained her ankle. Hadeon.
He’s standing at the top of the stairs, along with another burly guy. They are dressed in black long-sleeved shirts and black pants, earpieces in. She looks at him for a moment, at his dark brown hair and eyes, and the couple of days of hard-earned stubble on his strong, square jaw. He is so tall and those shoulders are wide, tapering down to a tight waist.
No, he’s not cute. Nor handsome. But her body is filling with desire and warming, because there is something so appealing about him. Something raw, dangerous, and animalistic.
She shakes her head and frowns. Get a grip, Ariana.
With shoulders squared and head held high, she strolls up the stairs and meets Hadeon’s glance. He doesn’t smile, nor show recognition.
“Hi,” she says. “Remember me? Um…Ariana, from the bar on sixty-fourth street.”
He nods, appraising her dress. “Ricardo mentioned you were starting here tonight. Follow me.”
“Um, okay.”
She trails behind him through the club that is designed with chandeliers, expensive prints, marble bar-tops, and vintage bottles of wine.
Hadeon hands a card over his shoulder, not missing a stride. “As a staff member, I’m here for you as much as the patrons. If you need me at all, about anything, at any time, call me.”
She snatches the card from between his fingers and places it down her bra, not that she intends on ever calling him.
Ariana meets with the club owner, Ricardo, a twenty-something suit-wearing entrepreneur with the heavy backing of a rich bloodline. He’s tall with sun-bleached brown hair and silky chocolate eyes.
He shakes her hand. “Nice to see you again,” he says with a thick Italian accent.
“You too. And thank you for the opportunity to—”
“Many high-wealth patrons frequent here. Your job is to give them everything they want and need.” He hesitates, grinning cheekily. “Within reason. You understand?”
Ariana smiles. “Sure. I understand.”
He offers a crooked smile as his gaze slips down her body, all the way to her ankles then back up to her face. “I think you’ll do well here.”
She smiles and says, “Me too.”
Ariana always finds the first shift somewhere the hardest—getting to know the other employees, learning her way around the layout and the needs-and-wants of new clientele. But waitressing, at its heart, is waitressing, no matter where she does it, and she falls into step.
But during the night, Ariana notices Hadeon watching her. He’s such an enigma. She can’t place him. He emits a powerful energy, shadowy and lustful. The way his dark, dark eyes follow her as she laughs, converses and flirts with the patrons—all part of her job, and all things she does well—is disconcerting and at the same time, enthralling.
At a table of four, she hands the men glasses of scotch. They thank her with polite smiles, but she is lost to the sensation that is creeping up from behind her. She turns in the direction this feeling is emanating from. There, in a darkened corner of the enormous room is Hadeon. He is standing on an elevated platform that offers a view of the entire floor area of the club, and her. His big hands are holding the balustrade while he watches her with a hard look.
Ariana catches his eye and he holds her gaze. Energy pulses from him, reaching her from across the crowded, dim room. His energy caresses her, swallows her into the black, sexual mist. That glare reaches her in her center. That glare, as though he could fuck her to death and eat her remains, paints the insides of her thighs with slick desire. What the hell is that? She gasps, her stomach tugging low. How can he make her feel like she could come by a simple look?
She tears her gaze away and squeezes her eyes shut. Doesn’t want to stop this interaction with him, but forces herself to do so if she wishes to retain composure to deal with her customers and not orgasm right there and then.
God damn him.
Though difficult, she manages to turn away from Hadeon and smile at the table of men. “Will you be needing anything else?” Her voice is weak and husky.
They shake their heads. “We have all we need for now. Thank you.”
Ariana nods and walks back toward the bar, making sure she doesn’t dare look in Hadeon’s direction again.
Despite her best attempts at ignoring Hadeon throughout her shift, she can’t. And by the time her only break comes around, she’s wound so tight she could burst. During the short fifteen minutes allowed, she rushes to the employee restrooms, finds a stall, and lifts one foot onto the toilet. She slides her finger beneath her underwear and touches her swollen, heated clit. She rolls her finger against it, eager, gentle motions, body throbbing for release.
Fuck Hadeon. That glare, as though I am ripe for the plucking.
Her cheeks burn and glow as pleasure mounts in her center and spreads like slutty fingers caressing her body. She circles over her clit, harder now, commanding the ecstasy to rise and crash within her like waves of erotic bliss. And then the heat in her sex turns to a throbbing, gratifying flood. She leans both hands against the stall walls, to keep from collapsing to the floor, as she comes with a thunderous crash. A whimper escapes her lips. She can’t help it. She breathes loud and shallow until the sensations subside and ebb away.
Holy shit.
When composed enough to hold herself upright, she re-positions her G-string and smoothes down her dress. Taking a balancing breath of air, she opens the stall door and washes her hands. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, at her flushed cheeks, she wonders how a man can have such an effect on her without any contact whatsoever. Never in her short life has she felt anything like this, been stirred up, and erotically charged, to the point of exploding, by another.
Ariana gasps as a questio
n taps at her brain. Is this sensation of sexual bliss that emanates from Hadeon just by being in his presence, the same sensation that emanates from her and has caused so much trouble in her life? Are they somehow the same?
She shakes her head and groans. “Get a grip, Ariana. You’ve got duties to do out there, and if you don’t get back to it, you’re going to lose this job as well. Then where will you be?” She stares at her reflection as if expecting an answer, but when it doesn’t come, she smoothes strands of hair behind her ears and exits the bathroom. Head high, shoulders back, she gets on with her job, unable to meet Hadeon’s gaze again for the rest of the night.
By the end of her shift, Ariana is heavy with fatigue. It felt like for the entirety of last night she stared at the ceiling thinking about Matt. She can’t blame him for wanting more from her, yet she feels a niggling resentment toward him and herself for letting it transcend to that level. Grief has nestled in her belly because he will no longer be a part of her life anymore. It sits just below the surface waiting for attention so that it can burst out and overwhelm her.
Ariana thanks Ricardo for the work opportunity, grabs her bag, and heads out through the front doors of the club into the cool night air. Dark clouds have pooled above the city, hiding the light from the moon and creating eerie shadows that creep across the flanking buildings.
On her way down the front steps, Ariana seeks out Hadeon. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Hadeon nods. The other bouncer stares at her, as though he too has every right to hear what she has to say.
“Somewhere private?”
“I’m going to take my break,” he says to the bouncer and follows Ariana into the darkened alley beside the club.
She knows she should just forget all about this man, about this curiosity he has stirred, but she can’t help herself. She leans against the brick wall. He stands in front of her. They are alone.
“What’s your problem?” she hisses, once she has his full attention. Ariana wants to change her style of handling this situation the moment her question leaves her mouth, but she has never had much tact. Besides, she can’t very well come out and say hey, I’ve had this weird lust thing happening my whole life and I think you have it too without sounding batshit crazy.
He breathes in and out heavily. “And what problem are we talking about?”
“You. Following me with those eyes all night. Staring at me. You’re distracting. I couldn’t focus on my job. What are you trying to do, get me fired?”
The smallest of smirks curls the corners of his lips. “I thought you were watching me.”
Heat rises in her cheeks. “You thought wrong.”
He places his palms against the wall on both sides of her head. He leans in close, so close she can smell him—a primal, musky scent of pure man mingling with clean-pressed clothing and cologne. His eyes are molten as they burn into hers. Her lips part and her body gravitates toward him. She is stupefied by this giant of a man; this brute with dark whiskers and imposing height and breadth.
Voice low and as rough as gravel, he says, “I was keeping an eye on you. Making sure you were being treated right.”
She shakes her head and lowers her gaze, trying to break the trance. She dares to look at him again. “I can take care of myself.” But her words lack any emphasis.
His face draws nearer still. Her knees weaken and she has to hold the wall for balance.
“So you can agree to stop,” she says, words punctuated by shallow breaths.
“No,” he says.
“You’re an asshole.” Ariana presses her palms against his chest to push him away. But his chest is so hard, defined, and warm. She can’t stop touching him and can’t bring herself to push him away either.
“And you’re stubborn and rude,” he says, his features tainted with irritation and lust, always lust, dark and deep.
“You…you…”
“Stop talking,” he growls, and his lips find hers.
Ariana’s mouth opens and allows his warm, silken tongue to taste her. He pushes her back, harder against the wall, with his burning, rigid body. Every one of her muscles softens. Nerve endings sizzle.
Hadeon cups her face and deepens their kiss. She sighs into his mouth and curves her pelvis, finding his stone-hard arousal. The size of him steals her breath. Pleasure finds her deep in her stomach. She has wanted to do this to him all night long.
But then her brain clicks and switches gears. She barely knows this man, and one thing she doesn’t do is get into heavy situations with strange men, regardless of how irresistible they are. Lust transforms into incredulity, and she finds the strength to use those palms on his hard chest and push him away. His mouth releases from hers with a pop and she swears she can see strange, bright bubbles of light exploding between them. She ignores them as a rage tumbles through her, and she slaps his face.
“Fuck you, Hadeon,” she says, chest heaving and hands shaking from the desire and rage she feels. Rage, because for some ridiculous, bizarre, and absurd reason she wants him to be different from every other male who can’t see past her sexuality enough to discover the walking, talking person who exists beneath it all.
With complete bewilderment, she looks into his hard face and wonders why. She barely knows him. Why the hell would she want him to be more? She has never wanted, nor expected more, ever. Even with Matt, she walked away from what they had just so she didn’t have to venture anywhere near more land.
Hadeon backs away, lips curling into a snarl. He shakes his head, the expression of disappointment so loud it vibrates through her soul. But is it disappointment for how she reacted, or disappointment in himself? Most definitely the latter.
He spins and marches away, leaving her in the dark alley alone with her thoughts and writhing confusion.
What the hell just happened?
Ariana uses the darkness and silence to collect herself. Yes, she told him to back away, but why that look on his face? As though by kissing her he’d broken all the rules. The disappointment in his expression rang out like church bells at a royal wedding—undeniably present and loud.
She takes some calming breaths and straightens her hair. Her apartment isn’t far from the club; people are still meandering about and it’s a good neighborhood, so to walk home isn’t any great risk.
During the slow stride home, her thoughts are consumed by Hadeon, as much as she doesn’t want them to be. What a strange dynamic existing between them. One second she wants to tear his throat out, and in the next, she’s sucking his tongue. She scrubs her hands through her hair, not knowing whether to laugh or groan. Hadeon is a frustrating, sexy, fuckable oxymoron. And what’s so bad about kissing her anyway? That kiss was so intense. Scorching. Surely he felt that too?
Ariana shakes her head and groans, determined not to give this man, who has evoked a symphony of emotions inside of her, another thought.
She arrives at her building; the streetlight has blown and is draping the place in thick shadows. Along with the dark cloud cover, a chill has descended on the city, reaching Ariana and coating her flesh in goosebumps. She rubs warmth into her arms before rummaging through her bag for keys.
Ariana shudders. Someone is watching her, she can sense it. The muscles between her shoulder blades tighten as she peers behind her into the darkness.
Nothing.
Clutching at her keys, Ariana bends to see the lock more clearly through the night-time gloom. In the distance, a deep growl rumbles. She breathes in a raspy breath, straightens up, and spins to face the source of the noise. Glaring at her from down the street, on the edge of where the darkness begins, is a dog. But not quite a dog—too big, at least four feet tall, black and hairy. The dog’s limbs and features are human-like, as though a rabid dog has been genetically crossed with a man.
“What the fuck?” she whispers, heart slamming so hard it sends pulses to her temples and tunnels her vision. Fear creeps up to her throat, constricting, making it hard to draw in breaths. The d
emon creature’s lips roll above its teeth like a shark and it snarls. A low vibrating grumble reverberates off the quiet street and buildings, sending a tingling chill up her spine.
Ariana turns back to face the door and stabs at the lock with her key. But the key is upside down. Shit. She glances at the dog again. It’s padding toward her, black eyes glowing as red as fire.
Ariana swallows a scream and spins the key between her fingers. It drops out of her trembling hand onto the step.
Shit. Shit. Shit!
She glances at the snarling creature again. It’s coming at her now, full pelt, with spit flying through the air and steam rising from its bulky torso.
She bends down, scoops up the key, and thrusts it into the lock.
Misses.
Thrusts it in again.
It catches. The clop of angry paws thudding on the street is getting louder. She turns the key, then the knob, shoves the door open and runs inside. Just as the creature reaches the step, she slams the door shut. The dog thuds against it. Ariana jolts; her heart is hammering and her chest is heaving. The scent of his foul, fetid breath follows her inside. She dry-retches and her eyes water as she locks the door with trembling hands. Fumbling with her key ring, she finds the deadbolt key and uses it, then pulls the safety latch over.
Ariana falls to the floor in a low crouch, hands on the cool wood boards, trying to steady the dizzying fear and her rapid heartbeat.
She listens.
Nothing.
What the hell was that? A fuckin’ man-dog, crazy fuckin’…
With just enough composure to stand, she runs to the couch, grips the armrest and pushes it, grinding the legs of the couch on the floor all the way to the front door. She turns it so its full length rests across the door and butts the couch hard against it.
She grabs her cellphone out of her bag and dials the police.
Lust Born Page 3