Fuck, I ache.

No. I hurt.

For that girl.

Hands in the air, she gyrates her hips like a belly dancer, the cheeks of her full, perfect ass wiggling with every bump and grind. She makes a series of turns, honey-golden hair bouncing around her shoulders like the finest skeins of silk, slithering down the curve of her spine. Liquid fire, that’s how I’d describe her hair. I can’t wait to wrap my fingers around the strands as I tip her head back for my kisses. She looks like an otherworldly being, a fairy, or an angel cavorting among mortals, glowing under the dancing strobe lights, her skin so pale it’s almost luminous.

I’m both irritated and amused at my thoughts. I don’t do this, watch a woman and marvel at her physical beauty like a poet while my cock swells harder than it’s ever been, until it’s about to burst, along with my heart. My cock and my heart are rarely in sync, or never at all.

My skin is extra-sensitive now and I want to rip my clothes off my body. The hard-on pushing to break free from my pants is as raw and angry as the music blaring from the surround speakers in all corners of the club, demanding release. My lust vibrates with the heavy bass, rocking my whole body from the inside out. Blood pounds at my temples, in my jugular and anywhere else where there’s a major artery in my body. I’m a bomb ticking toward a cataclysmic explosion, barely controlling myself.

I want her. And she’s going to be mine. There’s no question about that. It’s just a matter of time.

“Who’s she?” I finally ask Sonny, the waiter who came to deliver more drinks to our table. I’m seated at the VVIP section of the club, right in front of the expansive elevated dance floor. This area is always reserved only for me and my brother and our guests.

Sonny follows my line of sight. “Never seen her before, Boss.”

“Never?” I repeat, though it doesn’t matter. Whoever she is, she’s mine for tonight.

“In my shifts, nope. By her classy-ass looks, must be one of those freshmen having her first night out without her folks breathing down her neck.”

“Is she with someone?” That too, doesn’t matter. I will eliminate whoever she’s with.

“I didn’t notice. But she sure has an entire pack drooling around her now,” Sonny observes. “She doesn’t seem to realize that, though.”

I both like it that she’s not with someone, but I also don’t like that she’s going to bars alone. What if some crazy motherfucker grabs her and—

I halt the direction of my thoughts as I feel my insides twist in violence. Just thinking about her hurt in any way makes me enter a very ugly place.

“What has she been drinking?” I ask.

“She’s had some glasses of Margarita, I think. She looks a bit smashed now though. A few more of that shit and she won’t be able to walk out of here.”

“Tell the bartender not to give her anything alcoholic anymore.”

“Yes, Boss,” Sonny nods and leaves.

“Maybe she’ll join us later, Bron?” The babe on my right slithers closer to me, her hand caressing my chest. She’s a beautiful woman but I want to push her away. I don’t want her touching me when every inch of me is jonesing for that girl on the dance floor.

The one to my left does the same, leaning her chin on my shoulder, her palm landing on my upper thigh. “She looks very young, but we’ll break her in for you just fine. We’ll teach her all the tricks you like.”

The other three busty babes on the table join them in a chorus of giggles.

One hand inches closer to my cock. “Don’t.” I say, moving my leg away. “Move over,“ I command no one in particular.

Pouting, they scoot away, giving me space.

The bitches have been eyeing my boner hungrily all evening and they don’t hide how they want it. If I ask them to, they would take turns blowing my cock right there.

Stupid bitches. I’m gonna break her in myself. And I don’t want her stinking drunk when I do so. I want her to be lucid and feel everything I’m going to do to her, remember everything in the morning as I do it all over again.

Fuck, I’m nuts for thinking this way.

What the fuck is she doing to me?

This club is awesome. It’s called Luxuria, located within the Golden Crest Hotel and Casino, where I’m checked in. It’s huge and multi-leveled. The dance floor is at the center of the ground floor and the people from the higher levels can see what’s happening here. It’s jam-packed as it is TGIF Night.

I’m loveless and alone in a plush club in the Sin City. Maybe I’ll meet someone and fall in love at first sight. I should at least fall in love, like crazy-head-over-heels-lose-my-V-card-fall-in-love even just once, before I get married.

I don’t wanna go into that marriage a virgin. I should give my virginity to the man of MY choice.

I’m half drunk already for having such silly thoughts. I didn’t know what I wanted to do here exactly when I chose Vegas as my destination, only that I wanted to be free. Like dance. Dance as if tomorrow will never come.

I’m all by myself in Vegas. How cool is that? No perfectionist parents demanding total devotion and sacrifice for them. No friends and relatives who expect the highest standards from me. No fiance who reminds me of the cold, barren life I’m going to live with him for the next five years as I fulfill my part of the contract as his gracious, obedient wife. His trophy wife to be exact. Thank God, children are not included in this mercenary arrangement.

In ten days, I’m going to marry Bill Peyton, my father’s good friend and biggest benefactor. Dad is currently an incumbent congressman of a district in Illinois. His career is rock-solid. I must not fuck it up while in Vegas.

But really, for the first time in my life, I can say I’m so sick of politics.

My father was a successful lawyer first, then he became a mayor, then a governor, and now a congressman. All these years, I’ve been his gracious, impeccably mannered daughter helping him during his campaigns, supporting him and Mom in all their charity programs. I’ve mastered the art of public appearances. I could smile all day, make polite talk even if my mind was elsewhere, thinking of the things I wanted to do with my life, if I only had the freedom.

I was hoping I’d finally get it in college, spread my wings on my own. I was wrong. I wanted to take up a journalism course but Dad didn’t approve. He said I’d only be wasting it since I won’t be able to practice a career in media anyway, that the public would crucify me because it would be unethical for the daughter of a congressman to be spewing political opinions on TV. It would be a conflict of interest.

He made me take up Economics instead, something he could use while he served the country. He wanted me to eventually become his chief-of-staff.

His entire political career has been mapped out at the expense of my own dreams, but I’ve resigned myself to it. I owe him and Mom for the life they’ve given me. I’ve been more privileged growing up than millions of other children around the world. But for them to ask me to marry Bill just killed something inside me.

I toss the remaining contents of the Margarita down my throat and hand the glass back to the passing waiter. I feel light-headed but I’m not drunk. Not yet anyway. That’s the last glass, I promise myself.

I spin round and round, grinding to the music. It’s like I’m shaking off layers and layers of repression from my body, making me feel light as a feather. I didn’t know how closed up I’ve been all these years, until this night.

Being the only child of two over-achievers who expect no less from me, studying in an Ivy League school, and maintaining grades had left me with an almost zero social life. It was all eaten up by my pursuit for excellence. What remained of it was spent for my father’s public-image building.

I’ve almost never been to clubs before. There was just one time when I went clubbing with Aria, my best friend, but some people recognized me downing Tequila at the bar and I was front page in the local rags the next day. Dad was so furious. I was very contrite and promised never to do it again.

I’ve been very sheltered. My day to day existence revolved around making sure our family looked good to the public. I was the perfect daughter of Congressman Albert Spencer and his lovely philanthropist wife, Ruby.

Tonight however, I’m simply Leigh. Imperfect. No, very flawed. And I don’t care who sees me like this.

I’m myself.

Free!

Then I see him across the dancing lights.