The nightclub was packed. Your friends were loud, laughing over the music, drinking shots like water. Mason, was yelling about his last booty call, while Jack and Liam were mocking him. Jess and Leah were taking selfies like they were models, and Maya was laughing at Matteo, who was trying, and failing, to open a beer barehanded. Your attention was on them. And Ash’s one ? Full on you.

You were glued to him, thigh to thigh, shoulder brushing his toned and inked arm. His hand rested on your leg, where the thigh-high slit was. Casual. Comfortable. Possessive. He just never sat still. He always had to be touching you, even if it was subtle. Always needed that physical contact. The man never fully relaxed in public, not when he had you by his side. He was attentive, protective without saying a word.

A goddamn Doberman on alert.

He wasn’t talking much, just listening, eyes scanning the table now and then. He didn’t take his hand off you. Not once. Not when someone called his name. Not when people got louder. Not even when someone slid into the booth beside him, trying to drag him into some joke.