Re: VIP Area
It was likely exceptionally unhealthy, the sheer amount of heat that suffused her when his tone went dark and threatening, jealous, and it went a long way toward chasing away the remaining fear of Alexander that was constantly wound around her lately, like a blanket carved from a bad memory that just wouldn't abate. There was no hiding it when he turned back, that reaction, and her gaze dropped to his lips before slipping back up to meet his eyes.
Even as drunk and medicated as she was, she couldn't miss the clarity in his eyes, that confession of not knowing, and her fingers slid down between fabric and skin and rested over the steady beat of his heart. She watched the progress of her hand, noticing the trembling of her fingers like she was watching someone not herself, and his statement that nothing was stopping him drew her attention back up to his face. Her own confusion was stark on her features, not understanding, though she knew it had to do with more than princes and sweeping her off her feet. More than just tonight and this drunken haze that made it easier to feel without all the hurt and thinking.
His hands on her thighs made her eyes drift shut, lashes fanning against her cheeks for a moment as he pushed himself up and pulled her down. The hoarse sound of his voice, the tone, the feeling, it made her shudder in his arms, and she let her soft cheek brush along his jaw. She breathed against his lips, her breath whiskey and champagne and heat and promise. She didn't tell him that touching her would only complicate things, because she was pretty sure they were already as complicated as two people could be. And maybe nobody understood, maybe nobody could, but none of that complication changed anything for her. It layered on hurt, but it didn't take away from how she felt about him - sober or not sober.
Her fingers slid from beneath his shirt, and she scooted back toward the end of the table. The catcalls got louder, and the woman with the fruity drink anticipated victory, expecting this to be a retreat. But Wren just slipped her heels back on and, after a look that could only be described as come hither, she backed up through the crowd, moving deeper into the privacy of the VIP area, until she found the ledge that overlooked the Vegas lights. She pressed back against it, the stone cold and hard against her bare back, music blaring, angry and loud as she watched and waited for him, her fingers digging into the stone at her hips.