Hard Core (Hard As Nails Book 3) by Hope Conrad

code—smacks her against her ass.
    She freezes in place.
    I’m headed toward her when she catches my eye and shakes her head. She mouths the word “no,” and I hesitate. I know she’s proud. I know she’s strong. I know she has to handle crap like that every day on her own.
    She turns to Work Boots, and I pray she grabs him by the shirt and teaches him a lesson or two. Instead, she simply smiles and says something I can’t hear—she’s too far away and the music is too loud. The guy is staring at her lips as she talks, and even I can’t blame him, because when she smiles, it’s pure perfection, a painting from God himself.
    I’ve seen many smiles in my life, but hers takes the cake and the icing too. It makes me hard, of course, but I don’t just want her body. I don’t just want to simply touch her in every place there is to touch. I don’t just want to fuck her until she’s unable to stand. I want all that, but I want all that and more. And then I want something else, too.
    God, I’m turning into such a fucking pussy. Alyssa makes me feel greedy. Needy.
    She makes me yearn, when I thought I’d gotten that out of my system long ago.
    Done with Work Boots, Alyssa turns to carry on with her business. I briefly think about confronting the asshole, but decide against it.
    She handled it. Fine.
    I won’t seek him out.
    But if I should happen to run into him later, I can’t say for sure what I’ll do.
    I sweep the room, making sure nothing worrisome is going on, then I tag Alyssa as she walks back from the bar and back into the fray. She hands off each drink to a group of men outfitted in suits, and at one point, she drops something and bends over to pick it up.
    Her ass beckons me, it’s so taut and so perfect.
    And I can’t wait to get her alone and in my bed.
    I’m normally not into kink. I like to fuck long and hard, but I don’t need whips or ball gags or someone calling me “Sir” to get off. Even so, I find myself fantasizing about tying Alyssa up so she’s on her belly, hips in the air. I picture myself slapping her ass until her cheeks are rosy.
    I’m going to do it someday. Someday soon.
    And I want to fucking beat my chest and roar in victory because I know not only will she let me do it, she’ll be begging me for it by the time I’m through.
     
    * * *
     
    Alyssa and I have an hour left on the clock before we can go. I continue watching her, leaning back against the bar, with my elbows on the countertop. She makes her way through the dense crowd, teasing us all with the way her ass shines in tight shorts. Each and every man on that floor is dying to grab a piece of her, even if it’s only for a fleeting, never-to-be-repeated solitary night.
    And somehow she has no fucking clue.
    She’s not the kind of girl who knows she has this kind of power over men. Not the type of girl to take advantage of it even if she did know. She’s putting on a song and dance as she twists through the crowd, but in her mind, she’s only doing a job.
    She weaves between a set of two tight tables, where Work Boots slaps her ass again. She smiles at him, as if what he’s done isn’t a problem.
    It is a problem though. A big fucking problem.
    I tap my fingers on the bar and clench my teeth even as I calculate the quickest way to get to her if necessary. In one scenario, I hustle over to the table and demand he keep his hands to himself. In another scenario, I let my fists do the talking. This is a strip club not a fucking free for all, for Christ’s sake!
    Another man, seated at the table opposite the repeat offender, calls to her and Alyssa nods. She finishes what she’s doing, and then she heads over to the waiting customer, only for Work Boots to slap her on the ass yet again.
    That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back.
    I rush through the crowd, my body sometimes fitting through narrow spaces and other times my hands pushing away those who stand in my way.
    My heart races. Blood pumps through my