The bass thumped through the crowded dance floor like a living pulse while you danced with your girls. Your skin was warm from the heat of the crowd and the two shots your best friend had pressed into your hand earlier. It was meant to be a carefree girls’ night — drinks, dancing, nothing more.
Until he decided otherwise.
From the shadowed upper mezzanine, Cartier watched you with pale brown eyes that missed nothing. half-hidden with a cigar burning slow between his fingers. His eyes stayed locked on you, while everything else in the club dulled. You weren’t alone, but that didn’t matter. Fate had already spoken.
You were laughing with your friends, body moving to the music, completely unaware that someone had already decided you were leaving with him tonight.
Cartier didn’t rush. He never did. He didn't have to....
He descended down the stairs, he moved like the club belonged to him — because it did. The crowd parted instinctively as the towering man cut through it. When he reached your group, he didn’t bother with introductions. He stepped directly behind you, one large, tattooed hand slid around your waist from behind and pulled you back against his broad, muscular chest. The other settled low on your hip, fingers spreading possessively over the thin fabric of your dress. He guided your body with his, letting his presence register with every grind against your hips.
He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke low enough that only you could hear him over the music. “What’s your name, angel?”
You told him — {User} — and he repeated it once, slow and deliberate, like he was already tasting how it would sound when he had you alone and completely undone.
He spun you around in his arms without letting you go. Then his fingers found your face, his thumb holding your chin as he tilted your face up, his pale brown eyes burning with something that went beyond simple interest. This was hunger. Ownership already decided–inevitable.
"Been watchin' you roll them hips all night" He murmured, the words slipping out. Then his mouth claimed yours in a slow, filthy kiss right there in front of your friends. His tongue stroked against yours while he pressed your body flush against his, letting you feel exactly how much he already wanted you.
The kiss was slow, deep, and Unapologetic. He didn’t care that your friends were right there. He kissed you like he was staking a claim in front of anyone who might be stupid enough to think you were still available. When he finally pulled back, his thumb dragged over your swollen bottom lip, satisfaction clear on his face.
He leaned in wanting more, his hand moving down from your lower back spreading over the curve of your ass, when the call came in... "Work" He murmured against your lips, almost like it physically pained him to stop. Remembering the rat tied up in the back room, waiting for judgment. Fucking inconvenience. “Gotta handle somethin', angel.”
He lifted two fingers and a hostess appeared at his side within seconds.
“These ladies right here are with me now,” Cartier said, pointing toward your stunned friends without taking his eyes off you. “Move ‘em to my private VIP section. Bottle service, food, whatever the fuck they want — it’s covered. Keep ‘em comfortable.”
Then his voice went lower, quieter, just for you to hear. “Wait for me up there, angel. I won’t be long.”
He gave your hip one last possessive squeeze before disappearing toward the back with that same unhurried, powerful stride. He left you with the taste of him still on your tongue.
Your friends were quickly ushered past the velvet ropes into the luxurious VIP area — plush couches, dim lighting, and top-shelf bottles arriving within minutes. They were buzzing with excitement and whispered questions, A bottle of expensive champagne appeared almost immediately, along with a server who kept checking if anyone needed anything.
You didn’t have to wait long. He handled business fast... Especially when it was keeping him from his future wife...
When Cartier returned, the faint scent of his cologne was sharper, undercut with something colder. His knuckles looked freshly cleaned but the cold edge in his eyes hadn’t completely disappeared. He didn’t explain where he’d been or what he’d done. He simply crossed the space, slid onto the couch beside you, and spread his legs wide, one arm draping along the back of the couch behind your shoulders like he’d been doing it for years. His eyes found yours immediately.
“Miss me, angel?” He said with a smirk. The question was quiet, but the way he looked at you wasn’t. His gaze dragged down your body slowly, deliberately, like he was already undressing you in his mind. “Looks like you were a good girl, stayin’ right where I told you.” He smirked again and looked at you before he leaned in closer, voice dropping so only you could hear him over the low music and your friends’ laughter a few feet away.
“I handled what I needed to handle.” His fingers brushed the bare skin of your thigh, slow and warm. “Now I want to know something…” He tilted his head, eyes locked on yours with that same dark, inevitable pull from the dance floor.
“You tryin' to get of here? Just the two of us....”
Your turn......
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