Savage Rhythm

By: Chloe Cox

Her eyes hardened.

“Are you going to pee on me next?” she said. “Mark your territory a little more?”

She could cut a lesser man down with that tone, that wit. Declan only grinned.

“I’m not into that, so no,” he said.

“I meant I’m not your damn property,” she said, a flush starting on her cheeks again. “I’m not some fucking groupie who will do whatever you want.”

Declan tensed. That word hit him hard: groupie. There was no way this little writer knew about it. He’d only told Adra, outside of the band, and he knew Adra wouldn’t screw him like that, even if she did think that Declan should come clean about what had happened in Philadelphia. No way in hell that was happening. He wasn’t going to do that to Bethany, “groupie” or no. Let the world think he was a violent drunk; it didn’t fucking matter. Especially not to Soren.

Damn it. That whole situation was still… He’d rather think about the woman in front of him.

“Good,” he said eventually. “Groupies write bad books.”

Molly Ward paused. She seemed conflicted. She looked like she wanted to fight him, but she also couldn’t stop biting on her lower lip. It was distracting as fuck. He loved that she was giving him shit, that it seemed her natural state was to be a ball buster, even while she’d automatically given him her name when he’d demanded it. The combination was damn sexy. And damn suggestive.

He wondered how well she’d respond to other commands.

“What are you doing here?” he asked suddenly. He’d thought they weren’t due to meet until the tour. He’d also thought the writer would be someone boring, not someone so evidently fuckable. “Did Adra tell you to come here?”

“No,” she said.

Then she lowered her eyes. There was something she wasn’t telling. It tweaked his Dom sense.

“Answer the question,” he demanded. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t order me around.”

Declan crossed his arms, though he was hiding a smile. This woman. Already, this woman. He couldn’t trust any of the women in his life to tell him to go to hell if he deserved it, except the women at Volare—and now this one. He hadn’t had a submissive in a fucking age because his fame tended to warp a woman’s perception of what she was actually comfortable with, and that made BDSM dangerous. He was aching to dominate a worthy sub. Felt it throb in every freaking nerve, every last capillary, every waking thought.

And now Molly Ward had showed up, beautifully responsive when he gave her an order, even if she didn’t want to admit it. A woman with natural submissive tendencies who vied for control. Fun.

She was trouble, no doubt, but fuck it.

“You’d love it,” he said softly.

Molly Ward blushed right up to the tips of her adorable little ears. Declan laughed.

“I’m here because I thought it would be a good idea to meet you before the tour,” she said hotly. “Get acquainted? Since we have this book to write.”

“You wanted to ambush me,” he countered. “You want me off balance for your interviews.”

Her mouth dropped open.

What he could do with that. Jesus.

“How did you…” Molly seemed to forget herself for a minute, just a minute, and the hint of her vulnerability pulled him in even further.

“I’m good with people,” he said. “And you’re not the first writer to get clever. So don’t bother lying to me, it’ll just piss both of us off. You feel like you have something to prove, coming here dressed like that, trying to surprise me at a private, personal event?”

“That’s awfully presumptuous of you,” she whispered.

Things seemed to have gotten quieter between them, more still. The party was still going on behind him, and Declan knew it was loud as hell on the dock, but somehow he wasn’t focused on anything but Molly Ward. Focused so much that he could hear her whisper into the freaking wind.

“But I’m right,” he said.

She was staring right back at him. Goddamn.

“So what if you are?” she said finally. “You’re obviously kind of blunt, right? You like it when people are direct?”