Page 122 of Wild Thing
His presence was out-of-this-world overwhelming.
I had never seen him dressed up like this. His usual rugged, rough-around-the-edges image had been replaced by something sleek and sharp.
He looked like a fucking assassin in a Tom Ford suit.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. He just stood there, his eyes scanning me from head to toe, his gaze just as heated as mine.
“Wow,” he murmured, his voice low and thick. “That dress…”
His words trailed off as his eyes lingered on me, tracing every curve, every inch of exposed skin, before slowly rising to meet my gaze again.
He leaned in close to me, dragging his mouth towards my ear. “I want to tear it off with my teeth.”
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure, but the way he looked at me made it impossible. My body was heating from the inside out and it took everything I had not to step into him and ravish him.
Before I could make that mistake, the sound of voices and footsteps pulled me back to reality.
I had to keep it together.
"Where is she?" I asked.
"She’s at the table."
I raised an eyebrow, my frustration and annoyance atevery-fucking-thinggrowing. "Why is she here, Brax?"
His face tightened for a split second, and I could tell he was deciding how much to share.
Finally, he spoke. "Greg invited her. She was waiting in the foyer for me after I came back from returning the rental car."
I shook my head. This whole tangled mess felt like it was unraveling in front of me.
Brax's eyes quickly flickered around the side of the pillar. Without warning, he stepped closer, his hands gripping mine.
"Come with me," he said, his voice low, determined.
There was no room for argument in his tone.
I hated how I just did what I was told. He guided me through the crowd, my feet barely able to keep up with his long strides as we moved quickly toward the foyer.
We pushed past clusters of people, before Brax opened a small door to an unassuming storeroom, tucked next to a bathroom.
Quietly, we slipped inside.
The storeroom was cramped, filled with pallets of soft drinks. The door clicked shut behind us, muffling the sounds of the party beyond.
Brax turned to face me, and for the first time that night, there was no prying eyes, no fake smiles or forced conversations.
It was just the two of us.
"Dylan. Are you okay?"
I opened my mouth to speak, but the words got stuck in my throat. I wanted to say I was fine, but I wasn't.
"No," I whispered, my voice shaky. "I’m not. I’m freaking out."
Brax moved his hands to cradle my face. “Listen to me okay,” he said, firmly. “Everything will be okay. I want you. Iloveyou. We’ve just have to get through tonight. Stay on your table, and I’ll stay on mine… but just know, I’ll be thinking of you the entire time.”
I didn’t like it.
