Page 213 of Satan's Spawn

I turn my head to face him, lowering my voice. “I’m not a baby, Crayton, I can answer for myself.”

He sucks air through his teeth. “Never said you were, Rebecca. In fact, wasn’t it you who tried the stupid pet name on me?”

I fix him with a modest grin. “What? I thought baby would be cute.”

From the corner of my eye, I catch Hendrix helping herself to a line when Riggs offers it to her, and Archer not-so-kindly declines.

The look he’s giving Riggs seems more hostile than usual. I mean there’s no love lost there, we all know that. What I don’t know iswhy.

A thought flickers in my mind, but is erased at once by Hendrix, who’s demanding I come dance with her in the house.

“Sorry,baby,” she mocks Crayton with a laugh, snatching the vodka from me as I take a sip. “But it’s girl time.”

Pulling me by the arm, I stumble behind her as she leads us through the house, all the way to the open living room where a DJ is playing some reggaeton.

Hendrix swipes two drinks off a server tray and hands me one before taking a sip of her own.

And then we’re dancing.

I can feel the heat of Crayton’s gaze behind us the entire time, in no way surprised by his inability to give us space.

What I am taken by is the guy I find standing next to him when I turn around. Saint looks as homicidal as Crayton does, fierce eyes glaring at any guy who gets within a foot of Hendrix.

It’s hysterical how obvious his jealousy is.

But what’s even funnier is Hendrix’s need to make him jealous.

The guys sit on a couch a few feet away as we get lost in the music, the three alcoholic drinks presenting the courage I need to really give it my all.

By “all” I mean whatever it takes to turn Crayton into a salivating dog. Not that it takes much these days.

Crayton’s legs are spread wide, elbow on the arm rest, his chin sitting firmly on his knuckle as he watches my every move.

The entire room slows down around him as our gazes align.

I swirl my hips, lowering myself as much as I can before rising with an arch of my back. Within seconds Hendrix is behind me, grinding and cheering me on like a typical girlfriend would do.

I keep up with the pretense, shaking my ass when Hendrix bends me over.

I don’t miss the tick of Crayton’s jaw as I run my hands up my body, all the way to my hair, and move my hips as seductively as possible.

None of the guys dare to look my way in fear of Crayton’s wrath, and the feeling is a vigorous one knowing I’m his and no one else’s.

But Hendrix on the other hand, she’s getting pulled in by Stevenson, who she’s become quite friendly with despite her push and pull with Saint.

Taking a long sip of my drink, I continue my show for Crayton, and when he beckons me with a curl of his finger, I make my way over to him, heart pounding with anticipation.

Saint is out of his seat heading straight for the dancers when I reach Crayton, and for a second I think a fight’s about to break out, but when I turn I find him grabbing Annalie, pulling her over to the nearest seat, demanding a lap dance.

“Let those two assholes figure their shit out.” Crayton’s gruff voice drags me back to our bubble, where I find his fiery gaze trailing down my body.

“Sit right here, Little Ghost.” He pats his thigh. “I want to feel that cute little ass of yours grinding against my cock.”

Crayton’s comments about my petiteness no longer feel like digs, in fact, they’ve become so much more like a turn on for him.

Like I’m something precious he needs to protect.

Most women strive to be as independent as possible from a man, but I’m more than content surrendering to his dominant role.