Three

Devon

I wasn’t even supposed to stay long at the bar.

My initial plan for the night was entirely routine, painfully corporate, and utterly unexciting: do a swift walkthrough of the main floor, touch base with my manager on duty regarding last month’s inventory discrepancies, and head straight back out.

I had a mountain of paperwork waiting for me at home, and the thumping bass of the lounge was already giving me a mild headache.

But plans have a funny way of blowing up the second a truly fascinating woman walks into your field of vision, and god, she caught my attention so fast it nearly gave me whiplash.

Aside from the obvious, undeniable fact that she was drop-dead gorgeous, what actually reeled me in was her sheer, unbothered vibe. She was sitting at a high-top table completely by herself, nursing a single bottle of beer and casually popping peanuts into her mouth. She looked entirely disconnected from the chaotic, sweating, thumping crowd around her. That is an incredibly rare sight in a place like this. Usually, the girls who frequent my bar are doing everything in their power to be seen. They’re dressed to kill, traveling in loud packs, and doing anything they can to flirt, turn heads, and fish for male attention.

But her?

She was just minding her own damn business.

She was looking around the room like she was sitting on her own couch watching a mildly entertaining movie, totally content throwing back a handful of peanuts.

She was different.

Intriguing.

A total anomaly.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my thirty years on this earth, it’s that rare finds should be taken seriously before someone else spots them.

Without wasting another second, I decided to make my move.

I went with the classic, foolproof playbook—ordering a premium drink and having the waiter send it over to her table with my compliments.

I watched from the shadows, fully expecting the usual reaction: a smile, a wave, or at least a coy look in my direction.

To my absolute shock, she shut it down.

She didn't just hesitate; she flat-out refused it.

Oh well, hello.

That little sting of rejection didn’t deter me; it only heightened my interest to a dangerous, almost addictive degree. She wasn't just a rare find anymore; she was a certified, high-tier gem.

Realizing I might have just hit the ultimate jackpot, I locked onto my target and decided to approach her personally.

And damn.

Up close?

She was a literal goddess.

I could see that even though she was relatively covered up, her clothes couldn't hide the sexy curves underneath.

She had a tiny, snatched waist that I knew I could easily wrap my hands around.

And then there was her chest.

I could already imagine exactly how full both of my hands would be.

On top of that, she smelled so fucking delicious.

It wasn't a heavy, overwhelming perfume; it was this intoxicating, clean blend of fresh lavender with a warm, subtle hint of sweet vanilla.

Every single time her lips parted to speak, my eyes would involuntarily drop to them.

The conversation became background noise as I sat there imagining exactly how it would feel to pull her in and completely devour her.

Fuck, I was losing the battle with my own anatomy.

My cock was twitching every goddamn second we sat there.

If the VIP lounge hadn't been so dimly lit, she probably would have noticed exactly how much of an effect she was having on me.

Then, before I could even open my mouth to stop her, she grabbed her beer bottle and chugged the remaining alcohol straight down in one go.

I knew what she was doing.

She wasn't an alcoholic.

She was just trying to drown out her nerves, trying to find some courage to match my energy.

But by that point, the dark, intrusive thoughts had already completely taken over my brain.

A little demon on my shoulder whispered to just let her drink.

Just enough to get her to loosen up around me, to shed that defensive guard and let me in.

Now, don’t get me wrong.

I’m not that kind of guy.

I pride myself on having a strict set of rules when it comes to women.

I just wanted her to be a little playful, a little flirty with me.

That’s all.

Well... unless she actively insisted on more. If she was the one driving the car, then obviously, all bets were off.

But then she did something that completely threw me for a loop and left my brain short-circuiting.

With a flushed face, she casually reached down and slid her vest right off her shoulders. And god... those were hands-down the most precious, magnificent things I had ever laid eyes on in my entire life.

They were fucking huge.

Look, I’m a wealthy guy, I run a successful business, and I’ve seen my fair share of beautiful women.

But hers were entirely different.

They were perfectly perky, shifting and bouncing under her top just like a pair of high-end stress balls—the exact kind I usually squeeze the life out of whenever I’m stuck in a brutal traffic jam or trapped in an agonizingly long boardroom meeting with foreign investors who don't understand a single lick of English.

Fuck.

She was loosening up, alright. Way too far, and way too fast.

Because I’m still a guy with a functioning moral compass—or at least, that’s the desperate lie I was trying to convince myself of in that exact moment—I genuinely tried to hold my ground.

Telling my fucking self to be a gentleman.

But it was like she knew exactly what buttons to push to break me.

She was testing every single ounce of my remaining self-control, completely shattering my resolve when she looked at me and offered the one thing I usually only have the privilege of seeing in my wildest dreams.

She wanted me to take her home.

She was practically begging me to take her babies.

Literally.

It took my brain a few agonizingly slow seconds to even process the reality of what she had just suggested.

My conscience tried to put up one last pathetic fight, but it was a losing battle from the very start.

In the end, my lower half won by a landslide.

Hey, look, I know it was a split-second decision, but you can’t exactly blame me.

I’m just a red-blooded male with a very healthy, very active level of testosterone. Besides, she was the one who took the initiative. She practically threw the rulebook out the window, so the blame was completely out of my hands at that point.

Terrified that the cold air outside might snap her out of it and make her change her mind, I hurriedly guided her out of the crowded bar, keeping a firm hand on the small of her back. I led her straight to where my black Sedan was parked in the dark corner of the lot, unlocked the doors, and ushered her inside.

Shifting into drive, I slammed on the gas and tore down the road toward my penthouse—blessedly located just a few short, agonizing blocks away.