Chapter 23 Chapter 23 New Years Eve
“What’s wrong with stripping?” one of the girls next to Jones scowls at me.
“Nothing, babe. I’m just way too lazy. I like to get my cardio in a different way.” I smile back at her, circling the couch and squeezing Sergey’s shoulder before sitting beside him again.
Alek bursts out laughing, Sergey chuckles under his breath, and the rest of the guys follow. My phone vibrates again. Sergey glances down at the screen.
“This is the twentieth time he’s called you today,” he says, irritation creeping into his voice. Vince has been blowing up my phone every day since Christmas, ever since I turned it back on. “Let me have it?”
I hand it over. Sergey answers without hesitation.
I sip my drink, listening as he tears into Vincent. “Stop fucking calling her, you greasy Italian fuck. If she wanted to be with you, she would call you!”
He hangs up and hands my phone back. I shut it off completely and slide it into my clutch. He leans in and kisses me before I excuse myself to find the restroom.
After a short wait, I’m inside the gold-and-ivory bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror.
Two more weeks.
That’s all I have left with him.
Then what? I already know the answer—heartbreak. I can see it coming from a mile away, and still, I’m walking straight into it. I should pull back. I should detach.
But I won’t.
I wash my hands, push my hair over my left shoulder, and take a deep breath before turning off the light and stepping out—
Right into something solid.
Not a wall.
Jones.
We collide and spin, tangled together in the empty hallway. When we finally stop, he braces one hand against the wall, the other settling on my lower back. He cages me in without even trying.
I look up slowly. His breathing is uneven, his hoodie half-unzipped, his chest rising and falling as his muscles tighten beneath smooth olive skin.
I have to fight the urge to touch him.
His eyes close as his hand slides from my hip, slowly tracing up the side of my body. I hold my breath as his fingers brush over my hardened nipples, then glide up to my collarbone. He pauses, then lifts my chin between his thumb and forefinger.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispers.
His eyes open, locking onto mine.
“Can I have your phone number?”
“Why do you want my number, Jones?”
“My name is Mason,” he corrects softly, his lips parting. “I want to take you out… after Sergey goes back home.”
I give it to him.
Why the fuck not?
He smiles, and something dark flashes in his eyes. His thumb drags along my bottom lip.
He’s dangerously good-looking. I’ve watched him fight—he’s brutal. That moment right before he knocks someone out, when his eyes light up—it does something to me.
Mason is big. Six-four, at least 280, all muscle. I can already imagine how soft his skin feels.
My lips part.
His thumb slips into my mouth.
Before I can even process it, I take it in fully, my tongue wrapping around it as I suck slowly.
I don’t break eye contact.
His chest starts rising faster, his breathing turning uneven. I give in, sliding my hand inside his hoodie, pressing it flat against his bare chest.
He’s burning.
My hand travels up, curling around the back of his neck, fingers drawing slow circles. A low sound escapes him—almost a moan.
He steps forward, pressing himself fully against me.
I feel all of him.
Growing. Hardening.
My body tightens, breath coming faster.
What wouldn’t I let this man do to me?
The world fades out—the music, the voices, everything disappears. It’s just us in the dim hallway.
I release his thumb, my lips parting as he pulls it free. His hand moves to the back of my neck, holding me there.
My hand slides back down his chest—
And then he jerks.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
It’s so subtle at first I don’t realize what’s happening—until he freezes completely.
His face turns red.
Bright red.
His expression shifts instantly—shock, then embarrassment, then something close to panic. He glances down at himself.
Oh my God.
He just came in his pants.
Our eyes meet, and he knows I know.
He pushes off the wall fast. “I’m sorry!” he blurts, already turning away, disappearing into a room across the hall.
I stand there for a second, collecting myself, then turn and walk back as quickly as I can without running.
Sergey is out on the balcony, leaning over the railing, looking down at the Strip.
I step into his arms.
His hugs are my favorite—warm, solid, grounding. His dress shirt crinkles against my chest as he pulls me in close.
I tell him everything.
I don’t lie anymore. I don’t hide things. That’s a rule now.
He listens, then smiles—and when I get to the part about Mason finishing in his pants, he actually laughs.
“He’s back out here,” Sergey says, glancing over my shoulder. “He changed his clothes.”
Sergey kisses my cheek, my jaw, my neck.
“Jones is watching us,” he murmurs against my skin.
“Then give him something to look at.”
Sergey’s hand slides down to my ass, squeezing hard. In one smooth motion, he turns me around so I’m facing Mason.
His arm wraps around my waist, his hand spreading across my stomach, then drifting upward between my breasts, brushing over them.
Mason is watching.
Still surrounded by girls, but not paying attention to any of them.
His chest rises and falls the same way it did in the hallway.
People start counting down.
Ten… nine… eight…
Mason’s eyes never leave mine.
Three… two… one—
Midnight. The fireworks explode across the sky, lighting everything up in bursts of color.
Sergey turns my face and kisses me.
“Did you give him your number?” he asks when he pulls back.
“I might have,” I say, smiling.