Beg For Mercy

Chapter 3: Lyra

What a cocky asshole. Joke's on him if he thinks he's going to 'tame' me.

Refusing to let Wren get to me, I allow my body to take over my mind, moving rhythmically to the pounding beat of the music. Lex catches my eye, grinning at me as she grinds against Tyler's front. I wink and slide my hands into my hair, my head falling back as I close my eyes, letting the music flow through me.

I can feel Wren's gaze on me, but I purposely avoid it, turning my attention to the cute brunette eyeing me up from across the dance floor. When our eyes connect, he smiles at me and waves before heading in my direction.

Eager for a distraction from the pompous Scotsman eye-fucking me, I smile back at the handsome stranger, only for him to frown and change direction, heading for the bar instead of me.

What the hell?

Seconds later, hands grip my hips from behind, pulling my backside up against the front of a man's body. Goosebumps pebble along my skin when warm breath caresses my ear.

"Guess who?" I don't have to think too hard. The sexy edge of a Scottish accent gives him away almost as easily as his arrogant aura. "Do you know how badly I want to bend you over and fuck you right here in this bar?"

Wren grinds against my ass, his pants barely containing his obvious erection. My breath catches at the contact, and wetness spills into my panties against my will. Shit. I need to get myself together. I will not allow him to take control of my body like this.

"You always this forward with women you don't know?" I snap, pissed off at how my body is responding to him.

"Just this one particularly interesting woman, actually..." He trails off. Big surprise; he's a smooth talker too. Taking him down a notch or two should be fun.

Ready to play him at his own game, I slide my hands over his and slowly spin myself around to face him with every intention of telling him off. Only, that's not what happens, because when we come face-to-face my treacherous body betrays me, speaking a truth I don't want to admit while my mind is busy lying.

I don't want to feel like this, but damn. His mouth only inches from mine is forcing my body to silence my mind before I can even think. Unable to control myself, I touch my lips to his softly, testing the waters. Maybe he'll be a terrible kisser and I can leave no worse off.

He growls under his breath and roughly fists my hair in one hand, tilting my head back to give him full access. Our mouths crash full force, gentle be damned, and Wren runs his tongue along the seam of my lips, impatiently waiting for permission. My mind screams no, but my body deceives me again, allowing my lips to part.

The first touch of his tongue to mine is earth-shattering. I swear he could make me climax from his kiss alone. I moan softly, melting like butter in his hands. He tugs my hair, breaking our kiss, but not before he catches my lip between his teeth as he's pulling away. Okay. So definitely not a terrible kisser.

"Fuck." I groan, both with pleasure and contempt.

The triumphant look in his eyes irritates and turns me on at the same time. I want to slap that smug look off his face while simultaneously fucking him right here, in the middle of this dance floor.

A flash of something primal sparks in his eyes. "Fuck, indeed."

~*~

"I need a drink." I blurt, rushing off without giving him a chance to respond. I need to collect myself; get some distance between us.

When I get back to the booth, I spot the half bottle of scotch still sitting on the table. I don't even bother with a glass and take a swig right from the bottle. The burn of the liquor sliding down my throat grants me a moment of distraction from my erratic thoughts.