She wore a butterfly hairpin.

The jeweled wings glittered in the bright lights shining down from the chandeliers in the lobby. It was nestled in lush locks of thick, wavy, blonde hair.

The glint of blue caught my eyes, followed by the sweep of wings.

That shade of blue was echoed in her eyes.

A butterfly hairpin, golden curls and blue eyes.

While my brain was processing that, the rest of me was processing other things—soft curves, a pretty mouth, one hell of a rack. Her hands had come up to grip my arms out of instinct, steadying herself when she’d crashed into me after I’d rounded the corner. The apology had flown easily from her lips while I’d said nothing.

I’d been too busy staring at the butterfly.

At her.

I never would’ve noticed anything about her if it weren’t for that damn hairpin. She’d be exactly what all the other blondes, brunettes, and redheads in this place were to me.

Part of the decor.

Ambiance. 

Customers. 

Patrons. 

My audience. 

And I kept them all at a distance. 

But that seemingly inconsequential hair accessory set her apart from everyone else. Brought her into my frame of reference. Pulled her one degree closer. While everyone else was shrouded by the blurred lines outside the protective walls around my consciousness, I saw her.

She held the key and she didn’t even know it.

As I sat in a private corner of the lounge after our show, I warned myself that if I were smart, I’d turn away and act like I never saw her. I’d forget she existed before that broken part of me let her get any closer. 

But that was the fear talking. She couldn’t get closer if she tried. I was in the private, roped-off VIP section of the lounge, hidden behind a smartly decorated wall of mirrors and a cascade of hanging plants. It was the perfect vantage point for enjoying the entertainment without interacting with it. More importantly, to kick back without being seen. 

Sly and LeVan, my best friends and business partners, walked by. They stuck around long enough to notice me staring at her. As always, their reactions were what I expected. Polarized and predictable. One supportive, the other, pure resistance. 

“Man-eating she-devil,” Sly warned, sizing her up instantly based on nothing but her appearance. “A woman that beautiful can have men eating out of her palm and she knows it—don’t waste your time.” 

“Ignore him,” Levan told me. “Just because a woman is beautiful doesn’t mean she’s going to rip out a man’s heart…or his wallet. She’s got a great smile. You should talk to her. See how long she’ll be in town.” 

The only thing they agreed on was that I’d gone too long without getting laid. That I needed to unwind and cut loose before things got out of hand. That I was hanging by a thread and if I didn’t do something about it fast, I’d unravel again. Spiral down into one of my episodes. 

They were probably right. They knew me better than anyone else in the world. 

After they went off to do whatever they’d planned for the evening, the girl with the butterfly hairpin in her hair left with her female friend.

I didn’t see her again that evening.

But I couldn’t get her off my mind that entire night.

I didn’t waste my time talking to her, so in a way, I took Sly’s advice. Not that I would’ve talked to her anyway—not consciously, at least.

But dreams were a little different. In my subconscious replay, when she crashed into me a second time, I was the one to catch her arms to steady her.

Her skin was soft.

Warm and soft, and the scent of her already wrapped me. It was like sunshine and vanilla, almost like I was touching a summer day. Some of the cold places inside me shriveled and grew smaller as I slid my hands down to take her hands.

“Hi,” she said, smiling up at me.

“I didn’t get your name,” I said instead of responding. Dumb thing to say, but what makes sense in dreams? When was I was going to get her name? Right after she crashed into me? Right before she took off?

“I didn’t get yours,” she replied.

“It’s D…Mac,” I said, correcting myself even in the dream. Devin didn’t exist anymore. Devin was gone. Devin was dead. The Devin that lived on stage was just part of the act. A fictional character for the sake of the fans. I’d been Mac ever since the day I’d run away and Mac was who I’d always be. Reaching up, I took one of her thick, soft, golden locks of hair and wrapped it around my finger. “What do I call you?”

“What do you want to call me?” She grinned up at me and the smile made her nose crinkle up just a bit. It was a smile that could be sweet or sexy or somewhere in between. Then she rose up onto her toes and pressed her lips to mine. “I can be whoever you want me to be, Mac.”

Before I could kiss her, she swayed away, settling back on the flats of her feet and I saw that her smile could be sinful as well.

I caught the back of her neck and pulled her flush against me. The butterfly pin in her hair glittered in the light. “Be mine…for now.”

I backed her up against the nearest wall, reaching under her skirt and tearing her panties away.

“Just for now?” she whispered against my lips.

My only response was a nod.

“I’m yours, then. Just for now.”

I fumbled with her clothes, tearing them away because I wanted her naked when I had her wrapped around my neck. She had her hair twisted into a loose knot and I speared my fingers into it, dislodging the hair pins and sending them flying…all save one. That pretty little butterfly, tucked just there.

Pulling her face to mine, I kissed her roughly as I boosted her up.

I didn’t need to worry about being gentle. This was nothing but a dream and when I drove deep inside her, she was wet and tight around my dick, moaning hoarsely as I fucked her so fiercely I was sure she’d feel it for days.

Her nails bit into my shoulders and I wanted, more than anything, to stay right there. Even in a dream, it felt better than anything else I’d ever experienced.

I withdrew, lifting her up as I did so, then I thrust forward and up, dragging her back down on my cock.

She screamed, her breasts soft against my chest as I pounded into her.

I wanted to feel her mouth against mine, wanted to swallow those moaning cries down.

Thrusting my hands into her hair, I tugged her face to mine.

Against my left palm, I felt the scrape of the butterfly pin and it grounded me. “Not so fast,” I muttered, forcing myself to slow down. I needed to…slow down…make this last.

“Don’t make me wait,” she said, her voice raspy.

“I’m not…I just…” She tightened around me again, the silken tissues of her pussy milking me and I growled against her mouth, rotating my hips and sending my cock back inside her cunt. “You feel like heaven. Maybe you’re an angel…or the very devil.”

A smug smile curled her lips. “Don’t you wish you knew? Come here, Mac. Kiss me…let me taste you.”

I kissed her.

I tasted her.

And I wondered if she was anywhere as sweet in reality as she was in my dreams.

I woke up sometime before the dream ended with my hand around my cock, the fantasy taste of her on my lips and a groan trapped in my throat.

Swearing, I started to pump my fist, trying to keep the scattering threads of the dream from dissipating altogether.

Her mouth under mind, her hands on me, her pussy wet and tight around my cock.

And her voice, broken and hungry, as she cried out my name.

I came, the release vicious, almost painful.

And I wondered what in fucking hell her name was.