Page 87 of Wicked Minds
My heart pounds like a wild drum, the rhythm echoing in my ears and drowning out the world as the burning ice in his eyes holds me frozen in place. The scent of leather and something grittier wraps around me, intoxicating and heady, as I waver on the precipice. Dangling in the space between reason and pure desire, I resist the urge to lean in. The indecision is a battle I fight, my heart and mind locked in a fierce struggle. All the while, Royce’s lips hover inches from my face, a tantalizing temptation tormenting me and slowly breaking down my resolve.
As the digital clock on the dashboard rolls into a new minute, it catches my attention, announcing the inexorable passage of time and the fact that I am officially out of minutes. Reality is waiting; my shift is about to begin.
My hand trembles, curling around the door handle as I put off reality for just a moment longer to remain with him, and as I’m about to turn away, his fingers latch onto my chin, holding me in place as firm, supple lips cover mine.
His kiss is so unlike our usual steaming intensity. While not lacking in its typical passion, there’s a softness to it that we haven’t shared before. A whisper of affection that carries the weight of newfound feelings blossoming between us.
His lips gently coax mine apart, his tongue flicking out—the first notes of a beautiful melody. Tenderly, he languidly explores my mouth, savoring each swipe like it’s our first time.
Our breaths synchronize, any notion of work abruptly forgotten as I return his kiss with equal sentimentality. The usual chemistry that lies between us crackles, adding a heavy bass to our song.
So lost in his touch, in the rising tide of my feelings, I’m briefly dazed when he pulls away. His eyes, usually sharp and focused, now carry a gentle haze. A soft vulnerability, even as the intensity of his feelings radiates from his pupils, creates an almost ethereal glow. His usually guarded expression has unraveled, allowing a rare tender authenticity to surface as he drinks me in, and a secret smile tugs at his lips. One meant only for me. A hint at the man so very few are granted the privilege of witnessing. Of getting to know.
And yet, I want to know every facet, every cut and bruise, every scar and abrasion that has formed the man before me. A man who feels the need to lash out at the world before it can lash out at him. Who drives everyone away out of an innate need to protect himself. Yet, has gone out of his way to protect me—from Grayson, from Ben…
Where Logan would give up his life for those he loves, Royce would burn the world to ashes to protect the scant few he cares for. If I’m being honest, Grayson, too, would rip heads from shoulders for his family… the only difference is that I’m the one whose head he longs to remove.
Stroking a delicate finger down my cheek, Royce rasps, “I want you to think about that kiss while you’re dancing for me tonight. Remember how it felt; remember how you could feel it all the way to your toes. And while you’re watching me watching you, I want you to know that I’m imagining peeling off whateveroutfit you’ll be wearing and laying you out on that stage as a feast for me to devour.”
After our moment in his truck, my shift at Lux is a test of endurance. The minutes tick by as though being dragged through sludge, each dance number lasting far longer than I remember it taking during rehearsals.
By the time the club closes and the last guest leaves, my body is crying out for Royce’s touch. It remembers how good his tongue felt on me in the back of his truck last night, and it wants more. My nerve endings are begging to feel his coarse palms sliding over my skin, the wet warmth of his lips on mine.
With the look of a man being hauled to the gallows, Royce tosses me a lingering glance before he drags himself out of the club. He glares daggers at Ben in a silent warning as he passes him at the door, and at Ben’s indignant smirk, my stomach flips with unease.
Last night and tonight, Ben has been glaring daggers at one or the other of us, clearly still pissed about Royce’s fist finding a home in his face last weekend. It worries me. Ben is arrogant and doesn’t take well to other men besting him, especially in what he considers his domain.
Perhaps it would be best if Royce stayed away for a while. He could sit outside in the car even for a week or two. Give Ben time to cool off. While I don’t want Ben going back to his leering, I equally don’t like the nasty gleam I’ve seen in his eyes this weekend.
As I saunter into the dressing room, I make a mental note to talk to Royce about it. He’ll probably just say no and tell me not to worry. Only I do worry, especially if Royce is trying to look outfor me, and even knowing that Ben is a pig, I still need this job. If the two of them come to heads, I can’t afford to lose it. Which leaves me walking a tightrope as I struggle to balance Royce’s wariness with Ben’s whims, ensuring I’m performing at my best and pushing extra enthusiasm into every smile while I’m on that stage.
As soon as I’ve changed, I head for the exit. However, before I can reach the door, Ben slides into my path, appearing out of nowhere as he blocks my exit.
“Boyfriends aren’t allowed in the club while you’re working,” he states, voice brimming with authority and that incensed fire burning in his glare. “It’s bad for business and only leads to trouble.”
“Ehh, okay,” I respond, choosing to play dumb. Technically, Royce and I have not declared what we are. There has been no exchange of titles such asboyfriend, even if I imagine Royce’s declaration from the night of his fight is his version of asking if I want to go steady.
“Yourfriend,” Ben sneers, “can’t be here when you’re working.”
“Royce and I aren’t dating,” I state. “And even if we were, he won’t stay away because I ask him to.” As politely as I can put it, I say, “You’re the manager. Perhapsyoushould have this conversation with him.”
Ben’s fists clench at his side, his eyes hardening as he glares down at me. Despite my complacent tone, I know damn well Ben won’t kick Royce out, let alone tell him to stay away. Not when Royce knows he profits from getting girls to perform private dances—willing or not.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to get going.”
Looking like a volcano about to blow, Ben takes a menacing step forward right as the dressing room door opens behind me, girly laughter slashing through the tension. Eyes snapping overmy head, Ben instantly relaxes his posture, his gaze dropping to mine in a silentthis isn’t overbefore he turns and strides away.
A breath loosens in my chest, adrenaline bleeding out of my system as I follow the two other girls outside, pasting on a smile as I climb into Royce’s truck. His eyes linger on me, sensing something is wrong, but I wisely keep my lips shut, knowing it will only stir up more trouble if I tell him about my encounter with Ben. Eventually, he puts the truck in gear and drives me home.
“Hey,” a soft voice whispers, thick and deep like chocolate. “Shhh, you’re okay.”
“R-Royce?” I hiccup, realizing I’ve been crying in my sleep, not just in my dream. Blinking, I wipe away the tears, his large body coming into view where he leans over the side of my bed, watching as I battle away the memories my nightmare elicited.
He’d come up to my apartment when we got home, and I remember falling asleep on top of him on the sofa, but he must have carried me to bed at some point.
“I didn’t wanna wake you, but I felt weird leaving while you were asleep, so…” he shrugs, gesturing to a chair he carried in and set in the corner of the room.
“So you decided to sit and watch me sleep?”
