AT YOUR SERVICE MADAM

Chapter 5- Let's Have Fun

The night had started like any other—cheap whiskey, bad lighting, and me trying to forget how damn complicated life had become. But tonight, there was her.

Avela.

She sat across from me, her hair a little messy, her lipstick smudged at the corners, her eyes glazed from too many drinks—but even then, she still looked so damn breathtaking. When she spoke, her voice was soft but sharp enough to leave a mark.

And then she said it—let’s do it.

The deal. The game. The war she wanted to start.

I thought I was ready for it. I wasn’t.

Now, she was drunk beyond reason, pulling a sleek little business card from her purse. Her fingers trembled as she held it out to me.

“Here,” she slurred, the words dragging. “You’ll need this if we’re gonna… whatever this is.”

Her hand wobbled, and she giggled, doing a clumsy little call me gesture with her pinky and thumb. The sound of her laugh was broken—sweet, bitter, and filled with pain she couldn’t hide.

I took the card before it fell. “Easy there, boss,” I murmured, trying not to smile.

She tried to stand up then, her heels scraping against the floor, but her knees gave out. The next thing I knew, she stumbled right into me.

“Whoa, hey—easy,” I said, my hands automatically going to her arms to steady her.

But she didn’t stop.

Her balance tipped forward again, and before I could react, she fell—right onto my lap, straddling me.

And just like that, my body went still.

Her weight pressed against me, soft in all the right places, her perfume sinking into my skin—sweet and expensive and entirely hers. My breath hitched before I could stop it.

She chuckled, the sound low and a little broken. “You’re… warm,” she murmured, her words brushing against my throat like a confession.

Her hands braced on my shoulders, and I could feel the tremor in her fingers. I wanted to tell her to stop. To get up. To not do this.

But she looked at me then—really looked.

Her eyes, glassy and red, carried more than just the haze of alcohol. Beneath it was pain—raw and deep—the kind that settled in someone’s bones. The kind you couldn’t drown, no matter how much you drank.

“My God,” she whispered, blinking fast. “Am I ugly?”

The question hit me like a punch to the gut.

“What?” I asked quietly.

She bit her lip, her voice small, trembling. “Am I not pretty enough? Do you think I’m… old?” Her words cracked mid-sentence, a single tear spilling down her cheek before she laughed softly, like she was embarrassed to even ask.

I felt something twist in my chest.

“No,” I said firmly, reaching up to brush that tear away with my thumb. Her skin was soft beneath my touch, warm despite the cold around us. “You’re not ugly, Avela. You’re the most beautiful, smartest damn woman I’ve ever seen.”

She blinked, her lashes wet. “But Cameron said—”

“Don’t,” I cut her off, sharper than I meant to. “Don’t ever repeat what that bastard said. It doesn’t matter. You hear me? He doesn’t get to decide who you are.”

Her mouth parted, her breath catching. “You sound… so smart right now,” she murmured with a shaky smile.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed softly. “I am smart.”

That made her giggle—a sound that was both sweet and painful to hear because it wasn’t real. It was a sound she used to hide the hurt.

Then she shifted.

And I cursed under my breath.

Because the moment she moved, her hips pressed right down on me. My muscles locked tight, heat shooting through my veins so fast it made my breath stutter.

Jesus.

“Alright,” I muttered, gripping her waist gently, trying to move her back. “I think it’s time to go home.”

Her expression darkened, the laughter fading from her eyes. “Home?” she scoffed, her voice bitter. “You mean my home? Where Cameron and Sofia are probably still in my bed?”

I went still.

Her words burned in the air between us, thick and sharp like smoke.

I didn’t know what to say. No words could fix that kind of pain.

Then she looked at me again, her gaze suddenly different—intense. Searching.

“You’re very handsome,” she whispered suddenly.

“Avela—”

“This chest,” she went on, her hand landing right over my shirt, palm flat against me. “So strong.” Her fingers spread slowly, tracing down the open part of my collar.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. My pulse thundered in my ears.

Her touch was light, teasing, innocent in movement but sinful in effect. She didn’t even know what she was doing to me—or maybe she did.

I caught her wrist, holding it still. “Avela,” I said through gritted teeth, “you’re drunk.”

She shook her head, her hair falling around her face, her eyes shining like broken glass. “No,” she murmured, voice trembling, “if Cameron gets to have fun, then I should too.”

“Avela—”

“I want to have fun,” she cut in softly, leaning closer until I could feel her breath against my jaw. “With you.”

Her words wrapped around me, soft and deadly.

I froze.

Every muscle in my body screamed to move her, to stop this, to be the sane one between us. But my self-control was hanging by a thread.

This woman was breaking right in front of me, and I didn’t know whether to catch her or let her fall.

Her fingers slid up again, tracing the edge of my shirt, brushing over my skin where it was open. The touch burned.

She tilted her head, her voice barely a whisper. “Why do you look so angry, Lucas?”

I forced a breath. “Because you deserve better than this,” I said roughly. “Better than him. Better than the way you’re treating yourself right now.”

Her lips curved slightly. “You sound like you care.”

I did. More than I should.

Her hand moved again, fingertips brushing the place where my heart was pounding. “You’re shaking,” she whispered.

“So are you,” I said.

For a moment, we just sat there—two broken people holding on to the wrong kind of comfort.

Her gaze dropped to my mouth. My body tensed. I could feel the heat rolling off her, smell the faint sweetness of her perfume mixed with whiskey.

“Lucas,” she whispered.

My name on her lips did something to me.

I clenched my jaw, fighting every damn instinct screaming in my head. I wanted her—God, I wanted her—but not like this. Not when she was this lost.

“You need to rest,” I said, my voice strained.

She didn’t listen. She leaned closer, her nose brushing mine. “You smell good,” she murmured, giggling softly, and I swear I almost lost it.

“Avela, please,” I said, my voice barely holding together.

She tilted her head, her eyes glassy, her lips so close I could feel the warmth of her breath. “Please what?”

I shut my eyes for a second, trying to find the strength not to ruin everything right here.

Her thumb brushed against my bottom lip. “You’re really fighting it, huh?”

I opened my eyes, meeting hers—wild, hurt, and beautiful in a way that made my chest ache. “You have no idea,” I said quietly.

For a long heartbeat, we just stared at each other. The air felt heavy, thick with something neither of us wanted to name.

Then she whispered, “Let’s have fun, Lucas.”

Her words slipped into me like a match against dry wood.

And just like that, everything I’d been holding back started to burn.