Page 4 of His Son's Brid
He's not dancing, not drinking, just... watching.
And right now, he's watching me.
My breath stops.
Oh.
It's not like the movies, where everything goes slow motion and the music fades. The club's still loud, still chaotic, still full of writhing bodies and flashing lights. But there's this... thing. This pull. Like someone just plugged me into an electrical socket and forgot to warn me first.
His eyes are dark from this distance—almost black in the club lights—but they're locked on mine and I can't look away. Don't want to look away. My skin feels hot, too tight, like I'm suddenly aware of every inch of it.
My nipples tighten.
Just like that. Just from a look.
Am I going crazy?
I suck in a breath, cross my arms over my chest because what the hell, what the actual hell is happening to my body right now? I've been kissed, touched, groped by twenty-three different guys and felt nothing, but this man across the room just looked at me and my nipples are pressing against my bra like they're trying to get his attention.
Who is he?
"Earth to Rory." Chloe waves her hand in front of my face. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"She looks like she's seen something," Tiana says, following my gaze. Her eyes go wide. "Oh. Oh wow."
"What?" Chloe turns, scans the VIP section. "What are we—holy shit. Okay. Okay, I take back everything I said about you being picky. If that's your type, I completely understand why college boys did nothing for you."
He's still looking at me. Hasn't looked away once.
Heat spreads lower, settles between my legs. I shift on the bar stool and feel it—wetness. Actual wetness soaking into my underwear, and I haven't even spoken to him. Haven't heard his voice. Don't know his name. But my body's responding like he just whispered every filthy thing he wants to do to me directly into my ear.
I should look away. Should act like I don't care, like I haven't noticed him noticing me. But I can't. It's like we're having a conversation without words, and I'm sayingI see youand he's sayingI knowand underneath it all there's this question neither of us is asking out loud.
What would happen if we stopped pretending we're not doing this?
"How old do you think he is?" Tiana whispers.
"Old enough to know what he's doing," Chloe answers. "Unlike every fumbling idiot you've dated."
"I should look away."
"You really should."
I don't.
He shifts, just slightly, leans back in his seat like he's got all the time in the world. There's something about the way he moves—controlled, deliberate. Like a predator who's never had to chase anything because everything comes to him eventually. The jacket pulls tight across his chest, and even from here I can see he's built. Not gym-rat built, but the kind of solid muscle that comes from actual work, actual violence.
He looks like he could break someone in half and not break a sweat doing it.
The thought should scare me.
Instead, I get wetter.
What is wrong with me?
The woman next to him says something, touches his arm. He doesn't even glance at her. Just keeps those dark eyes on me, and there's something in them now—heat, hunger, the kind of raw want that makes my thighs clench together.
I'm throbbing. Actually throbbing, pulse beating between my legs like a second heartbeat, and all he's done is look at me. If hetouched me right now, I think I'd come apart. Just disintegrate into a puddle of need and shame and holy-shit-is-this-what-I've-been-missing.
