Page 58 of Run Little Fawn

Chapter Twenty-Two

THE FAWN

The moment my eyes meet Lucian's from the stage, I know my plan was a success.

Technically, he's the one who won this hunt, but the look on his face makes it clear I won the game.

The adrenaline pumps through my veins as I move sensually to the music's primal beat, my hips swaying, hands caressing my own curves. I'm acutely aware of every inch of exposed skin, every hungry pair of eyes devouring me, but only one gaze matters.

Lucian's.

His stormy eyes pierce through me, a mixture of raw desire and seething fury.

I can practically feel the heat of his stare singeing my flesh. He's always so controlled, so unflappable, but not tonight. Not with me up here, baring my body and soul under the stage lights.

I arch my back, letting my hair cascade down like a waterfall of golden silk. The move elicits a chorus of appreciative whistles and catcalls from the crowd, but I don't spare them a glance.

My focus remains locked on Lucian as he rises from his seat at the bar, his powerful body coiled tight with barely restrained aggression.

He prowls closer, each step deliberate, predatory, pacing the stage. A lion stalking his prey. But I refuse to be caught, to submit.

Not yet.

I meet his gaze head-on, my lips curving into a defiant smirk. He mouths something, his gaze unflinching and his expression dead. I can make out the words on his lips.

"Get. Down."

I merely quirk an eyebrow in challenge.

Twirling around the pole, I slide to the floor in a split, my fingertips skimming along my inner thighs. The bawdy move earns me a shower of bills fluttering onto the stage like confetti. Lucian's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking beneath the surface.

He's close now. Close enough for me to see the storm brewing in those mesmerizing eyes.

That's when I notice it—the glint of metal at his waist as he shifts his suit jacket aside.

A gun.

My breath hitches, a thrill of fear and excitement coursing through me. He wouldn't use it on me—at least, not until our game is over—but the others? The men leering and lusting after what he considers his?

In that moment, I realize the extent of Lucian's possessiveness. The dark, all-consuming need to claim me, body and soul. It's terrifying and electrifying, knowing the lengths he'd go to keep me as his own. A shiver races down my spine, my skin prickling with heightened awareness.

Slowly, deliberately, I rise to my feet, never breaking eye contact. I trail my hands up my sides, over the swell of my breasts, the column of my throat. His gaze follows the path of my fingers, hot and heavy, branding me with its intensity.

I'm playing with fire, I know, dancing on the edge of his control.

But I can't stop. Won't stop. Because beneath the fear, beneath the unease, there's a dark thrill in pushing him to the brink. In being the one to shatter that ironclad composure.

As the music builds to a crescendo, I spin around the pole one last time before dropping into a low crouch, my thighs spread, back arched.

Lucian looms over me at the front of the stage, his presence overwhelming, consuming. The air between us crackles with tension, with the promise of retribution and pleasure intertwined.

Slowly, I rise to my full height, my body brushing against his in a whisper of a touch. His hand flexes at his side, inches from the gun, and I know I've pushed him to the limit.

Leaning in close, my lips grazing the shell of his ear, I breathe out a single word.

"Checkmate."

Then, with a final smirk, I turn and saunter off the stage, feeling the weight of his gaze on my back like a physical caress.

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