2. Dante

TWO

Dante

I don't know what draws me to Lush, given that it's not really my kind of place. Rafael probably. We have a strange and difficult relationship. We know too much about each other because of our shared past. So seeing him is some kind of … compulsion—and not exactly a pleasant one.

But Rafael isn't what drew me here tonight.

This is a new compulsion. A new obsession.

I already staked my claim with Rafael, but the new bartender— Tristan —isn't his type anyway.

Rafael doesn't like to work that hard, and Tristan is definitely going to be work.

But that's what I want.

Because that defiance in his eyes? The way he fights his own obvious desire to submit? It makes my dick so fucking hard.

He's attracted to me and doesn't know what to do about it. He doesn't like it.

I'm usually very patient when I hunt prey, but I'm struggling tonight. I'm sitting in my preferred banquette, the one that offers the best view of all the doors. My Chianti sits untouched. I usually manage to sip, but tonight I'm too much on edge. I may not look it, but I am.

I'm worried he'll refuse my offer—because I'm worried about what I'll do if that happens.

My moral compass is broken. I have almost no empathy. So I need rules instead. A contract will give me that, but I can't offer him one yet. I need a better feel for him first. The real him.

I doubt many know the real Tristan Marshall. Very few people look deeply, and he is a consummate fucking actor.

But his mask slipped last night. I got a glimpse of an entirely different person. Someone angry and defiant, but also completely lost. Unanchored.

Last night, he circulated, delivering drinks and taking orders. Tonight, he's sticking to the bar with Saylor, letting one of the other male bartenders work the floor. I know it's because of me. His gaze regularly sweeps every section of the room except the one I'm in. He's avoiding me.

I could go to the bar again, but I'd rather let him think he's safe.

I watch him work a cocktail shaker in one hand and snag a bottle of vodka with the other. He passes the vodka to Saylor with one of his little flourishes. Not to be one-upped, she twirls the bottle like a pro and pours. He tips an imaginary hat at her. She loves it.

Yeah, he's good.

The lights are low and cool tonight for the jazz-blues fusion rolling out from the stage. Tristan is matching the vibe with a little extra edge to his mannerisms. He's wearing a black bowtie and suspenders with his light blue shirt. I can't see his pants or shoes, but I'm sure they're as expensive and well-chosen as the rest.

I've seen where he lives. He can't afford those clothes. With anyone else, I'd assume credit card debt, but with his smoothness and mimicry? Those clothes are stolen.

Christ, I can't wait to peel back the layers of him.

He's starting to relax. He thinks I'm not going to fuck with him.

When Saylor pours the last of a gin bottle, she says something to Tristan. He nods, snags a set of keys, and heads for the private stairway.

I slip out of the banquette and follow.

I'm quiet on the stairs, used to sneaking around. I hang back until I hear the door unlock. After he enters the cellar, unwisely leaving the door open, I prowl in behind.

I find him scanning the rows of bottles. I take a second to enjoy the sight of him. His cadet blue pants and black wingtip shoes look sharp as hell with his suspenders and bowtie. He's lighter than I am but fit, like maybe he runs. His face is on the pretty side of handsome. The stylishly messy, textured top of his light brown hair lends his face an edgy, sexy look, like he belongs in a cologne ad.

It definitely doesn't fit with where he lives. He would look so much better at my place.

As he hunts for the gin, he offers me another glimpse of the real him because he thinks he's alone. He's dropped his act. He's worrying his lower lip with his teeth. His body language has softened.

I nearly purr inside. I definitely read him right last night.

"One shelf up," I say.

"Fuck!" he shouts, his voice going high as he jumps like I'm the boogeyman. I kind of am.

His eyes skip away from me to find the exit. He realizes I'm blocking it and swallows hard. He knows I'm dangerous. Good.

"What are you …" He trails off as I prowl toward him.

"What am I indeed? I don't think you'd want to know."

"I meant—"

"I know what you meant, and I think it's obvious what I'm doing."

"What do you want?"

"I think that's obvious too."

He swallows hard again. God, I love when his throat moves like that. I need my teeth there. I need to feel that.

"It's not obvious to me," he says breathily.

I crowd into him, but he doesn't step back. I reach up for the brand of gin I saw in Saylor's hand. I move it down to the shelf at his eye level.

He doesn't look at it. His hazel eyes are fixed on me. They're wary. Confused. He really isn't sure what this is about.

"You've never been with a man before, have you?" I ask. I won't deny that the idea thrills me. I'll get to watch as he experiences totally new sensations. He has no idea how his body can feel.

He doesn't look offended by my question, but he doesn't answer it either. The confusion in his eyes reveals another layer of meaning.

A wicked smile curves my lips. "Ah. You never realized you were interested. Until now."

"I'm not—"

I bring my mouth to his ear and whisper, letting my lips brush him, "You have no idea what your body can do for you. You have no idea what my body can do for you."

He shivers—then he shoves me. He tries to anyway, but I'm ready for it, so his hands end up on my chest, fingers digging in slightly through the fine wool of my waistcoat. I clamp down on the urge to spin him around and tug his ass against my hard cock. I need to break him in slowly.

My lips are still at his ear. I tug his earlobe with my teeth. He shudders so hard he tips into me.

"What the fuck," I hear him mutter as though to himself. His hair is brushing my jaw.

Then he yanks back. I'm ready to that too, so I catch him before he slams into the shelf. He still hits it. A few bottles wobble. I let him go and he backs away. His eyes are huge and wild—and his cock is pressing visibly against the front of his pants.

I close my eyes briefly at the spike of lust.

His back hits the wall. "I don't … I don't understand what's happening."

I give him my wicked smile. "You'll figure it out."