Cousins: An Alpha Bad Boy Romance(9)

By: Lisa Lang Blakeney


As we hesitantly creep across the floor of the club, we discover all sorts of disgusting surprises with the palms of our hands. Flattened pieces of chewing gum, small puddles of beer, droplets of wine, bits of paper, grit and dirt. Really gross stuff and somewhat surprising considering where we were, plus it wasn't even that late yet. How can all this crap be on the floor already? I just pray to myself that no one has spit on the floor.

That would be IT for me.

"I can't believe this nonsense." Sloan stops crawling for a moment still slightly coughing. "I can't believe I paid a hundred bucks a piece for this."

Sloan mentioned in the cab ride over that there was a pretty steep cover charge to get inside the semi-exclusive club, but that there were always plenty of attractive men inside to buy us drinks to offset the cost. Her words not mine. She didn't tell me how much the cover charge was, because she was treating me to a night out to cheer me up, plus she makes a lot of money selling some sort of generic version of Viagra to doctors. Two hundred bucks for a night out is normal for her, but regardless of that she's right. This is nonsensical. Who pays through the nose for a night out only to end up having to scramble around on the floor like we're in the middle of some drunken frat party?

I nod my head in agreement and agree with her. "Yep, this is real dumb."

We finally make it to our destination and crouch behind the gargantuan black sound speaker. Luckily the sound seems to have been cut by the deejay, so I'm relieved that we will at least still have our hearing when this is all over. I decide that it won't hurt to say a little silent prayer to myself, and that God will forgive the fact that it is something that I haven't done in a long while. Between the pepper spray burning my eyes, the drinks fogging my brain, and the sounds of pure terror all around me, I'm getting pretty close to losing it. Someone is definitely going to get hurt tonight. I just hope like hell it isn't me. I can't afford another hospital visit.

As if on cue, in the middle of my "amen," I hear a very clear and distinct set of heavy footsteps advancing towards us. Whoever it is, isn't panicked like the rest of us. He or she (no it was definitely a he) is moving calmly and very deliberately towards our direction. I experience a brief moment of alien-like movement in my stomach warning me of something. I'm not sure what. Maybe to be on guard or perhaps to run. Suddenly I feel five very warm, strong, and calloused fingers grasp my upper left arm and pull me up on my feet.

"Stand up," the deep voice orders with a rumble. His lips just inches away from my ear. His breath smells of peppermint, chocolate and cognac. A yummy mixture. It's familiar. Reminds me of Christmas.

His distinctive voice reverberates throughout my body, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, and then settles in as if making a home in between my legs. I'm shocked at my body's reaction and frankly embarrassed. Typically I would never blindly follow the commands of a stranger, but this isn't a usual circumstance I find myself in. So for once I decide not to over think things (like he may be a serial killer) and instead just follow his lead.

With his hand still firmly clasping my upper arm, he notices that my feet are unsteady and quickly adjusts himself to place his other hand loosely around my middle to balance me as I stand. His massive hand almost spans the entire length of my torso and although my clothing serves as a barrier, to me it feels like I have nothing on. His thumb nearly grazes my breast, which sends my nipples into a hard alert, while his pinky finger comes dangerously close to the waistband of my panties. I am so overwhelmed by all the sensations of him touching me, that my body probably feels heavy to him, as I inadvertently sway slightly forward and allow him to bear more of my weight. My heaviness doesn't seem to be an issue though, as he effortlessly guides me upwards onto my feet with one sweeping movement.


"Easy." He murmurs softly by my ear.

Even with all hell breaking loose in the club, that one word, the stranger's raspy voice, and his unforgettable hands are all I can concentrate on. His touch feels personal, careful, and intimate, as if we already know each other or as if we are definitely about to. As he continues to direct me, his commands all of a sudden turn somewhat clipped, almost like he is annoyed with me for some unknown reason.

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