2. You're Mine

She didn't resist when he walked her farther away from the building, his arms around her waist. Instead she missed the feel of his mouth on hers. 

Channing guided her around the building with his heart pounding, his blood rushing. Every cell of his body was screaming for him to grab her. To take her. To have her. Right there. He turned the corner into the alley and finally alone, dug his fingers into her hair and ground his mouth on hers, again, desperately, taking what he wanted, what he needed. 

With a growl that sent his pulse spiking, she grabbed the lapels of his coat and yanked her drunken self higher, meeting his mouth with a desperation of her own. 'Damn,' she muttered between kisses. 

He didn't answer, he only devoured her mouth. His palms traced down the back of her dress, hesitating only for a moment before sliding up under it. He groaned and flexed his fingers in anticipation and then filled his palms with her soft cheeks. 

Her body jerked against him, her arms coming around his neck, one leg bending so that her thigh rubbed against his as she struggled to get closer. She had long thrown all rational thoughts away when he kissed her again, she just knew she wanted him now. She wished they were anywhere but here. It was too public. He squeezed her and she moaned. 

Fuck the public. 

He nipped and licked at her throat as he grind his body against her. He could have her. Here. Now. 

Her hands slicked up his chest and tugged at the buttons until she encountered bare skin, rubbing it all over while her mouth ate at his. 

Her wet heat beckoned to him. He could smell her, wanted to taste her. Needed to have her. You're mine. Mine. 

He plunged two fingers up into her and she went rigid, arching back with a strangled cry of pleasure that fired his blood. 

'I want you,' he growled, 'now.' 

'Yes.' She wanted him too, couldn't wait for him to fill her. 'Now, do it now.' 

He backed her against the wall, yanking her higher against him, groaning when she hoisted both legs, encircling his waist. 

She held his gaze, hers molten. She didn't look drunk anymore. 'Just do it.' She mouthed. 

His control snapped and so did her panties when he ripped it. He hastily freed himself and plunged hard and deep, groaning as she tightened around him. 'Oh my God.' He plunged again, harder, faster and unable to stop. 'Taissa.' She was incredibly tight, like a virgin. 

Her nails dug into his shoulders and she thrust against him, unrestrained. Then she arched back with a strangled cry, her body going rigid as she came, hard. She was beautiful. Intensely, widely beautiful. 

He plunged a final time, letting himself follow. 

He rested his forehead against the wall and stayed like that for a while in silence except for his uneven breathing, she wasn't uttering a thing either. Her legs had gone lax around him and her breath gone soft and even. He pressed a kiss to her jaw and slowly lowered her. His body shuddered as he withdrew. She continued going down after her feet touched the ground and he quickly caught her only to see that she'd fallen asleep and tears made two shiny tracks down her cheeks. 

His breath tightened, had he hurt her? Why did it seem like he'd stolen her V card? 'Taissa,' he said, his voice thick. He gently tugged her dress back over her hips and pulled his pants up while holding her then bent down to scoop the remnants of her panties, still steadying her, and shoved them into his pocket. 

Carrying her, bridal style, he headed back to the club to book them a room but paused before he reached there. It'd be suspicious carrying her in like that and, although it'd do nothing to his reputation as that's what it was, it wouldn't be the same for hers. So he headed towards his BMW and gently placed her in the passenger seat. He bent over her to press the button for adjusting the back of the seat and was immediately assaulted by the sweet scent of her. He paused midway to bury his head in her neck and take a long pull of air, letting her fill his senses. Channing felt himself grow hard again and it took all his discipline to not grab her and make love to her again. Instead, he held his breath and pressed the button. 

She squirmed when the seat lowered but didn't open her eyes so he pressed a kiss to her forehead and removed her dress boots. Something he hadn't before on her wrist caught his eyes. A black and silver band. Or bracelet, since it looked like both. He reached out and trailed his fingers over it. It emitted a white light that made him jerk his hand back with a start and changed to a silver key with black handle. 

'Cool,' he said as he picked it up. The BMW logo was on the handle. It was nice to know that someone shared his love for BMWs. 

With the key in his hand, he walked up the carpark looking out for a car of the brand. He found none. He walked down and found one, but it looked way too antique to have that kind of sophisticated key. Deciding the key must have a button, he pressed the middle slightly and was rewarded with a powerful flash of light and beep from a dark car on the second parking row. 

'Ah,' he said and made to go to the car when he was stopped by a flashlight pointed at him. He blinked in the blinding light and raised his hands. 

The person at the other end of the light seemed to realise whom he'd pointed the offending light at and gasped, diverting the rays to the floor. 'Mr Chevrolet.' He looked flustered in the street light. 'Didn't know 'twas you. Was just going 'round. Did you need something?' 

'Nah.' Channing made sure to give him his best stare-down. 'Now if you'd excuse me, Mackey.' 

'Sure, g-go 'head, 'm s-sorry, sir,' the scared valet stuttered, his heart hammering against his ribcage. If Mr Chevrolet got pissed it was automatic bye bye to parking cars and he didn't want that. He had college fees to pay. What the man was looking for was none of his beeswax. He hurriedly excused himself and went back to his station. 

Channing rolled his eyes and walked towards the car. It's a lapis-lazuli blue car. He opened the car and was able to get the address of Taissa from a purse in the glove compartment. He scratched his head while staring at the card. Dang! She lived in a house, a home. Was she married? If so, he was Davy Jones' Locker deep in trouble. He never did married women — even though they were the ones usually attracted to him. God, he hoped she wasn't married. 

Oddly, the emotion he now felt was jealousy, not fear. Why should he be? She had the right to be with anyone, right? Okay, he knew that sounded feeble. But whatever it was he was feeling, he was none too happy about it.