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William

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

As I walk toward the lounge with my hand firmly gripping her hip, I’d swear I can feel her skin quivering beneath that flimsy, very short, red dress.

Taylor would be a treat even wearing a garbage bag, but dressed up like she is tonight—or the way she was at the opera house—she becomes sinfully tempting. She stops being a girl and shows herself as the sensual, irresistible woman she truly is.

I’m not a fan of nightclubs anymore; I’ve outgrown them. But to hell with it—I’m going to give her what she wants. Besides, I’m curious to see how Taylor behaves in a place packed with people much closer to her age than mine.

As we walk, I notice several guys turning around to watch her.

I know why. It’s obvious she doesn’t often come here; she wouldn’t have the means for it. And they, like me, are predators on the lookout for unfamiliar prey. When you go out enough, you end up seeing the same faces everywhere. There isn’t much variety in high society; Manhattan isn’t that big.

“Why did you pick this place?” I ask once we finally reach the lounge.

I guide her to a tall table set apart from the rest of the crowd, though this area is only accessible to the elite of the elite. The club belongs to a friend of mine, and on the rare occasions I come, I never mingle on the main floor.

The music here isn’t as loud, though there’s a small private dance area for anyone who isn’t just looking for a hookup and actually wants to have fun, too.

“Jackie—my friend and a bartender at my second job—made out with one of the bouncers. She has free access,” she says, then slaps a hand over her mouth as if she’s said too much. “Tell me you’re not the owner and that the guy won’t get in trouble for letting us in.”

“I’m not the owner, but I’m friends with him.”

Neither of us has taken a seat yet, and after I speak, she steps closer, smiling. “Don’t tell him anything or we’ll lose our right to get in for free. I want to come more often.”

I don’t like hearing that. I want her, and now that I’ve decided to have her, the thought of her going out without me doesn’t sit well.

But what’s the alternative? I can’t control who she goes out with when she’s not with me. My relationships have always been free of strings. No demands, no clinginess—nonnegotiable.

Could I change that? Offer and require exclusivity for as long as she’s mine?

I look at that mouth still swollen from my kisses, those sensual lips I want to train to take my cock, and it only takes me a split second to decide:

Yes, I can give her temporary exclusivity.

“Whenever you want to go dancing, you’ll come with me.”

I watch her eyes widen in surprise—clearly a dozen questions come to mind.

I sit on the tall stool and pull her sideways onto my lap. I brush aside her thick red hair and inhale the scent at the curve of her neck and shoulder. “As long as you’re mine, I control you.”

I don’t know why the hell I just said that. Yes, I’m an arrogant bastard and a control freak in every other aspect of my life, but not when it comes to women. To control someone’s life, you need to be willing to forge ties, and that’s never interested me.

Taylor, however, makes me feel like a Neanderthal.

“No one controls me, Mr. Marshall.”

I catch her earlobe between my teeth. “You’re going to want my control.”

“No way. Actually, I have a plan for you,” she says with a slight slur in her voice, smiling.

“A plan?”

Usually, I don’t enjoy being around people who’ve been drinking, but I’m starting to accept the fact that I like being with her —whether she’s sober, drunk, feisty, or sweet as honey, like she is right now in my arms.

“Yes, and it’s a good one,” she murmurs, letting out a moan when I suck on the soft skin of her neck.

“Tell me about it.”

I need the distraction; I’m on the verge of sliding my hand up between her thighs right here and making her come, moaning my name.

She turns her head to look at me and cups my face in her hands. “I’m going to allow myself to have a little crush on you, William—but never love you.”