Fuck.

Daniel had never been the jealous type. Or at least, that's what he used to believe.

But gods, that little black dress was dangerous. Not just because she looked devastating in it—like something conjured from his deepest, most sinful dreams—but because every other bastard in this club seemed to think they had the right to look at her too. The pulsing bass of the music vibrated through the floor as colored lights flashed across her body, highlighting the curves he'd grown to love.

Every man in the room noticed. He saw it in the way conversations stuttered, in the way eyes followed her, lingering too long on the bare skin of her thighs, the elegant line of her neck. And she—his girl—moved through the crowd like she didn't have a care in the world, oblivious to the chaos she left in her wake. The sweet scent of her perfume reached him even across the crowded dance floor.

Or maybe she wasn't oblivious at all.

He had been content to watch at first, leaning against the bar, fingers wrapped around a drink he had no intention of finishing. The cold glass felt heavy in his hand as condensation dripped onto his wrist. He trusted her. Knew she could handle herself. But when some prick sauntered up to her, all easy charm and arrogance, Daniel felt his patience snap like a frayed thread.

The bastard leaned in too close, his hand brushing the curve of her hip like he had the right. Like Daniel wasn't right fucking there, watching. The sound of the man's laughter grated on Daniel's nerves.

His glass hit the bar with a dull clink, forgotten. In three strides, he was behind her.

A warm palm on the small of her back. A slow, deliberate slide of fingers over silk, gripping the dip of her waist, fitting himself against her like he belonged there. Because he did. The soft fabric of her dress yielded under his touch, and he felt her body stiffen momentarily before relaxing into him.

She exhaled, a shiver running through her, but she didn't pull away. No, she leaned into him, pressing back against his chest, letting him take. Letting him own. Her hair smelled like coconut shampoo, a familiar scent that always made him feel at ease.

The guy still hadn't moved.

Daniel met his gaze over her shoulder, slow and dangerous, letting him see the way his hands possessed her. Letting him hear the way her breath hitched as Daniel's lips brushed the shell of her ear.

"Don't recall sharing, baby," he murmured, voice a low drag of heat.

The guy had the audacity to scoff. "Relax, man. Just talking."

Daniel let out a quiet laugh—cold, sharp. His fingers curled slightly, just enough to remind everyone exactly who she belonged to. "You're done talking."

A beat. Then, with a roll of his eyes, the bastard muttered something under his breath and disappeared into the crowd.

Good.

But Daniel barely noticed. His focus had already shifted—to the woman in his arms, to the way her hips shifted ever so slightly against him, teasing. A challenge. The music swelled around them, a rhythmic beat that matched the increasing pace of his heart.

He spun her to face him in one smooth motion, fingers splaying over her hips, pulling her flush against him. The music swelled around them, but all he cared about was the way she looked up at him, lips slightly parted, eyes dark with something that made his restraint hang by a thread.

"You gonna turn me down too?" he whispered, his mouth just barely brushing hers. Fuck, she's dangerous.