It had been six weeks since Sienna’s near death experience at the top of the club’s stairs and the subsequent encounter with the enigmatic bouncer who had since haunted her thoughts, both waking and unconscious. In that time she’d ditched the wannabe player who’d nearly caused her demise, aced her end of year Anthropology exams and reconnected with her friends. What surprised her, though, was the effort it was proving to reconnect with her pre-Adam self.

She’d avoided THAT Sydney nightclub in that time. The bouncer had told her not to come back with Adam again and she’d been using that advice to avoid the place completely. Her girlfriends had started frequenting the place in the last few weeks but she’d refused point blank to go. She’d revealed to them some of what had passed, triggering their enthusiasm of the place but remained convinced that she would die of acute embarrassment if she were to return. She was under no illusions that he had lost sleep over her like she had him. She was half convinced she’d fall at his feet and was not an advocate of social suicide.

The simple truth was Sienna was terrified of her reaction to the door guy. It was primitive, out of control and confusing. He triggered that integral survival instinct in all humans; flight or fight. She wanted to back away from him while stripping off her clothes a piece at a time and she’d frequently fantasised about him dominating her, body and mind, until she was unsure of where she ended and he began. It wasn’t in line with her view of women in modern society or her God given right to stand next to them, independent and bursting with self righteous free will.

And yet, despite all of the calculated logic in her arsenal, here she was, behind eight of her girlfriends who had coaxed her into coming on this suicide mission, dragging her feet on the stairs leading to the landing outside the club where he would be standing sentinel.

“Gotta get back on the horse.” they said.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” they said.

“It might be just the ticket to bring back the old you.” they said.

“He’ll ever recognize you now!” And there was the clincher. The fact that she’d been to an outrageously expensive hairdresser who’d done absolute miracles to restore her Adam- approved bleached ringlets to their natural dark auburn. According to her girlfriends she was barely recognizable as the blonde who had dated Adam. The thought should have bolstered her courage. It didn’t.

She stubbornly refused to look for him at the top of the stairs and stayed at the back of their small crowd, head down, while one of their number paid their cover fee. One by one they filed through the doors past the bouncers, wrists extended to receive their proof - of - entrance stamps. She knew it was his hand that cradled hers, his spicy chai-soap-male scent bathing her as he rolled the stamp over the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. As he released her hand, she allowed the tension in her head to ease by letting out the breath she’d been holding in. She felt as if she’d just passed a life or death test. She stepped into the enfolding darkness, realising her friends had been right. She had stood inches from him as he touched her and he hadn’t recognised her.

“Better,” she heard from behind her. She looked back, startled. “You weren’t made to do blonde.” He was half turned in the doorway and didn’t even look at her, just continued to apply ink to the queue of simpering disco divas as the filed past him.

“How did you know?” she exploded. “I never once looked at you. In fact, I actually hid.” He looked sideways at her and the eyebrow he lifted at her admission made her want to kick herself.

“You’re kidding, right?” He looked at her with amusement.

“How?” she demanded.

When he nodded to his buddy as he passed over the self – inking stamp and turned to her, her bravado wavered. “Stay right there,” she warned, arm outstretched protectively, but he loomed over her, crowding, until she had to step back or risk contact with him.

“Never mind,” she squeaked, looking to slip around him. But he’d herded her against the wall, his body creating a shield between her and the passing public. The move provided an illusion of privacy but also cut off any escape route.

“I had your tits glued to my back not long ago. Do you really think I’m going to forget that anytime soon? The shape of the damn things are burned into my skin.”

Her temper spiked. Through her senior years in high school she’d been secretly proud of her 40 inches. While her friends lamented their own lack of bust, cursing her for her “jug gene” as they’d dubbed it, she’d tried not to gloat too openly as she’d soaked up the admiring glances of the boys. It wasn’t until Adam and his constant “those flabby things are always in the way” remarks that she had started to eye smaller breasted women enviously while furiously snapping up any minimiser bra that came into view.

She crossed her arms over her maligned breasts defensively. “There is nothing wrong with my boobs,” she hissed. “I’m only an E cup. It’s not that big.” And that’s where a lack of free will gets you, the sane part of her thought. One look and you’re blabbing your bra size to him.

“Lucky I’ve got big hands then,” he half grinned. Sienna was gobsmacked. It was the first time she’d seen anything but a scowl on his face and the effect on her system was devastating. He wasn’t a classically handsome man – too dark and brooding for that, his face all angles. Cheekbones like coat hangers and a sharp jaw to match. But when he grinned like that he looked cheeky enough to outgun Lucifer himself.

Now she was the one with the scowl. “I don’t believe you recognised me by my boobs.” she challenged. “You must have heard one of the girls say my name.” She sounded petulant and she knew it.

His smile abruptly disappeared. “Do not mistake me, Sienna. When I say something, I mean it. You could stain your skin six ways ‘til Sunday and wear a hessian sack on your head and I’d still know you from your tits alone. In fact,” he purred as he bent closer to her, “the only surer way I’d find you would be by scent. But then, I haven’t been there. Yet.” He straightened to his full height, arms crossed over acres of chest, looking down at her, his imperiously arched eyebrow daring her to refute him.

She heard her ears buzz and the room began to tilt as she experienced a mind-blowingly explicit visual of his dark head buried between her legs as he devoured her. That sane voice was back again, this time yelling, “Run away! Run away!” but she ignored it.

“You really are just a Neanderthal, aren’t you?” she spat at him disdainfully.

He shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly. “Nature of the beast.”

She knew it wasn’t wise to bait him but she really wanted to prove that he couldn’t get to her and that temper the Irish were famous for made her reckless. “Do you know something?” she countered scornfully, “I think I’d die if you touched me again.”

The smile he gave her was so far from cheeky, she gasped. She imagined it was on a par with the one the wolf gave Little Red Riding Hood, it was so predatory. “Want to test that theory?”

She blinked at him, took two rapid steps sideways then darted into the crowd in search of her girlfriends, vowing never to return.

*****

Three weeks later she was back.

But only, she assured herself, because she’d heard from one of her friends that he hadn’t been on the door for the last two weeks. They acted as if the lack of eye candy was somehow her fault. She’d figured that given the transient nature of the job he’d either been poached by another club or simply moved interstate. It was a plausible enough theory that she felt confident that coming alone was safe.

She was in a buoyant mood as she bounced up the stairs, determined to give this matchmaking by alcohol and deafness that most singles preferred, a chance. She was going to try and find herself a boyfriend by nightclubbing and damn it, she was going to make it work. She stomped on the tiny stab of disappointment she experienced at seeing some other hulking brute smile at her by the door as she got her stamp, and was elated to feel overwhelming relief bubble up in its place. She could almost feel her free will doing a hand - in - hand jig with her sense of self preservation.

She headed for the bar and ordered a highly unfashionable (by Sydney standards) Guinness, knowing that she’d pissed off the barmaid because it would take a good three minutes to pour while she quickly hit the dance floor.

Sienna had no problem dancing by herself. She’d spent most of her clubbing time with Adam amused by what she called the “handbag dance” where a group’s handbags got put in a little pile on the dance floor while their owners jiggled around them in a circle. She had a theory that it stemmed more from the insecurity of some women as opposed to their worship of fake Gucci. To dance as part of a support group or not to dance…that was the question. Growing up in her family though, you danced as the urge took you, whether the world was with you or not and that’s what she did now.

As she let the rhythms overtake her she quickly noticed a guy who seemed to be wherever she was on the floor. He was rather cute and normal looking and smiled at her when he noticed that she’d spotted him. He sidled closer to her, signalling to the other males on the floor that he was invading her space himself so they should stay away. Sienna shrugged with amusement. Her drink would be nearly ready so he’d soon be left to hunt someone else, although she was secretly pleased with the success she’d managed to garner on her first attempt to “pick up” in a nightclub. She thought she might even ask him to join her for a drink when the song changed and turned toward him, signalling back that she wasn’t adverse to his attention.

Physical exertion began to dampen her skin and she was pleased that she’d chosen to team her low ride Guess jeans with a backless satin top. From the front she was covered from neck to waist but at the back the only thing holding it all together was four pieces of string in two bows. With her hair swept up, her back was virtually bare but as a result she was blessed with plenty of ventilation and it was one of the few sexy tops she owned that she could wear without the support of a bra.

The tempo of the music changed and she looked toward her new friend, a half smile on her lips. “Do you want to grab a drink?” she shouted, leaning towards him. He smiled and stepped closer to her, perhaps to answer, she didn’t know, because his face suddenly dropped as his eyes flicked over her shoulder. As he turned and melted into the crowd, she stared after him, stunned at his behaviour, until she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

She didn’t need to look to see him behind her. She knew. She sucked in a ragged breath as she felt the heat of him, amazed to feel her pelvis actually softening in reaction to his proximity. Her breasts felt heavier and achy and her mouth was suddenly dry, probably as a direct result of all her fluids gravitating to that treacherous part of her that was gagging to accept him.

“Why did you scare him off?” she demanded over the music.

“Mine,” he growled in her ear before stalking off.

He sure does growl a lot, Sienna thought as she gathered her tattered dignity and went to claim her drink. As she sipped she could feel him watching her; it was like an insane itch inside her skull that she couldn’t reach. She scanned the mirror at the back of the bar for his distinctive figure, determined to kill him by glare alone. She couldn’t spot him but it didn’t matter. He was here somewhere and she felt all of her optimism for the night evaporating into the darkness of the club. She left her half - drunk Guinness and headed for the exit, ignoring the irate frown the barmaid gave her.

Annoyed with herself for letting him matter, she hustled through the door barely short of a jog, determined to clear the building in under fifteen seconds. She was within eight paces of the dimly lit stairs and just past the cashier’s booth when twin bands of steel fastened around her waist and arms and her naked back was hauled up against a solid chest. Fuelled by fear and instinct, Sienna tried to lunge away but one hand spread beneath her breasts to restrain her wriggling torso while the other snaked up to gently enfold her throat. With one of her hands now free she tried to push against his thigh. “Shhhhh,” he breathed in her ear as she belatedly thought to scream. “Just be still.”

Although there were seats lining the wall next to him, he leaned against the wall with her between his legs, slightly splayed to accommodate her height, arms enfolding her. Eyes shut, she was held firmly against his chest while her ass was nestled in the cradle of his hips, head resting on his collarbone, face turned from him but unable to keep her ear and jaw from the reach of his mouth.

When he made no move to touch her further but simply lounged, waiting patiently for the adrenalin that was surging through her veins to dissipate, the truth of her situation began to sink in. He’d known exactly how she’d react to his interference on the dance floor and he’d been waiting, unseen in the subdued lighting behind the corner of the booth, to ambush her. As her breathing returned to something resembling normal she mentally cursed herself for being so easy to read.

Maybe I can talk myself out of this, she thought. If she could just get him to go “bounce” someone, she might survive the death by pheromone her body was experiencing. Desperately praying a violent riot would erupt inside the club, she wet her lips and swallowed. “If you’re here shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I am,” he answered. He smiled to himself as he felt her heart rate spike when his lips brushed the shell of her ear.

“Of course. Accosting women is part of your job description, isn’t it?” It was hard for her to sound sarcastic when her voice was so unsteady.

If it was at all possible he folded her closer to him. “Management now,” was the only explanation he gave, sweeping his thumb back and forth along her jaw. She tried to jerk her head away to avoid the touch but her show of resistance only seemed to amuse him. “You can’t get away,” he assured her.

He moved the hand on her stomach higher so his fingers rested against the underside of one breast, his thumb sliding higher to nestle between the full globes and Sienna thought her heart would explode. “Please,” she whispered as his tongue lightly tasted the hollow behind her ear, “just let me go.” Before I go insane.

He began deliberately placing small kisses along the exposed length of her neck. “Is that what you want?” he murmured between kisses. “Hmm?” he prompted when she didn’t answer. “You want me to release you so you can run away?” Her breath hitched as his thumb began to lazily stroke the curve of her breast. “Do I scare you, Irish?” he breathed.

“No,” she lied, panting.

“Do you want me to?”

“I don’t know what I want.” You. Inside me. Hard.

“Poor Sienna,” he mocked idly. “You’ve never met anyone like me, have you? All the pretty boys you’ve known before have had to play by your feminist rules, jumping through your socially acceptable hoops until they’ve had to beg to get into your pants.” His hand left her throat to remove the clip that held her hair. Silken fire tumbled down to cover his face and he filled his lungs with her scent as he tucked the clip in his pocket. He filled his hand with her hair as he eased his hold on her torso enough to shift the few feet along the wall to the chairs and lowered them both. He settled her on his lap, her thighs still between his, his ankles crossed over hers so she couldn’t free them to kick or stand. Using his grip in her hair he gently tugged her head to the side, giving him access to the other side of her neck.

She felt herself succumbing to the urge to rub herself against the ridge that she could feel pressed against her ass and her dismay at her body’s defection had her scrambling for some futile line of defence against him. “You don’t know a thing about me,” she said mutinously.

“Bullshit," he said lazily. "You wear your thoughts like other women wear Chanel.” It was her glaring lack of pretence that had ridden him to this point. The fact that she was fascinated by him while clearly petrified on an elemental level, had goaded him to hunt her.

“I know you’ve wondered what it would be like. For someone like me to fuck you.” He watched her breasts rise and fall as her breathing deepened. “To take,” he stressed. “No 'please' or 'may I'. And that’s what it would be. An endless possession. Until you didn’t know what day it was or who you were. The world could go to Hell in a hand basket and you wouldn’t care, just as long as I was there to fill you again.”

“Oh God,” she whispered. He was so accurate it was mortifying. “This is ridiculous,” she panted as he restrained her attempts to move. Her mind was fighting to be rational but her body refused to obey. All she could see stamped on the back of her eyelids was a vision of herself, pinned against the wall, disintegrating around him violently as he lunged into her. Again and again and again. She stilled as his arm tightened. “I don’t even know your name.”

“And you won’t either until I’m sure that the only reason you need to know it is because you can’t remember your own. Then,” he promised, “you’ll scream for my name as you beg me to make you come.” He was gauging her reactions carefully and knew that, despite her utterances to the contrary, she was wildly aroused by his words. Her lack of artifice showed in the small things that he doubted she realised gave her away. Her spine arching, pushing her breasts out in offering as her ass backed more snugly against his cock. The way her fingers repeatedly curled against the denim covering his thighs.

“Women like you aren’t made to be feminists. You’re too curious.” He tongued the skin where her neck joined her shoulder, lapping at the sensitive area until he extracted a whimper from her. “You’re terrified of wanting the animal,” he continued, “but at the same time you’re desperate to pet it, be taken over by it.”

She wanted to shake her head in denial but she was trembling, her ass shifting restlessly as her thighs clenched together rhythmically, pressing the seam of her jeans against her clit. He watched as she rubbed her thighs together, her breathing becoming more erratic. He knew she was close to making herself come and it pleased him to watch her, knowing he wouldn’t let it go that far. He’d lay odds that if he jammed his hand between those lush thighs and pushed against the denim covering her, she’d shatter within seconds.

She was so tightly wired, all of her focus narrowed down to a point that encompassed only his voice, she didn’t notice when his hand slid behind her until she was galvanised by the shock of his hot palm on her naked skin. He tipped his head and grazed his teeth against her jaw as his hand glided silkily under her top, around the curve of her ribs to the front of her body and upwards to capture the heavy fullness of the underside of her breast.

He felt her fingers squeeze the muscles in his leg at the same time as he saw her catch her lower lip between her teeth. Immediately he shoved his knees under her thighs, his hands a blur as he moving to capture her quivering thighs, spreading his knees so that her legs fell to the side of each of his. He held her there, opening her clenching muscles, ruthlessly shutting down her ability to stimulate herself to orgasm.

“Nooooo,” Sienna wailed, trying desperately to close her legs but he spread his further.

As she writhed against his swollen cock, wracked with the exquisite flicking torture of unsated lust, he struggled to hold her still until he could regain some measure of control over himself. Where the hell was his much vaunted self - restraint? It was galling for him to realise how close he was to pushing her to the floor and fucking them both senseless, location be damned.

As his breath rasped in and out he did mental calculations of all six bar tills until he felt slightly more level - headed. “When you come in my arms for the first time," he growled, "it’ll be because I drove you to it."

She was still moving slightly but he could distance himself from it enough to function. He inhaled deeply, catching a muted whiff of the musky scent unique to her desire.

“So what will it be, Irish?” he asked. “Your choice.” His mouth returned to the juncture of her shoulder and neck again. “Are you going to run away like a good little girl? Hide and live to run another day? Or stay and be fucked like a woman should be?” He bit down on the tendon running just under the skin, making her jolt in his arms.

“Survival or surrender?”

To be continued…