Prologue Indie

Prologue

Indie

One Year Earlier

Tequila. What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t. That’s the problem. I was distracted, caught off guard. It can’t happen again. My body already wants to say fuck it and jump the cocky baseball player’s bones. Right now my brain—my past—are the only things keeping me from doing something monumentally stupid.

That’s not fair. I’m sure he’s not actually stupid. I chuckle to myself at my little joke.

Dom directs me to the back of the club, where there’s a roped-off section with a couch and table for the three of us; a tray of shots, limes, and salt shakers waiting.

Dean’s there too, his arm draped over the back of the couch, looking serious when I take the seat beside him. Dom sits on the opposite side, sandwiching me between these two gorgeous men. I don’t hate it. Not like I should. Terrible idea, I remind myself.

In need of a distraction, I reach for a shot glass, holding it out for a silent, solo cheer— to bad decisions— before tipping it back and swallowing.

“That’s one way to do it.” Dom’s sitting so close that his warm breath makes my neck break out in goosebumps when he snickers at my expense.

He’s always laughing, like life is just one big party. “What? Did I not take my shot right?” If this man has the audacity to tell me how to shoot tequila, I will knee him in the balls without an ounce of remorse.

“You can take it however you want. I just prefer mine salty.” His hand closes around the shaker.

“Then show me how it’s done,” I taunt. “But I’m not holding the lime in my teeth for you.”

“Do I look like a frat boy?”

“I don’t think you want me to answer that,” I volley back. He does not look like a frat boy. The word boy doesn’t belong anywhere near this man. He’s masculine, knowing, and right now with the way he’s staring down at me, he’s exuding so much undeniable sex appeal that it’s a wonder I’m not pregnant from just the vibes he’s putting off.

“All you need to do is sit still, not punch me, and maybe even enjoy yourself.” His eyebrow cocks in question—no, in challenge.

Damn it. I’m so screwed. It’s like he’s reading right from an instruction manual—one with my face on the cover. Since we’ve met, he’s known all the buttons to push. I’m too competitive for my own good, and he figured that out without even trying.

“Can’t make any promises.” Annoyance slices through me at how breathless it comes out. That was not the snarky comeback I was aiming for.

He dips two long fingers into the liquid, his thick thigh pressing into my leg as he leans in close, pushing the strap of my tank top down the slope of my shoulder with his dry hand. “I’m really going to enjoy this. It’s not too late to back out if you can’t handle it.”

“Show me what you’ve got,” I say, my stubbornness showing its ass .

Heat from his body wraps around me as he traces my collarbone with his tequila soaked fingers, making me warm and fuzzy before the alcohol has had a chance to take hold. My nipples pebble against my will as he drags the chilled liquor from the base of my neck and out towards my shoulder.

I must be on another planet because when he dips his fingers again and brings them to my lips, I let them part, my tongue darting out to taste it. “You’re being so good for me.”

The lust-blurred fog I’m in tricks me into abandoning the urge to bite his finger for that last remark. I’m so lost in the sensation of him caressing me that I don’t even notice the salt shaker until he’s sprinkling some over the sticky line he drew. His tongue darts out and his eyes flash to mine.

“Indie?” My name is a question—a chance to say no.

I don’t; the request for consent is my tipping point. My head bobs of its own volition, giving him all the permission he needs.

His palm and fingers span both sides of my neck when he grips the back of it, holding me in place. Soft lips move over my collarbone, sucking, licking, and kissing before he pulls back with a satisfied smile on his face. Blindly reaching for his shot, he takes it, lime forgotten on the tray, and releases me, pushing up from the couch.

I’m still reeling when his rough voice breaks through my lust filled trance. “Dance with me.” The playful tone he’s used with me since we met gives way to something more gruff, and I find myself swallowing nervously.

If it wasn’t for Dean reaching to grab his shot, I’d have completely forgotten he was a witness to the debauchery that I just allowed. “You’re really not going to dance?” I’m stalling, trying to preserve my sanity long enough that maybe I’ll come out of the hypnosis he has me under.

“No, you two have fun.” The knowing smirk he gives me puts him near the top of my shit list; possibly even above his friend.

“Afraid if you dance with me, you might end up falling head-over-heels?” he taunts like the devil with a pretty face, his hand waiting to drag me down to hell with him.

But I bet it’d feel like heaven. I know it would.

I ignore it, or I try to, but my palm itches to reach out and take his. After that little stunt with the tequila, it’s safe to say that my hormones have taken control. “Not a chance.” Every reason I want this man is a stark reminder of the last time I got mixed up with someone like him. Handsome, easygoing, and on top of the world—deceptively wholesome.

“Then I guess you’ve got nothing to worry about.” He waits, his hand still extended between us.

Dammit, this is one of my favorite songs. The beat is sultry, the lyrics a tempting tale about how blissful it feels when you give into your desires. And I do love dancing, which is the whole reason we came to this club.

It’s not like dancing is a gateway drug to ending up bent over the bathroom sink.

His calloused hand closes over mine when I place it in his palm. Despite the roughness, it’s warm and welcoming, putting me at ease. It’s the self-assured smirk he gives me as he pulls me to my feet that makes me wish I would’ve stuck to my guns. Slightly crooked in a seemingly endearing way, it annoys me and sparks the desire to do something incredibly reckless at the same time.

Every brain cell I’ve got is screaming at me to flee; hyperaware of the situation I’m putting myself in. Consider it instinct. After years of avoiding athletes, or really anyone who reminds me of my ex and the worst time in my life, I can’t help it.

My body, on the other hand, is begging me to stay and dance with him. It’s dying to feel him pressed against me. I’m a weak bitch. Two full nights of fighting this tether that tugs me to him has worn me down, so I let him lead me to an empty corner of the dance floor.

Dom pulls me close, moving to the music and lining our bodies up perfectly. It feels good—too good. My eyes flutter closed and I focus on how all-encompassing it feels to be held by him.

There’s no escaping him when he’s this close, the corded muscles of his arms flexing and popping through this thin shirt as his hands find my waist, gripping me tight, like I might run. He’s not wrong to hold me that way, because this is all too real with his cut muscles pressed against me giving me a good idea of what he’s working with under those clothes.

My hands have no place to go but around his neck or on his chest. Choosing what I think is the safer option, I thread my fingers together behind his head, only to find the hair at his nape is unfairly soft—it’s like a magnet for my hands. I can’t stop them from exploring; my nails drag over his scalp, eliciting a deep rumble from his chest that cuts all the way through my weakened walls.

Goosebumps climb up my stomach when his fingers brush over my hip bone as we move together, our bodies working as one to the deep bass. “Fuck, Baby, you’re killing me.”

It’s a throwaway term of endearment coming from most people, but the raspy way he says it, the unwavering certainty in his voice as he tugs me closer yet, makes it feel like honey melting against my heated skin. I can’t brush it off. It’s so damn sweet and I’m greedy to lap it up, getting drunk off the sugar and him.

His pretty words and the hardness of his body pressed up against me are a potent mix. They do nothing to dissuade the desire currently pleading with me to break all my rules about not hooking up with athletes.

I pull away when the song ends, determined to go back to the VIP area where Dean waits and get myself under control.

Or maybe control is the last thing I need. Maybe doing something reckless and stupid is just the thing that will break this spell he has me under.

Dom reaches for me, but I twist away, heading straight for his friend. Looking over my shoulder at him I wiggle my fingers. He says he wants me . . . just how far will he go to get me?

There’s nothing he can offer me that his friend can’t. The club and the lights are just messing with me, making this thing between us feel like more than just a physical attraction.

Dean looks like a king, his legs spread, one arm draped over the back of the couch, a whiskey tumbler resting on his knees. He’s got the sexy, damaged thing going on that most girls are suckers for; a contrast to his best friend, who I can sense is hot on my heels as I cross the club .

The man tracking me is the boy next door . . . if your neighbor’s a full-grown man, with a grin that melts panties, perfectly messy hair, and an ass that fills out baseball pants in a way that should be illegal. Everything he wants seems to appear at the snap of his fingers and he’s never going to turn it down.

He’s everything eighteen-year-old me thought she wanted, until I had it and realized that shiny things still tarnish.

Walking right up to Dean, I step between his legs, grabbing the whiskey dangling from his fingers and bringing it to my lips, draining the glass. Leaning in close, I kiss him hard and fast. And holy shit, the man can kiss. I lose track of everything around me, including the reason I started this in the first place until his hand comes up to my face for a moment before he pulls away and looks at me with skeptical eyes.

The kiss was impulsive, but the question I ask is not. I don’t want to be here anymore. After dancing, I’m feeling overwhelmed, overheated, and overdressed. This will almost definitely blow up in my face, but damn, it would be a fun way to go. “It’s crowded here. Why don’t you two take me somewhere a little more . . . private?”

Carefree, flirtatious Dom is long gone, replaced by a possessive man whose grip on my hip sends a full-body shudder skating down my spine. My skin flushes hot when a growl vibrates along my neck from the man hovering behind me. “What the hell are you doing?” His tone makes my pulse jump and with how close he is, I’m sure he doesn’t miss it.

“Having fun. Seems like it would be right up your alley, playboy. You want me? This is how you get me.” Miraculously, I keep my voice steady even though I feel anything but. Bending so I’m floating precariously between the two of them, I find his friend’s green eyes filled with uncertain curiosity. “What do you say, Dean, want to play? We could have so much fun.”

“I don’t think I’m the one you really want,” Dean says, looking over my shoulder.

Teeth scrape across my pulse point. “Game’s over. Let’s go, Firecracker.”

Dom’s lips seal over the stinging skin, making my back arch involuntarily. “And what if I’m not done playing? ”

“Then you can play with me,” he says, turning me around in his arms. His fingers thread into my hair. “And only me.” That playful boy-next-door is nowhere to be found right now. Those caramel eyes are stormy with desire that has me pushing up on my toes and doing the one thing I swore I wouldn’t do with him: give in to the whirlwind of feelings he brings out in me.

Hope, lightness, longing for something easy.

Soft lips welcome mine. The man kisses like it’s his favorite pastime, and damn it, I can’t even be mad about it because it’s that perfect.

It sparks a fire deep down that has nothing to do with the music or how he moves. It’s all him. All us . And when he teases the seam of my lips and I open for him, it only gets better.

Our lips are still fused as he walks us backward. My feet tangle, but his hold on me is sure. He doesn’t let it stop him from putting space between me and his friend, sending both of us a clear message.

Mine .

Slowing the kiss until I’m the one leaning in chasing more, he pulls away and rests his forehead against mine. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.” It feels like more than just three simple letters and I can’t put my finger on why.

It’s only a few steps from the dark club to the waiting car, but the cool night air has chills racing over my skin, still sticky from sweat and tequila. Dom leads us to our ride and I follow, my legs wobbling from that kiss.

Like the gentleman I imagine he was raised to be, Dean opens the door, letting us in first. This car is larger than the one that brought us here and is set up like a limo, but is the size of a normal SUV. It’s clearly not an Uber.

Dom takes a seat in the back, settling me in his lap, his palms splayed across my thighs, keeping me right where he wants me. Dean joins us, moving towards the front and speaking to the driver before turning back toward us.

“You wanted to play a game? Give him a show he’ll never forget,” Dom says, his voice strained with desire.

Stunned at what he’s asking, I let him twist me in his lap, pinning my knees on either side of his legs. Immediately, I feel him grow hard, jutting up towards his stomach. Even with the layers between us, there’s no mistaking how perfectly long and thick he is.

“What’s wrong? Don’t want to play anymore?” There’s a dare in his eyes as he waits for me to make a move.

I shouldn’t, but knowing Dean can see exactly what Dom’s doing to me only heightens my need to be reckless with him. Matching Dom’s taunt I look over my shoulder at his friend and rock my hips.

Once.

Twice.

And the third time, a whimper escapes me. I’m too turned on to stop now that I’ve started.

Pain bites into the swell of my hips where Dom’s grip tightens and my skirt rides dangerously high, but neither of those things matter with how fast he has me climbing.

A pained groan behind me has my eyes straying before my head snaps forward, Dom’s fingers pinching my chin.

“Eyes on me,” Dom practically growls at me. “He can watch you, but you better be looking at me when you come, or this stops.” He rolls his hard cock over my clit until I’m panting in his ear.

“Please,” I whine when he stills underneath me.

“Tell me you’re mine, and I’ll let you make a mess all over me.”

Delirious with the need for release, I say the one thing I shouldn’t: “I’m yours.”