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Episode 12

"No."

I huffed in annoyance, before disappearing back into the fitting room. I've tried on nearly thirty dresses, Tristan shaking his head in disapproval at every one.

I wanted to show skin.

He didn't.

I don't understand why he won't just let me wear what I want. It's not like I'm going to this club alone. And it shouldn't even matter anyway, because as I've said many times before- I don't belong to him.

Peeling off the halter top dress, I tossed it in the pile of other dresses Tristan had refused.

Exhausted, frustrated, and just wanting to get back to the house so I can be with my baby, I decided to just pick out the dress I liked and put it back on.

I stared at myself in the mirror, a smile of approval making its way onto my lips.

There was physical evidence that my body had changed after having my son. My hips were wider, breasts slightly droopier, and I'd gained a little bit of weight around my stomach area.

But even with my insecurities, I still felt beautiful.

I ran my hands down the gold sequined material, making note of the plunging neckline and the fact that there's a slit on the right side even though the dress stops just above my knees.

I turned around, glancing over my shoulder to eye my bare back and admire how plump my ass looked.

Tristan hated this dress. And it wasn't because I didn't look good, but because I looked too good.

He should feel damn lucky to have such a sexy woman like me on his arm. Especially after I had to endure nine months of morning sickness, swollen feet, sleepless nights, cravings, stretch marks, and the uncomfortable weight of his son pushing on my bladder.

I haven't even had a fun night out since he was born. I'm a mother twenty-four seven. When I'm not taking care of my son, I'm working. And when I'm not working to provide for him, I'm making sure I've done everything a mother should for their child.

So I need this.

I really need this.

It's not easy being a mother. That s**t is hard. Especially when you're doing it alone. So when I'm given the chance to have a break, even if it is for a minute- I'm going to take it.

And besides, what better way to showcase my sexy mom bod than at a nightclub?

Walking back out of the fitting room, Tristan, who is sitting sexily manspread across the cream colored chesterfield love seat, looks up from his phone.

Recognition flashes in his eyes, the frown he's been wearing since I started giving him this little fashion show making a reappearance.

He shifted in his seat, having to lift his hips to adjust what I'm sure is an erection straining against his dark blue slacks.

Turning all the way around to give him a full view of me in the dress, I feel his eyes slowly rake over my body.

He waves me off as if I were merely a pestering fly, his attention back on his phone.

Walking up to him, I snatch his phone out of his hands. I receive no reaction. Just a face of boredom as he slowly looks up at me.

"I'm wearing this dress and you can't stop me," I declare, looking him dead in his eyes.

"Okay," is all he says, before taking his phone back and to continue doing whatever it was he was doing on the smart device.

Well that was easy.

Maybe a little too easy.

****

Entering into the nightclub known as Fallen felt like walking into a den of lions. Like I was a cornered gazelle waiting to be devoured by a pride of hungry lions.

I didn't know if it was because of my attire or the fact that I was with Tristan, but it seemed like all eyes were on me.

There were a ton of beautiful strippers either dancing, entertaining a customer, or simply walking around the club in their sexy lingerie and stiletto heels.

And yet, I was the one who had their attention. It felt good to be acknowledged.

Tristan, of course, didn't like that I was drawing in so much attention, especially from other men. So he made sure everyone could see the polished and loaded black handgun in the waistband of his suit pants.

I've never seen a crowd of people look away so quick.

I rolled my eyes, annoyed by how possessive and overprotective he was being. One of the men still bold enough to publicly check me out even after seeing Tristan's gun, watched as he wrapped his arm securely around my waist and pulled me into his side.

Making our way up to the second floor using the elevators, we stepped out into the VIP section.

There was a bar and more booths for people to make themselves comfortable in. I noticed the entrance to a hallway that lead to a world of mysteries.

My eyes floated over to the balcony overlooking the crowd of club goers dancing, drinking, and grinding on the floor we were just on.

I didn't realize Tristan had been conversing with someone until I heard a woman's nasally voice.

I looked over to see a beautiful blonde haired woman dressed in a dark blue lingerie set with a garter belt and heels to match.

She batted her lashes, eyes as blue as her attire seductively eye f*****g him. She didn't acknowledge my presence once as she ran her long painted talons down the length of his arm.

"Tristan, 'The Lion' has finally returned." Her tongue flitted out to lick her matte red lips as she pressed her large, round breasts up against him.

Tristan glared down at her hand, to in which the woman quickly snatched her hand away. "I'm not here for you, Megan."

The woman frowned, backing away. "It's Melissa."

"I don't care. Your name wasn't worth remembering then, and it sure as hell isn't worth a damn now."

The woman known as Melissa stared up at Tristan, caught off guard by his hurtful words.

Tugging me along, Melissa stood with her mouth agape, her dark blue eyes finally taking in my presence as if just realizing I was there.

Proceeding to escort me through the VIP section of the club, I glanced back at Melissa once more. "Who was she?"

"I used to f**k her. Now I don't," he replied vaguely.

As we passed by a crowd of people dancing and a few occupied booths, another beautiful woman in lingerie walked past us.

She waved at Tristan, before winking and blowing him a kiss. "Hey, baby."

He ignored her.

I couldn't. "I suppose you f****d her as well?"

I shouldn't have been feeling the way I was considering Tristan wasn't mine. And it would be such a hypocrite thing to do anyway.

But even as I tried to hide my feelings of slight jealousy and anger, Tristan still saw right through me.

"Is that a hint of jealousy I hear in your tone?" He paused to smirk at me, his hand still resting on the small of my back.

"N-No. Jealousy would require me to care. And I don't... care about you."

He just stared, unconvinced of my claim. I didn't blame him. Even I didn't believe the words that came out of my mouth.

Tristan led me over to a table where two men sat waiting. They didn't look familiar at all, but they both screamed Mafia.

One, who was much older than the other lacked any and all emotion. His eyes were dark brown and soulless, his black Armani tailored to fit his broad shoulders. He looked good for a guy his age.

I looked over at the younger guy, who didn't look that much older than Tristan and I. His brown hair was blonde at the tips, his honey brown eyes kind, and his charming smile to die for. He lifted the glass of scotch to his lips, grinning at me when he saw me.

Quickly looking away as I felt a blush threaten to paint my deep olive skin, I focused my attention on the types of people occupying this secluded portion of the club.

I spotted a few celebrities, the location filled to the brim with high status people as they drank expensive beverages, danced, and mingled with people as equally important as they were.

There was a bar, as well as strippers. Only they were all dressed in the same outfit. A leather two piece with fishnet stockings, thigh high boots, and a black mask that only covered their eyes.

I looked away when the warmth and comfort of Tristan's hand disappeared, an unwelcoming chill taking its place.

Tristan glared at me through a pair of hooded lashes, his eyes filled with warning.

I knew what that look meant. Being so close in proximity, which wasn't my choice of course, has given me further insight into how to better read and understand him.

And that look was clear.

If I try to run he will come after me. Which means I shouldn't even try unless I want to face the consequences.

I watched as Tristan took a seat at the booth, the two men still watching me closely. They were probably trying to figure out who I was. Their gaze shifted to Tristan, the three men beginning to conserve in Italian.

The realization that Tristan, nor the suffocating presence of his men supervising my every move were around hit me only after I walked over to the bar to order myself a drink.

Thanking the bartender, I tossed back the alcoholic drink, the burning liquid causing me to crinkle my nose in discomfort as it traveled down my throat.

After ordering drink after drink, it wasn't long before I was drunk and having the time of my life dancing with the stranger I caught checking me out earlier.

When did he get here?

I remember seeing him on the first floor. He didn't look or seem that important. He just looked like every other New Yorker. Maybe he's some hotshot Lawyer or something.

When he started getting a little too handsy, I tried and failed to push the stranger away. "I don't think... you should t-touch me," I stammered drunkenly. "My baby daddy w-won't be very happy."

He kissed my neck, ignoring my warning. "I'm not afraid of your Mafia boyfriend," he mumbled into my neck.

"You should be," I replied, escaping his grasp.

"He's not a Lion!" He shouted, thankfully not chasing after me. "He's nothing but a p***y cat!"

I paid him no mind, too drunk to listen to whatever irrelevant bullshit he was spewing. Suddenly feeling hot and bothered, I began to wander back over to the booth.

I was horny, and the only one who could help rid me of this excruciating ache in between my thighs was Tristan.