I’m going to rip his fucking arms off.
That’s the only thought I have as I watch Naomi from the alley entrance, every muscle in my body tensing.
She’s standing with some guy—tall, built, lean, good-looking, covered in tattoos.
It fucking pisses. Me. Off.
I don’t even know why. I don’t want to know why, because I’m not interested in psychoanalyzing myself or this tangled situation with Naomi right now.
But for now, let’s call it a purely territorial thing, for simplicity’s sake.
She’s mine. He’s standing too fucking close to what’s mine, putting his goddamn hands on what’s mine, and it makes me think violent thoughts.
Elegantly simple, uncomplicated, cause and effect.
The cause is him stepping over a fucking line. And the effect will be my fist smashing into his perfect nose and wiping the cocky grin off his charming face.
Naomi laughs too loudly at something he says, slapping his bicep playfully.
My eyes darken.
Not because I’m jealous.
But because I don’t fucking share.
She was foolish enough to skip coming to my office this morning—and now that I’ve strolled into the middle of her flirting with this motherfucker?
Now I’ve gone from inconvenienced and annoyed to vengeful.
The guy laughs, his hand darting to the hem of her skirt.
And that’s when the fuse lights.
I don’t think, just charge down the alley like a runaway train, and I don’t slow down until I plow into him. The guy grunts as I yank him away from Naomi and slam him up against the brick wall behind her.
“Touch her again and I’ll cut your fucking hand off.”
For a moment, there’s stunned silence in the alley behind the theater. It’s just the three of us, since the last of the other dancers were filing inside as I was charging down the alley.
But then Naomi’s voice cuts through the quiet.
“Nico!” she blurts. I can tell she desperately wants to sound incensed or angry, but her tone comes out fractured and halting, her breath catching sharply. “What the fuck are you doing?!”
Before I can answer, the motherfucker I’ve got pinned to the wall wrenches in my grip, spins, jams an elbow into my ribs, and makes me wince as he breaks my hold on his throat.
Shit. Up close, I’m suddenly realizing that he’s fucking ripped. Not massive like Roman, but toned as fuck, and strong.
Whatever preconceived notions I’ve had about male ballet dancers goes out the damn window. Because instantly, it’s crystal clear that this fucking guy knows how to handle himself in a fight.
He dodges the first punch I throw his way. But the second one lands with a satisfying crack across his cheekbone and the side of his eye. He stumbles back, hissing a curse. But he barely needs half a second to shake it off before he’s charging right at me.
Fuck.
He slams into my midsection like a fucking linebacker, and we hit the ground hard. My back slams against concrete, the wind leaving my lungs with a whoosh.
Yeah, he’s a lot stronger than I expected.
But I can guarantee I’m a lot meaner.
He snarls when I slam a forearm up into his mouth, splitting his lip. But I barely have time to savor the sweet feeling of marring his pretty face before he cracks a brutal punch to my jaw. We roll once—twice—before I pin him, my forearm pressed to his throat again, knuckles ready to break something else.
“Nico!” Naomi’s voice cuts through the blood rushing in my ears. “Stop it! What the hell are you doing?!”
The sound of her voice distracts me and I lose my focus.
Shit.
The guy uses the moment to crack another fist across my jaw. Then he throws me off him, shoving me backward before he scrambles to his feet, panting, his face flushed, his right eye already swelling.
I’m ready to go again. I want to go again, so I can fuck up the rest of his face.
But Naomi shoves herself between us, slamming both palms against my chest and forcing me back.
Her eyes are glinting with fury.
“Are you fucking serious right now?!”
I’m breathing hard, my jaw clenched, eyes still locked on the guy behind her. He groans, wiping the back of his tattooed hand across his bleeding lip before he sinks back against the wall behind him.
Then he smirks.
“Guess I know now who you’ve been banging, baby girl,” he mutters dryly.
My entire body clenches, my voice dropping low. “Call her that one more time…”
He shrugs, grinning like a lunatic, blood painting his teeth before he turns and spits it onto the ground. His eyes lift to mine, a pure “fuck you” look on his face.
“Baby. Girl,” he says slowly. “Do something about it, fucker.”
I lurch forward again, but Naomi puts a hand to my chest again and glares hard enough to make me pause.
“Stop it,” she snaps. “My God. This is one of my best friends. And—newsflash—he fucks men, idiot.”
There’s a pause.
The guy clears his throat. “I mean, I fuck a lot of girls, too—”
Naomi whirls on him. “You are not helping.”
The guy holds up his hands in mock surrender before he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, slipping one between his bloodied lips. He paws around in his pockets before he grumbles and sticks out a hand.
“Vaughn Bancroft.”
I glare murder at it. Then take it.
Hard.
“Nico Ba—”
“Yeah,” Vaughn mutters. “I know who you are.” He lowers his gaze, then lifts it again. “I’m sorry about what happened to your sister,” he adds, losing the sneering tone for once.
I just nod, jaw still tight.
Vaughn pats his pockets again. I begrudgingly yank out my own lighter and toss it his way. He catches it in one hand with a smug, cocky nod of his chin.
“Thanks,” he mutters, deftly lighting the cigarette in his lips before throwing the lighter back. He takes a drag, his eyes locked on me for a few seconds before they flit to Naomi. Then back to me. Then to her again.
He grins lopsidedly, raising a brow.
“So…” he points between us with his cigarette. “When’s the wedding?”
My eyes narrow. Naomi’s cheeks turn crimson as she purses her lips.
“It’s not like that,” she says testily. “It’s…” She shrugs, not looking at me. “We’re just friends.”
Vaughn chuckles to himself, shaking his head. “Sure you are,” he says dryly.
“I would appreciate it,” Naomi mumbles, her face still red, “if you kept this to yourself.” She shoots him a look that still pisses me off. “Like I’ve kept certain aspects of your life to myself?”
Vaughn nods slowly. “Heard, loud and clear.” He glances back to me, not seeming to care about the daggers coming out of my eyes aimed in his general direction. He turns back to Naomi. “So, you two are just fuck-buddies then?”
“Surely you’ve got a tutu to put on and some twirling to do,” I grunt at him.
Vaughn chuckles. “Any time you feel like dancing again, blue eyes, let me know.”
“I’m free right the fuck now,” I snarl.
Vaughn flicks his cigarette away and rolls his neck. “Let’s see who spins like a little bitch when—”
“Vaughn,” Naomi snaps, halting him as he steps toward me. “I’ll see you inside in a minute. After I’ve had a second to talk with him. Alone?”
Vaughn grinds his jaw, but nods as he looks at Naomi. “Five minutes. Or I’m coming back out here and teaching your boyfriend how to shut his fucking mouth.”
“Dance like no one is watching, motherfucker,” I mutter as he shoulders past me and opens the door to the theater.
After he leaves, Naomi spins to face me, eyes blazing.
“What the hell was that?”
My pulse is still racing. I want to hit something. Not him. Obviously not her. Just…something, to send this rage somewhere other than the center of my chest.
“We have an arrangement,” I growl. “You broke it.”
She throws her hands up. “I have to work, Nico. This is my job. Not some little hobby to pass the time!”
“We meet at eight every morning. That was the deal.”
“I’m not a robot!” she fires back. “Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to wake up early, go to your office, do…” She blushes. “Do…that—”
“Use your words.”
She looks sideways at me. “Your bidding,” she finally mutters. “And then schlep all the way back to the theater, where I’ll get my ass handed to me a dozen times by my sadistic artistic director, after which, I’ll stay late and put in some extra work on my own before limping home, crashing, and doing it all over again.”
“If this is you trying to get out of our arrangement, it’s not working.”
She exhales in exasperation. “And now you get to decide who I talk to as well?”
“You don’t talk to other men,” I growl, stepping in close. “It’s very simple.”
Her eyes spark. “Newsflash: I do. Frequently. You don’t get to make those kinds of demands. It’s not like—”
“I own you?” I smile smugly. “Actually, Naomi, I do.”
She rolls her eyes.
I’m torn. On the one hand, I do sort of like this new, empowered, sassy Naomi.
Sassy Naomi gets my dick very hard, and it make me want to spank that sass right out of her—ideally, with my cock balls-deep in her ass, and perhaps my cum dripping down her cheeks.
But on the other hand… She needs a reminder of who’s in charge here.
“You don’t fucking own—”
Her breath catches and her eyes go wide as my hand suddenly wraps possessively around her throat—not choking her, not hurting her, just squeezing tightly enough to send a message.
The mad staccato of her pulse against my fingers and the way she can barely contain the whimper in her throat are a pretty good indication that she received said message.
…Received, processed, and is currently trying to hide the fact that it is almost certainly making her panties wet.
She swallows heavily against my hand before she slips away from me, as if she needs the distance between us. “Vaughn is like a brother to me. He’s been occasionally changing with the girls for years.”
“That’s not fucking happening anymore,” I growl.
“Oh my God, you’re jealous.”
I say nothing.
She smirks. “Also—Vaughn is bi.”
“And still a man with eyes,” I growl. “He could be a monk sworn to celibacy and I’d still throw him through a wall if I caught him seeing you naked again.”
She rolls her eyes.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
I smile wolfishly.
“Spoiler: I can do whatever the fuck I want when it comes to you.”
Naomi’s eyes flash with something I haven’t seen in her before. Not shame. Not fear.
Anger.
“Our arrangement,” she bites out, “is not a 24/7 thing.”
“Guess what,” I say, stepping even closer, letting the heaviness of the next words hang in the air between us. “It is now.”
She blinks, her brow furrowing. “Excuse me?”
“You’re right. It’s a waste of your time to have to wake up early after a full day dancing to come all the way to my office.”
She looks at me warily, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Smart girl.
“So, we’ll simplify things. You’ll live at my place with me. You’ll be available to me anytime and all the time.”
She stares at me, mouth slightly open.
“That’s…not happening.”
“It wasn’t a suggestion.”
The color drains from her face. “My father’s people would never allow that. Me moving in with you is a public relations nightmare.”
“Ask me if I give a single solitary fuck about your father’s focus groups.”
She shudders, her eyes widening as the reality hits her that I’m not in any way, shape or form joking. “Nico… No,” she blurts. “That’s not happening. It’s insane. You’re insane.”
I don’t flinch.
“You’re moving in with me, effective immediately.”
She lets out a slow, drawn-out breath. “That really isn’t happening.”
I step forward, closing what little distance is left between us.
“May I remind you,” I murmur, “what happens when you say no to me.”
She goes still—not stiff, not angry.
Just…still.
Like a switch flipped.
Like something inside her shut off.
Her eyes don’t flash or narrow or flare. They just go cold and hollow, like she’s retreated somewhere I can’t follow.
And I hate it, more than I thought I would.
“Fine.”
She says it quietly. Flatly.
Not broken.
Just…gone.
Fuck.
Fighting, sassy Naomi was fun. This Naomi that just…quits, goes cold, and takes it, is not.
“Fine,” she repeats dully. “Whatever you want. I have to go to work now.”
She turns before I can say anything else. Walks toward the theater door. Opens it, and slips inside. Then I’m alone in the alley.
Alone with fire still boiling in my blood.
I got what I wanted.
She agreed. She’s moving in. She’s mine.
So why the fuck does it feel like I just lost?
