Empire of Desire by Rina Kent

From Debra to Nate to Dad. I want to forget that my father was searching for my mother and when he found her, he had a deadly accident.

Because abandoning me wasn’t enough, so she had to take Dad away from me, too.

Moisture gathers in my eyes and I wipe it away with the back of my hand. I’m grateful it’s dark enough in here that no one can see my weakness.

The darkness is soothing sometimes.

Tonight is to forget. That’s why I bought a slutty dress that’s too tight, barely covers my ass and shows half of my back, and then I drank more shots than I can remember.

But it’s like I’m floating in a different place than the dance floor. Yes, I’m in the midst of writhing bodies, upbeat music, and violet lights, but I’m not. I’m roaming inside that emptiness again, letting it fester and rot me to the bones.

Usually, I’m able to fill it, to somehow push it away by repeating the words hollow, empty, and void in my head. Not tonight, though. Tonight, it hurts so much that I’m unable to desensitize anything.

“Where’s Jane?” I ask Chris while Alex and I move to the rhythm of the music.

Even though I convinced her to put on a dress and come with us, she was anxious out of her mind because there are a lot of people here and she dislikes them more than I do on my empty days.

She refused to dance or drink or anything, just sat down with an energy drink in the corner of our booth, but she’s not there anymore.

“She probably left,” Chris shouts over the music. “It’s time you do, too, Gwen.”

“Why are you being sooo difficult?” I run my fingers under his chin.

“Yeah, dude.” Alex moves his hands up and down my side, feeling me up. “Chill.”

“Maybe we should teach him.” I grin and while I’m still swaying against Alex, I grab Chris by the cheeks and pull him close so that he’s glued to my front.

Then I rub my ass and stomach against their erections, feeling them get hard all at once. Grunts and groans fill my ears and I lick my lips, so intoxicated on the feeling of having them both so turned on by me.

“This isn’t you, Gwen,” Chris whispers in my ear, arousal evident in his tone.

I glide my breasts against his chest and my ass against Alex’s growing erection. “Maybe it is.”

We’re not dancing anymore. In a few seconds, the scene has turned into full on grinding, and I ride it out. I let the wave consume me because they want me, both of them, and if I let them, they’d have me at the same time.

But when I close my eyes, it’s not Chris and Alex who are engraved so deep into my soul that I see his face as if he were here.

There’s a frown there, a tension in his jaw because he doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like me grinding my body against two guys who aren’t him. So I do it harder, I take it to the next level until their hard-ons are poking against my dress, and they’re the only things I feel.

You hurt me first. This is what it feels like to be hurt, asshole.

It doesn’t matter that I want to believe those words, to believe that I could hurt him by giving myself away to someone else, because my body and soul and even my mind hate that idea.

And my heart. It’s currently clenching and squeezing and clawing at me to stop.

This isn’t what I want. These aren’t the hands that make me feel safe, like I could let go at any time and still wouldn’t crash to the ground.

“What the…”

I hear Alex’s dazed voice before that same strong hand I just thought about is wrapped around my wrist and I’m pulled out with a force that steals my breath.

Please don’t tell me my imagination is running wild enough to conjure something that isn’t real.

When I open my eyes, I gasp at the sight in front of me.

I’m pressed up against a body all right, but it’s neither Alex nor Chris. This one is harder, taller, broader, and so masculine, it should be a crime.

He should be a crime.

Because I’m always tempted to commit this particular crime, to take that step that will push me off the edge, even if I know that I will hit the ground at some point. Even if I’m sure it’d be the last step I’d take.

I guess that’s what criminals feel. They know they might get caught, that they’ll be punished, but they still go for it anyway. Because the crime is worth it.

And I’m staring at one right now. At my own crime, and that emptiness doesn’t feel as damning anymore, nor is it lethal. It’s just lurking in the background, unable to manifest into anything.

Nate had always had that effect on me. His presence is so sharp and imposing that it eats up any hollowness.

“Let her go.” It’s Alex who speaks, sounding drunker than me.

I’m not really focused on them, because my wrist is being held hostage by Nate, and my soft curves are glued to his hard muscles, and he’s glaring.

God, even the way he glares is hot. My thighs clench and my nipples harden, and it has nothing to do with the not-really-dancing I was just doing.

From my peripheral vision, I can see Chris shaking his head at Alex while rubbing the back of his neck.

Alex, however, steps toward us—or, more accurately, staggers. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m her husband. Put your hands on my wife again and I’ll break them.” And just like that, Nate pulls me behind him and pushes through the crowd.