Daniel Garrett: They Took Her From Me

About a year ago... The bass was pounding through the club, a deep, rhythmic pulse that seemed to reverberate in my chest, syncing with the rapid beat of my heart. The lights flashed in time with the music, dazzling bursts of neon that painted the dance floor in shifting hues of red, blue, and green. My breath came in short, quick gasps, slightly labored from both the heat of the club and the energy surging through my body. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on my skin, catching the flashing lights as I rolled my hips to the beat, losing myself in the music. My dress—if you could even call it that—clung to every curve like a second skin, molding to my body as though it had been made for me and me alone. It moved with me, sliding and shifting with my every motion, so much so that it felt like I was wearing nothing at all. The fabric, silky and barely-there, was a deep shade of crimson that caught the light in a way that made me feel both invincible and exposed at the same time. My blonde hair, still slightly wavy from the braid I had taken out earlier, cascaded freely around me, brushing against my bare shoulders as I moved. And, of course, I was wearing my newest obsession—those Jimmy Choos Lydia had gifted me the last time we went shopping. Sleek, silver, and dangerously high, they made my legs look impossibly long and added an extra layer of confidence to my movements. Every step, every shift of my weight, made me feel powerful, like I owned the damn floor. It was payday. And after a long week, I needed two things: a good buzz and a good orgasm. The first had already been taken care of—several shots and a strong cocktail had left my limbs loose, my mind delightfully hazy, and my inhibitions practically nonexistent. The alcohol sent a warm hum through my veins, making me bolder, more reckless, more willing to let go completely. The second, however, was proving to be more difficult to come by. I’d been scanning the crowd, sizing up my options, but nothing was sticking. The men here were attractive enough, sure—but there was something... lacking. Maybe it was their eagerness, the way they stared at my body with single-minded hunger, not even bothering to disguise the fact that they saw me as nothing more than an opportunity. It wasn’t that I minded the attention—hell, I thrived on it—but tonight, I needed something more. I could always go home and let one of my vibrators do the job. But there was something about feeling a man’s body against mine, about the weight of him, the heat, the strength—it just made it all the better. The tempo of the music picked up, the bassline thrumming through my bones, and I moved faster to match it, letting the rhythm dictate my body’s movements. My arms moved, my hands sliding down my sides, my fingers grazing my thighs before moving back up again. The air was thick with heat, with sweat, with the collective energy of everyone on the dance floor, and I drank it in, reveling in it. Lydia never came out with me like this. She was more of a Howling Duck kind of woman—shady bars with cheap whiskey and leather booths. And that was fine for her, really. But I needed this. I needed the music, the movement, the raw, unfiltered rush of it all. I knew exactly why the men here were looking at me. It wasn’t a mystery. They weren’t interested in my thoughts, my ambitions, or the tangled mess of ideas constantly swirling in my mind. No, they were looking at my body—at my breasts barely contained by the plunging neckline, at the curve of my hips, at the way my dress rode up ever so slightly with each movement. And yet, strangely, that knowledge made me feel powerful. Like it didn’t matter who I was, what I did, or what I had to offer beyond this moment. I could be the smartest person in the room or the absolute dumbest—it wouldn’t change a thing. I had control. I was the one calling the shots. A pair of hands found my hips, strong and sure, fingers pressing firmly into my skin as a hard chest pressed up against my back. The heat of him seeped into me instantly, his breath hot against my neck as he moved with me, his body aligning perfectly with mine. Whoever he was, he was definitely strong. The kind of strong that suggested he could throw me around a little—and I did love that. I let him move against me for a few moments, testing, feeling. But then, curiosity got the better of me. I needed to know if he could be a candidate. If he was worth my time. I turned around, my hands sliding up his arms as I did, and the second my gaze landed on him—on the reddish hair, the brown eyes, the crooked smile—I felt my stomach drop. He looked exactly like him. No. Not happening. Not after everything he had put me through. Not even if he just looked like him, I just couldn't do it. “Thirsty!” I yelled over the music, pointing toward the bar before slipping away from him without another glance. There was no reason to play games, to lead him on, to pretend like he had a chance. Because he didn’t. Not in a million years. And, honestly? The only one I really wanted tonight was one of the security guys standing by the door. God, I loved a man in uniform. There was just something about it—about those tight black T-shirts that clung to sculpted muscles, about the cargo pants held up by sturdy belts loaded with security gear. The way their earpieces curled around their ears, the way they stood with quiet authority, surveying the room like they owned it. Every single one of them had the same bold white logo stamped across their backs: Garrett Security. I leaned against the bar, casually glancing over at one of the bouncers. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with shortly trimmed blonde hair and eyes that scanned the crowd with sharp precision. He looked like he was on a mission, like he was searching for someone—or something. Maybe he was just making sure things stayed in order. Maybe he was just doing his job. But the way he carried himself—the sheer presence of him—made my skin tingle. Yummy. “What can I get for you?” The bartender’s voice cut through my thoughts, and when I turned back to him, I found him grinning at me, his eyes shamelessly locked onto my cleavage. I smiled right back. A free drink is a free drink, after all. “A strawberry mojito!” I called over the music. He nodded, his gaze lingering a second longer than necessary before he turned to start mixing my drink. I turned my attention back to the bouncer, but before I could fully refocus on him, something else caught my eye. Something—or someone—far more intriguing. Something that made my stomach clench and my pulse stutter. Something that made everything else fade into the background. Holy. s**t. He was staring right at me, his eyes locked on mine as if the moment he blinked, I would disappear into thin air. There was an intensity in his gaze that sent a thrill down my spine, a weight behind it that made it impossible to ignore. He looked broody, delicious, and almost dangerous—like every bad decision I had ever wanted to make wrapped up in one impossibly alluring package. He was older. Not old-old, but old enough that it seemed out of place for him to be here, standing among a crowd of men who were obviously younger, less experienced. It was as if they had dragged him out tonight, maybe as a joke, maybe as an attempt to loosen him up. But he didn’t look like the kind of man who let others dictate his choices. No, he looked like he had been coaxed into coming but had stayed because he wanted to. Because something—or someone—had caught his interest. His hair was cut short, a precise buzz that only made him seem more intimidating, sharpening the edges of his already severe features. His jawline was so sharp it could cut through stone, a striking contrast to the deep-set, brooding eyes that practically pinned me in place. His thick brows framed them perfectly—not too heavy, not too sculpted, just enough to make him look like he was constantly assessing, constantly watching. I was still caught in his gaze when the bartender’s voice pulled me from my trance. “There you go!” I blinked, refocusing just in time to see my drink set in front of me, condensation already forming on the glass. “Thank you,” I said, offering a half-hearted smile, trying to seem flirtatious, but I could feel how weak the effort was. My mind was elsewhere, still tangled up in him, still locked onto the man whose stare had managed to unravel me without a single word. “It’ll be—” The bartender started to name the price, but before he could finish, a crisp fifty-dollar bill appeared beside me, sliding smoothly across the bar top. I turned my head, craning my neck to see who had just paid for my drink, and—holy hell. Up close, he was even taller. Towering, massive. It was like standing next to a bear—a very well-dressed, ridiculously attractive bear. The sheer size of him was overwhelming, his broad shoulders and thick arms making me feel inexplicably small. But it was his eyes that held me captive. They were an almost unnatural shade of gray, so cold they seemed metallic, a color I had never seen before in real life. They were sharp, unwavering, locked entirely on me. “Thank you,” I mouthed up at him, suddenly aware that yelling over the music would ruin the moment. His eyes darkened slightly, but they never wavered. “My pleasure,” he mouthed back. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t break the connection, no matter how much my brain screamed at me to be careful. He was magnetic, pulling me in without effort, making it feel like the room had shrunk until it was just the two of us. Then he leaned down, moving in close—so close that I could feel his breath against my skin, warm and teasing. “That’s some piece of fabric,” he rasped, voice deliciously gravelly, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. I swallowed, the heat between us intensifying. My arm moved instinctively, slipping around his neck to keep him close, to make sure he didn’t move away before I had the chance to respond. “You should see it on my bedroom floor,” I murmured, letting my lips brush the shell of his ear just slightly. His hands, already gripping my hips, tightened. So f*****g big. Everything about this man was huge—his hands, his frame, his presence. And if the rest of him matched? Well, I definitely wouldn’t be complaining. “We wouldn’t get that far,” he promised, his hand sliding across my lower back, fingers splaying wide as he pressed me closer, aligning my body with his. His words sent a pulse of heat straight through me. “I have a car waiting outside,” he added, his tone dripping with something dark and wicked. “Then we should probably use it,” I shot back, unwilling to let this moment slip away. I knew I was playing with fire, knew that this man wasn’t the kind I could just forget about after one night. But right now, all I cared about was the fact that he looked like the best possible mistake. “You sure?” he asked, almost like he hadn’t expected me to say yes. I smirked, tilting my head as I leaned in. “You afraid you can’t deliver?” His reaction was instant. He chuckled. And it wasn’t just any laugh. It was low, velvety, sinfully smooth. The kind of sound that seeped into my skin and wrapped itself around my bones, making my pulse stutter and my stomach flip. The hairs on my arms stood up, my breath hitched, and my core clenched in response. “Don’t worry, princess,” he murmured, his voice like a caress, “once I’m done with you, you won’t even know your own name.” The words sent a rush of heat through me, but I forced myself to meet his gaze, my expression firm. “I’m not a princess,” I corrected, tilting my chin up. “I’m a f*****g queen.” He hummed in response, a deep, appreciative sound that made my knees weak. “Then let me get on my knees for you, my queen.” I nearly moaned. Nearly. Hearing a man like him say something so utterly unhinged, so perfectly dirty, was exactly the kind of thing that made my body ache for more. But then reality crashed over me like ice water. I couldn’t let this happen. I couldn’t let my heart run away with me again. If I was going to do this, if I was going to let this man touch me, consume me, then I needed to set boundaries. Rules. Barriers so extreme that there was no chance of him ever doing anything more than giving me exactly what I wanted. “You can take me home,” I muttered, pressing my body firmly against his. “But can you make me forget my name on the way home?” His arms flexed, tightening their hold on me. “I’ll do my best.” “No names,” I whispered, “no kissing. No afterwards. Do you understand?” He went still for a moment, as if my words had surprised him. His breathing slowed, his grip on my hips tightening almost imperceptibly. Then, finally, he exhaled, the tension in his body shifting. “I understand,” he said. And with that, he moved. His hand slid to the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd with effortless control. People stepped aside for him instinctively, as if they could sense he was not the kind of man you got in the way of. I let him lead me, head held high, soaking in the attention, reveling in the power of knowing that tonight—just tonight—this man was mine.