“Room check,” I say quietly into my ear mic, notifying Nick, the guy working the door. It’s just another Sunday night at Petals. You’d think Sunday would be the lightest night of the week. I mean, East Robinsville has a lot more churches than strip clubs, but it’s not. It’s not quite as busy as Saturday night, but Sundays aren’t slack either.

There are quite a few patrons. Maybe it’s a carryover from their Sunday morning activities, or maybe it’s the fact that they’re not looking forward to Monday, but the customers seem pretty chill.

But tonight just doesn’t seem the same. Instead of the shitload of things I should be watching for, including but not limited to making sure the customers behave, that the dancers are comfortable, and that Marco’s not getting stiffed at the bar, I find myself waiting for Meghan. I even know her schedule, and she’s not supposed to be in for a little bit, but that’s not stopping me from anticipating her arrival.

Trying to rein my attentions in, I scan the floor. The new girl on stage seems to be doing all right, although I can’t remember her name. Candy? Caramel? Something with a C that’s definitely fake.

Most of the patrons are watching her with rapt attention, except for the bachelor party that seems more intent on roasting the groom-to-be, leading to some raucous laughter from their table. They haven’t gotten to their lap dances yet, but from what I see, I’d say the bride-to-be has nothing to worry about. Her beau’s got a look on his face that says he’s enjoying himself, but he’s just putting up with his buddies’ antics and he’s going to behave.

Still, I scan each face for a moment, making sure it’s just good ol’ boy fun and not going to be an issue before continuing my threat assessment of the room. It’s a normal Sunday crowd, with guys in just about every age bracket, wealth bracket, and confidence bracket . . . and three girls, two of whom are having ‘nights out’ with their guy friends.

Petals is a decent place, more high-class than most country clubs, so we don’t get too many low-life types. Still, there’s always a mix of folks to keep an eye on, especially in Dominick’s place where he rules with an iron fist. The inherent combination of guys full of liquid courage and sexy women flirting with them is a dangerous equation, like sparks near dynamite . . . unless the rules are strictly followed.

So I keep my eyes open. From my perch, I can angle to the side and see behind the curtains on the far side of the stage. I see when the backdoor opens and Meghan walks in, a backpack thrown over her shoulder, her sweats and tank outfit in place but with full fuck-me hair and makeup going, probably done at her apartment. It’s an oddly endearing combination, the sweet and the sexy all mixed up.

Giving Nick a nod to keep an eye, I step away from my station, needing to make sure Meghan is okay after the shitstorm last night. I’d driven by her apartment after I got off shift, hours after Dominick let her go home early, and I barely managed to keep from banging on her door.

But the single glowing light in the living room told me she was home, and I let that be enough to soothe the beast inside me. Besides, my hand was still pretty busted up, and it would have freaked her out to see my knuckles that way.

Backstage, I lean against the doorframe and watch for a second like the pervert that I am, enjoying the way she gently moves to the music pumping through her earphones as she touches up her makeup in front of the big light-up mirror. Her eyes meet mine in the glass, and she smiles, turning around to face me.

“Let me see it.”

For a heart-stuttering moment, my filthy mind thinks she wants to see my cock, and it instantly hardens, liking that idea a lot. But as she walks toward me, it’s not my crotch she grabs, it’s my hand, lifting it to see the bruises and scrapes along my knuckles.

“I’m fine, nothing that won’t heal in a day or two,” I reply softly. Thankfully, I patched up my hand last night—hydrogen peroxide to clean it out, and then NuSkin does a lot to cover the damage.

She runs a feather-light fingertip over the roughly crinkled skin, her voice soft. “You did this for me?”

In my pants, my cock surges again, and my compression shorts are not up to the job this time. Instead, I’m resisting the urge to take her hand and press it into the wall above her head before taking her mouth in a strong kiss. “Of course. Asshole had it coming. That’s no way to treat a lady, especially not you.”

She blushes a bit, her cheeks pink with pleasure. “Thank you. That’s sweet.”

Before I can reply, she bends down, laying little butterfly presses of her lips along my knuckles, like she can kiss my injuries away. “Meg—”

“I’m nothing special, just . . . me,” she says, looking up at me with emotion in her eyes that makes me want her all the more. “And no one has ever done anything like that for me before. Thank you.”

I growl, wrapping a hand around the back of her neck as I step closer to her, our bodies a mere whisper away from touching. “Don’t say that. You are beautiful. You can haunt a man’s dreams, his fantasies, filled with your laughter, your sighs . . . and your screaming his name in pleasure. You’re special, Meghan.”

A small whimper escapes her lips as she looks up at me, her lips parting, almost begging for me to take them in a kiss. I shouldn’t. I can’t . . . for so many reasons.

But she’s irresistible. I need to know what she tastes like. I have to experience the taste of her skin, whether it’s the sparkle vanilla cupcakes she makes me think of, all sugar and sweetness. Or if there’s the musky undertone that has haunted my dreams, the sexual essence of a woman that I sense burning just beneath the surface.

Instead of tasting her lips the way I want to, I trace my free hand down her arm, slowly and steadily to take hold of her hand. Bringing it up, I inspect her knuckles too, noting that they’re looking a little bruised even in the dim light of the hallway. “Are you okay? That was quite a punch you landed.”

She nods, her eyes so wide as I kiss her knuckles, one by one, letting my tongue slip out to lick at her as I caress her skin. She’s even more thrilling than I thought, electric vanilla fireworks that make my head spin.

As I heal her not-at-all-injured hand with my ministrations, I look up to meet her eyes. “Not sure any of us saw that coming from such a sweet, innocent thing.”

She smirks, a fire sparking deep in her eyes as she gathers herself for a sassy reply. “Who says I’m sweet and innocent?”

I chuckle, flipping her hand to kiss her fingertips and palm. They’re silky soft, and in my mind, I can imagine this hand holding my cock in front of her open mouth for me to fill. “Angel, everything about you says sweet and innocent. That’s what’s so fucking dangerous. You don’t know what you’re playing with. You make me want to dirty you up, shock you with the filthy things I want to do your body, and tease at that sweetness until I can drink up every drop of you like candy.”

My words galvanize Meghan’s body, leaving her panting, her breath smelling like sugar with a faint hint of coffee, making me want to sip the flavor from her lips. I don’t think she means to say it out loud, but a soft hiss escapes her pink lips unbidden anyway. “Yesss.”

I cup her jaw in both hands, forcing her eyes to meet mine and lock. The next words are the hardest words I’ve ever spoken, tearing from the depths of my stomach like coughing up nails. “But we can’t. You know the rules. Dominick would kill me. Literally, most likely. And you deserve better than me. You see me as a dangerous thrill, but I’d ruin you. A night with me would leave your pretty pink pussy in tatters from fucking you so rough because I’m not a gentle lover. I’d take you hard, wringing your orgasms out of you until you passed out in exhaustion. I’d give you so much cum, your pussy couldn’t even hold it all and it would run down your legs.”

Her eyes are dilated, wide and soft as if I’m whispering sweet nothings in her ear. I thought she’d be shocked, maybe even offended by my crude words. Some of me hoped she would be, that she’d be repelled and maybe we could end this dance between us. But it seems this angel has a bit more devil in her body than I thought.

Every bit of me wants to make good on my words, toss her on the chair in the corner and earn the first cries of her orgasm with my tongue between her legs. With the way her skin tasted, death by Dominick’s hand might be worth it.

As much as I don’t want to, I have to tell her the rest, leaning in to smell her hair before whispering in her ear. “As much as that excites you—and yes, my cock is throbbing at the idea too—I’ll break your heart, Angel. I’ll take what I need, make you a dirty mess, and leave. It’s what I do. I’m a bastard, a motherfucker who only hurts those who let me in. You deserve better than me.”

I pull back from her ear, letting her see the truth of my words in my eyes, on my face, knowing that even if I wanted to, I can’t keep her. That’s not who I am. It’s . . . impossible.

The spell is broken, my words sinking into her head, her heart. I can see the moment her desire and arousal turn to hurt, then anger. She pulls back, putting space between us, and I hate it instantly, missing the feel of her so close.

“I see,” she says, turning on a heel and heading toward the lockers. I want to chase her, push her to the ground, and take her like the predator I am. I want to bury myself inside her, feel her spasm as I stake my claim on her body, mind, and soul. Mine.

But this is the right thing to do. Let her push me away for her own sanity and safety. I can take it, even if it hurts. And right now, it does hurt, both in my gut and in my balls.

Just before reaching the curtain to the changing area, Meghan turns back, her eyes flashing dangerously. “You say I deserve more. That’s for me to decide. Don’t act like you get to make decisions for me. Is this just a game to you? Get me all riled up and then squash me with some lame justification that sounds more like a carrot on a stick enticement than a real warning? Well, fu–forget you.”

She pushes the curtain aside, and I feel like I just got punched in the gut. She almost cursed at me. If I needed any more proof, that tells me how hurt she really is. Fucking hell. That was the last thing I wanted to do. I just couldn’t help myself. She calls to me without even meaning to, and I’m barely holding back, for her sake.

She leaves the curtain open, stomping her little body over to her locker and ripping her scrap of a miniskirt out. She glares at me over her shoulder and then pulls it on over her sweats, only dropping them once she has the scrap in place.

I don’t bother telling her that when she bends over to grab the sweats from the floor, I can see the bottom of her ass cheeks, so grabbable and biteable. And the peek of her good girl panties, white with lace trim against her tan flesh, does more for my fantasies than any fancy lingerie ever has.

She snatches her black lace bustier off the hook, holding it to her front like a shield even though she still has her tank top on.

She makes a shooing motion with her hand, swatting the air at me like I’m an annoyance. “Weren’t you just saying you would leave me? Well, go ahead. I’ve got to get ready for my shift.”

I should, I absolutely should. But I can’t walk away when she’s so mad at me. Instead, I assume my security guard stance, my feet planted firmly on the floor with my arms crossed over my chest, eyes daring her to test me. With a huff, she turns back to face her locker and rips her tank over her head.

The expanse of her back beckons me, and I want to trace the line of her spine with my tongue, make her arch beneath me as I fuck her from behind. She quickly fastens the bustier, not needing any help, and then leans forward, shimmying slightly and doing something to her tits, but my eyes are fastened on the flash of her ass again.

It’s delectable, just enough that I could massage, knead . . . and spank it until it’s bright red. It’s taut, perfect, the type of ass that could grip my cock until we’re both crying out. That peek is going to taunt me all night and for a long time to come. After slipping her heels and apron on, Meghan struts toward me looking like a fucking Valkyrie in petite-fairy form.

I hold my position, expecting her to either stop in front of me for another scathing dismissal or maybe push me out of her way. But she does neither.

Instead, she turns her body to step around me, not even brushing me with a faint touch of her skin. That stabs my heart more than anger or violence somehow. It’s a dismissal. It’s her saying that she understands and isn’t going to waste her time on me any longer.

The scent of her lingers in her wake, and with a deep breath, I draw it in, knowing it might be my last chance to savor it. I let it sear its way into my brain for the upcoming lonely nights and empty beds, when the weaker side of me gnaws at my mind and tells me I could have had the most beautiful, flawless woman I’ve ever seen next to me. Even if only for a moment.

It takes me a while to settle my nerves, and I wipe at my cheeks and forehead, dismissing the moisture on my fingers as just sweat from the heat back here.

It’s gonna be a long fucking night.