Laz is holding my hand.

He’s been holding my hand for the last thirty minutes.

I don’t know what’s going on.

But I think my hand is sweating a bit too much for my liking and I want to pull it away and wipe it off. I’m just afraid that if I do, he won’t hold it again.

It’s like I’m five years old again with my crush on Billy Drixol who lived down the street, when Billy held my hand for our entire walk to the playground. That was my first crush. That hand-holding meant the whole world to me.

Now, it’s with Laz. Tall, lean, muscled, tatted, wonderfully talented Laz with the sexiest accent in the world. This man is holding my hand and it feels like the most natural thing, despite the fact that I’m burning hotter than the sun with every step we take.

We’re not saying a word to each other. We’re not strangers to silence but this silence is different. It’s saying things that haven’t been said. I just don’t know what he’s saying to me.

“You guys are so slooooow,” Jane yells at us from the street corner.

It’s been so nice to see her and be with Naomi and let our hair down a bit but honestly, at the same time, I just want to keep walking past them and head to somewhere dark and quiet with Laz. I want to tell him all the things I wasn’t able to say when we slept together.

That was two weeks ago. I was spooked. I was scared. And it was my own doing, feeling that vulnerable. In those two weeks I did what I could to stay away from him, to stay busy, to put both of us back into that friendship box. It seemed to work at the time. The less I saw Laz, the less I talked to him, the less I thought about him. And I managed to get a lot of work done for the business too.

But the moment I saw him yesterday, all of that friendship shit was thrown out the window.

This man is no longer just my friend. He’s no longer my Laz in that sense. He’s a man that I’m giving my heart over to, whether he knows it or not, whether I want to or not. There’s no reasoning, no deciding. It’s done.

He’s a man who’s going to ruin me.

And for once, I just want to be ruined.

Ravaged.

Claimed.

My body has never belonged to anyone before but I want it to belong to him.

In his hands, his capable hands, I trust.

I want to feel him again, taste him again, hold him again. I want to see what he can do when we’re both free of restraints, free of the lines we’ve drawn up around each other but never dared to cross.

I steal a glance at him.

He’s so unbelievably beautiful right now. His hair black as sin, shiny and thick. The dark sparkle in his eyes, the way he keeps chewing on that full bottom lip of his, lips I’d die to kiss again. Maybe it’s the lights of the city, the humidity in the air, but he has this glow about him, like he’s finally realizing his dreams are coming true. Because they are. They’re exploding into confetti right in front of us.

I’ve watched him all night long, my heart bursting with pride as he finally held his book in his hands, the book that holds his heart and soul. Now that same book is in my hands, though I’m afraid to read it.

“What?” he asks me as we round the corner, Jane farther down the street now with Naomi, talking to a bouncer.

“I was wondering if you’ll sign my book later,” I tell him. “I’m your number one fan.”

“I thought you said you don’t read my poetry much.”

Oops. I forgot I told him that once.

Here’s a confession: I haven’t read many of his poems.

I have read some, here and there if I happen to catch it on Instagram. He has talent and I’m obviously impressed by how he’s able to convey life in such a way. But there’s something so intensely intimate about his poetry that makes me feel flushed and anxious, like I’m looking at something I shouldn’t. Which is really fucking weird since he literally has a million Instagram followers that read his every word. It can’t be that intimate if he’s baring all to so many.

Which has me wondering, if he has no problems putting his thoughts and feelings down for the world to see, why does he keep so much of himself hidden, even from me?

I smile. “I’m your number one fan. Not Lazarus Scott, Insta Poet. I’m a fan of you.”

He stops and studies me for a moment. “You know there’s a difference.”

“Of course I do.”

“Hey!” Jane yells. “Get your asses over here or we won’t be able to get in!” She starts waving frantically. Naomi is having a cigarette and smoking it like it’s second nature. Who knows when she started smoking or where it came from. She might have a New York persona.

I don’t blame her. I think I have a New York persona too.

And it only has one thing on her mind.

Sex.

I glance at Laz and almost ask him if he wants to come back to my room instead of going into the bar.

He looks like he wants to say something too.

“Laz!” Jane yells again.

He swallows, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from me and nods at Jane. “We’re coming.”

He gives me a smile that borders on apologetic and then starts pulling me toward the bar.

The place is called Tanner Smiths and is one of those trendy bars with a prohibition theme. It’s packed and dark and there’s a small dancefloor by the door so that when you walk in, you’re sucked into a group of people grooving all up in your space. Beyonce blares from the female DJ in the corner and everyone is drunk and happy.

“I approve of the vibe,” I say to Laz.

“What?” he yells back mockingly over the noise, cupping his ear. Then he leans in, close. Very close. “What you havin’ to drink, sweet girl?”

His breath is hot on my ear and I momentarily close my eyes, letting the feeling sink along my skin, down my back, all the way to my toes. “Anything,” I manage to say.

I open my eyes and his face is still at my neck, lips at my ear. “I had no idea you were so easy to please,” he murmurs and I swear his lips are grazing my skin. Goosebumps spread and I’m hot and cold all at once.

My throat feels thick as I speak. “Only when it comes to drinks. Anything else, you might have to work at it.”

“Is that so?” he says, pulling back enough to look me in the eye.

There’s fire inside him. God, how I want to burn.

“We’ll have to see, won’t we?” I tell him.

His languid gaze drops to my lips, his nostrils flaring with impatience.

Fuck, do it, just fucking kiss me.

Kiss me.

Kiss me.

He leans all the way back, gives my hand another squeeze before letting go. “Don’t you dare go anywhere.”

“Bossy,” I comment, my stomach summersaulting like crazy.

“You have no idea,” he says. Then he winks, a bit of a smile, and heads down to the bar to place the order.

I watch him. I watch him and I watch the girls in the bar watching him and I know tonight, tonight he’s mine. I have him.

I’ve never felt so alive before, a swarm of electricity underneath my skin, my heart happy, happy, happy with anticipation.

“Hey,” Jane says appearing at my side. She’s drunk but she’s pretty good at handling herself. I probably should be more drunk than I am but I’m just so excited that I’ve been taking it really slow.

“Hey. Where’s Naomi?”

“She’s talking to some guy over there.” She points into the crowd.

“That was fast.”

“I think she’s looking for her rebound tonight. I don’t blame her.”

“Me neither. Good for her. She needs to get laid.”

“She’s not the only one,” Jane says dryly. I glance at her and she’s reaching down into her purse. She pulls out a condom and puts it in the back pocket of my purse.

“What is that for?”

“For you,” she says. “In case you lose your V-card to my stepbrother tonight. Dude, I never thought I would say that phrase.”

“What are you talking about?”

Play dumb, play dumb, she’s on to you.

Jane crosses her arms. “Naomi told me about your fake dating thing.”

“Oh.”

“How is that going by the way?”

I give a faint shrug. “It’s been fun. I learned a lot about myself.”

“Like you’d rather date my brother than anyone else?”

“Jane. I’m not dating Laz.”

“I know but you’d like to.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Good grief. Marina, you were giving him the come hither eyes from day one.”

I sigh and look away. Laz is still down at the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention.

“I don’t care, okay?” she goes on. “Seriously. You’re a grown woman and you know what you’re doing.”

I meet her eyes hesitantly. “What am I doing?”

“You like him. You more than like him. You’re in love with him.”

I scoff, though the words flame inside me.

I love him.

The feeling leaves me breathless.

I attempt to protest. “You can’t base that on what you’ve seen today.”

Because if she is, then that means I’ve been acting like a lovesick fool.

“I’m not. Naomi agrees with me.”

“Naomi is completely against this. Or whatever she thinks this is.”

“Because she hates men right now. Just let her be. She’s worried too. I was as well, but now I see the way Laz looks at you and I’m not going to stand in your way.”

I perk up. “What way does he look at me?”

“You know that scene in Pride and Prejudice?”

“The one we’ve watched over and over?” Back in college, Jane and I would literally watch that movie, the one with Keira Knightly, every Friday night and swoon and cry and wonder when we’d find our Mr. D’Arcy.

“Yes. By the lake. The way that he looks at her, like he’s bewitched, body and soul, that’s how Laz looks at you. And I know my brother has a terrible reputation when it comes to women and relationships but I honestly believe he has found something in you that he hasn’t been able to find with anyone else. You get a side of him that no one else does.”

I shake my head. “No,” I say quietly. “He still keeps that from me.”

“Give him time,” she says. “He’ll let you in.”

“How can you be so sure? What if…what if we end up being together and we break up. What if he pulls the same shit with me that he pulls with everyone else? I mean, I don’t even know why he does it, we never even got that far in our little dating game experiment before it…evolved. I know what’s wrong with me but…”

“Dude, there’s something wrong with everyone. Lazarus isn’t so special. People are fucked up and complicated and sometimes it’s just a matter of finding someone else as fucked up and complicated as you. Sometimes that’s all you need for love to work.” She takes a step back from me and makes the motion of dropping something. “Boom! Mic drop. Jane out.”

She turns around and heads to the dance floor, immediately twirling around a bunch of strangers like they’re all part of the same group.

“Need a drink?”

I turn to see a guy talking to me. He’s cute, dark blonde hair, scruffy beard, built like a linebacker. With his flannel shirt he looks like a lumberjack.

“Thank you but I’ve got a drink coming,” I say, pointing at the bar where Laz is taking two shots from the bartender. Great, Laz. Shots.

“Just wondered why a pretty girl like you was standing here all alone,” the guy says. “Didn’t seem right.”

I smile at him, flattered but a bit uncomfortable with the attention. I have no interest in this guy whatsoever but I don’t want to be rude either since not a lot of men hit on me in general.

“I’m doing good, I’m here with friends,” I tell him.

“What kind of friends?”

“Hiya,” Laz says appearing beside me with the shots. But though his usual greeting is easy, the look in his eyes is not. His gaze is hard and mean and fixed on the lumberjack with precision.

“Oh,” the lumberjack says. “I didn’t know…are you with her?”

“I’m with her,” Laz says, handing me my drink, then slipping his arm possessively around my waist. “She’s with me. As in, she’s mine, if you don’t get my meaning.”

The lumberjack balks. “Jeez, I get it dude. No harm no foul.”

He walks away to talk to the next girl and my heart is thundering against my ribs so hard I think they might break.

I glance up at Laz in awe. Where the fuck did this alpha speak come from? I haven’t seen Laz claim anything in his life and he just fucking claimed me. I think I might need a cold shower already.

“It’s Jameson,” he says, nodding at the shot.

Are we going to completely just gloss over what happened?

“Thanks,” I say, my voice coming out in a squeak.

“Drink. Then we dance.”

“I don’t dance, Laz. You know this. And you’re really taking this bossy thing to heart.” I take a small sip.

“You’re too fucking cute,” he says. He shoots the contents of his glass right back and then nods at mine. “Catch up.”

I take in a deep breath because I don’t think I’ve done shots for years and then slam it back.

It burns but the feeling is nothing compared to the way I’ve been feeling all night. Actually, it feels nice to have the edge taken off, just a bit. I’m wound way too tight.

Laz plucks the glass from my hand and places it on the bar, then takes me over to the dance floor. He goes over and says something to the DJ, who nods. The songs have been slow of late but that still doesn’t take away from the fact that I don’t dance. I’m clumsy. I have no rhythm.

But Laz has all the rhythm in the world and he’s moving up against me, like he does when he’s doing a show. Only now I’m his stage that he owns, a stage he has complete control over.

It isn’t until the current song ends and then a slow familiar synth beat comes on that Laz slips his arms around me, pulling me to him. Tight. He sways to the sexy swagger of the song and leans in so his mouth is at my neck.

“I could corrupt you,” he sings, his deep, baritone voice washing over me like warm water, “in a heartbeat.”

He presses himself into my hip and I can feel how long and thick and hard he is.

It should make me nervous, scare me off.

But it doesn’t.

It sparks a need in me like never before.

“You’ll be calling out my name,” he sings again in time with David Gahan’s voice. At the moment I can’t even tell them apart, both are so rich and dripping with sex that it reaches deep inside of me, makes me want to take my clothes off right here on the dance floor. The press of his hard cock only seals the deal.

I want this man to corrupt me thoroughly.

“Did you request Depeche Mode?” I ask, my voice throaty, like it’s already anticipating everything to come.

“Maybe,” he murmurs. “Thought maybe I’d add Corrupt to the setlist.” He pauses and runs his lips down the length of my neck. “Though I’d have a hard time not wanting to fuck you every time I have to sing it.” He pauses. “I’m having the hardest time right now.”

I swallow, trying to find my breath while my heart is fluttering inside like a caged bird, desperate to be free.

Fucking hell.

He finally said it and it sounded sexier than I ever thought possible.

He finally said he wants to fuck me.

And I am more than fucking ready.

His lips slide down to my shoulder where he slowly brushes the thin straps of my dress and bra off and starts leaving long wet kisses and my hands go up, disappearing into his hair. Every muscle inside my body clenches.

He pulls back, enough for his hooded eyes to meet mine, raw lust burning behind them, the music and the alcohol and the years of pent up sexual frustration are combining to make me want to be stripped bare of every single inhibition.

I don’t know how long our eyes are locked like this. Our bodies are locked like this. Our hearts are locked like this. An eternity passes where all our unsaid words are passed between us like prayers.

“Sweet girl,” he whispers to me seconds before his mouth crushes mine.

I groan against his lips, his mouth hot and wet and hungry. This is a deep kiss, the kind of kiss you shouldn’t have on a public dance floor. It’s pulled out from a wild and charged place far inside me, a place I’ve always kept the bars on, keeping back my primal instincts like you would predators in a zoo.

I’ve never felt this kind of starvation before, you’d think I’d been deprived for him my whole life.

And I have been.

I’ve been deprived of everything, these kisses, this touching, so much.

So much.

But not anymore.

“Laz,” I gasp as I pull back, my heart a jackhammer as my eyes search his.

We should get a room.

Ask him to your room.

Ask him to go to the bathroom with you.

Fuck, do something!

“You’ve got such perfect lips,” he says, running his thumbs over them before leaning in and taking my bottom lip between his teeth, sucking, tugging. His breath is ragged, the heat coming off him is staggering.

My eyes roll back in my head, my patience a thin line ready to snap.

“I could kiss you for days,” he murmurs, his hands sliding down my back to my ass where he grabs hold.

“I think I would go mad.” I gasp, my fingers pressing hard into his taut shoulders. Somehow we’re still moving to the beat, yet it’s no longer the beat of the song but the beat of something we’ve created just between the two of us. An easy rhythm, like our bodies were built to move this way with each other.

God, is this what fucking him is like? Is it somehow better?

As if he can hear my thoughts, Laz pulls me closer. “By the way, I fuck better than I dance,” he whispers in my ear. “Better than I sing. Better than I write. Better than I do most things.” He brushes a swoop of hair off my shoulder and slowly licks up the side of my neck before his lips come together right behind my ear. “Bet you didn’t know that about me. How much I love to fuck and how good I am at it.”

Holy shit.

I try and swallow but can’t. I’m wordless. I’m on fire.

I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.

That’s the thing I would normally say.

But that’s not happening tonight.

I want to be shown.

I want to know for once exactly what he thinks of me.

Exactly what he wants to do.

I press my hand into his chest, pushing him back just enough to look him dead in the eye.

“Prove it.”