Wicked Company

Chapter Thirty

"Seriously? It's been an hour! How long does it take you to get-" Tucker slammed to a halt in the doorway, "ready... holy fuck."

I smoothed out a stray curl and turned to him, eyeing the sight of his black jeans and seemingly signature white top. Stepping forward, I let his arms circle me and leaned into him, tracing the artwork peeking from the bottom of his sleeve with my fingertips.

He shivered under my touch. "Barbie, that outfit is... no. Please don't wear that tonight."

I frowned and pushed him away, instantly pissed. "Excuse me? You're not going to fucking tell me what I can and can't-"

He laughed, kissing me to cut me off. "Not what I meant. I know goddamn well better than to tell you what to wear and not wear, baby. I don't care much for another wrench at my head. But that skimpy little skirt and low cut top? Fuck, your tits are goddamn perfect. You're killing me here." He pulled me closer, closing the distance I'd put between us a second ago. He lowered his head, trailing his lips down my neck. "How am I supposed to dance and have fun with you when all I want to do is throw you over my shoulder, carry you somewhere private, and fuck the living hell out of you?"

He pressed his hips tighter against mine, proving his point at the erection he was already sporting just seeing me.

"You know," my lips curved into a smile at the marking red lipgloss line I left on his shoulder and neck, leading up to the base of his beard, "that doesn't sound like a bad idea. Maybe that was my plan all along."

I stepped away and made my way to the front door, smirking when he groaned at the sight of my ass in my leather skirt and heeled black boots. With a bellybutton-low top hugging perfectly to my curves and bra-less tits, and my favorite leather jacket to top it off, I felt sexy as hell, especially knowing his eyes were glued to me as I walked away.

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"You said you'd dance with me!" I pouted obnoxiously, hoping he'd finally give in and let me pull him up from the padded bench we sat on in the back corner of the club.

"I need one more drink first," he grumbled, waving the closest waiter over.

"What can I get for-" the waiter's eyes bugged out of his head when they landed on my cleavage and traveled down my legs, lingering too long on the top of my thighs that my skirt clung tightly to, "damn! Hey, how are you? You new around here? I've never seen you here before."

Before I could answer, a familiar, large tattooed hand curled into the wrinkled collar of the white button down sloppily worn by the young worker.

I rolled my eyes. "Tucker, let him go. I can handle myself."

I tried to sound sincere, but while I wasn't lying about taking care of myself, I would be if I said the jealousy pouring from him over me wasn't the sexiest thing I'd ever seen.

"You come over here, you take the pretty lady's drink order, you fill that order, and then you waddle off to the next table. Got it?"

"Um, y-yeah. I-" the waiter tripped over his own words, but his gaze stayed locked on my body.

"And where on that list did you fucking hear me say to undress her with your perverted little thoughts?"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry."

"Run. And don't fucking look back, because if you do, I'll be the one fucking chasing your ass, you little fucking shit."

Tucker let the man go and sat back down, but I frowned slightly, wondering why that line seemed so familiar.