Fantasy Gone Wrong. Prologue

 Fantasy Gone Wrong

Prologue

The bass thrummed through my body, a deep, pulsing rhythm that I could feel in my bones. Lights slashed through the darkness, cutting neon streaks of blue and red across the crowd. The air was thick, heat, sweat, alcohol, and something sharper, something electric. I was lost in the music, in the motion, my long legs moving in sync with the pounding beat. My black skirt clung to my body, my red Italian heels making every step a statement.

I knew I had eyes on me. I always did, but tonight it was different, very different.

I felt them before I even saw him, a slow burn licking up my spine. There, just beyond the edge of the dance floor, he stood still in the chaos. Dressed in black, exuding an effortless kind of danger and attraction. His long, jet-black hair was tied at the nape of his neck, a few stray strands falling over his sharp cheekbones. But what really held me captive, what sent a ripple of something dark and thrilling through me, was the way he moved.

Or rather, the way he limped.

His left leg was wrapped in a thick cast, clean and white with a sock over part of it protecting his toes. His hard cast was possibly protecting his broken ankle or foot and it was ending just below his knee. A black rubber heel was fixed to the bottom, letting him move without crutches, but every step carried the telltale stiffness of a fresh fracture. He leaned on it carefully, adjusting his weight, but I could tell that it hurt him, he was in pain. I squeezed my legs tight for a second looking at him limping.

This was no recreational cast, it was for medical reasons and yet his eyes never wavered.

His eyes were locked on me, on my breasts, my legs. I could feel the heat of his gaze tracing every movement, lingering on the way my heels clicked against the floor, the way my calves tensed and released with every slow, deliberate step.

And I loved it. His attention sent a thrill through me, a silent invitation neither of us dared to speak... yet.

There was something almost hypnotic about his presence, about the contrast of strength and fragility, danger and vulnerability. He wasn't supposed to be here, wasn't supposed to be standing in the middle of a packed rave with an injury like that. He clearly had a broken limb looking like he owned the entire damn room. He should have been on crutches or...

Maybe he needed to feel pain like I did so often. Yet he was here, and he was watching me. A slow and lovely smile curled his lips, dark and knowing.

I should have turned away. I should have ignored the heat creeping up my spine and the wetness between my legs looking at his cast, broken ankle, strong arms, how easily he could break...you know. My pulse quickened beneath my skin.

But I didn't turn away. I moved closer.

And the moment his gaze dipped to my legs again, I knew this was going to be a dangerous and lovely mistake. A beautiful one, but a mistake nonetheless, it was going to be a Fantasy Gone Wrong.

Part 1 to come
Brigitte