Unraveling of Lena James (Directors Cut) Club Scene (fm:male domination, 1934 words) [4/4] show all parts | |||
Author: Solaxiom | |||
Added: Apr 24 2025 | Views / Reads: 413 / 263 [64%] | Part vote: 8.67 (3 votes) | |
Three men. One mirror. She begged, writhed, and came filthy— | |||
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The Descent -- She Just Knew He'd Be ThereLena had spent the whole damn day waiting for this moment.
Waiting for the chance to show up in this dress--this reckless, painted-on, split-too-high, neckline-too-low masterpiece of a fucking dress--and see the way his eyes darkened the second he laid eyes on her.
She had assumed, no--she had known--he would be here.
Because Reese was a man who followed through. A man who didn't let a challenge pass unanswered.
And this dress?
This was the challenge.
So when she walked into Boudreaux's, head high, hips swaying slow and deliberate, every inch of her a goddamn invitation wrapped in sin, she had already pictured it. That moment. The way his gaze would track over her body, slow and steady. The way his breath might hitch--just slightly--when he saw what she had done to herself for him.
Because she had done this for him.
Not that she'd admit it.
Not even to herself.
But the second she stepped inside, the second the warm pulse of music swallowed her whole, she felt it.
The absence.
He wasn't here.
Her stomach clenched.
She scanned the room, expecting, searching, waiting for that inevitable pull of his presence--that magnetic weight that had been following her all goddamn day.
But the longer she looked, the more her confidence unraveled. Nothing. No Reese.
Her fingers tightened around the clutch in her hand.
No big deal.
She could handle this.
She was Lena fucking James.
And if Reese wasn't here to see the show, she'd make damn sure someone else did.
---
The Performance -- The Slow Unraveling
The first drink was control. A casual sip, slow and smooth, letting the warm burn settle in her belly, fueling the confidence she already had in spades.
The second drink was indulgence. A shot downed in one motion, letting the fire spread through her veins, a wicked gleam settling behind her eyes as she began to lean into the rhythm of the room.
The third?
That one was for Reese. For every stolen glance. For every second of unchecked dominance. For the way he had looked at her earlier--slow, deliberate, measuring--and then had the nerve not to show up.
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This is part 4 of a total of 4 parts. | ||
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