The bass thrums through my bones, a deep, pulsing heartbeat that makes everything else fade into the background—except for her.

She’s draped over me like a prize, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over my chest, the slit of her dress riding high up her thigh. She knows what she’s doing. Ohhh, does she know. It’s distracting, deliciously so, but I don’t mind. I like when she plays her little games.

Across from me, Tommy’s sweating bullets. Poor guy’s trying real hard not to tremble under my gaze. He should. He really, really should. I twirl my glass in my fingers, watching the liquid swirl, pretending to consider his excuses.

“J, it was just a delay—”

Ugh. Boring.

I snap my fingers, and my guys slam a gun onto the table. Tommy nearly jumps outta his skin. I don’t even look at him—I’m too busy feeling the warmth of her breath on my neck as she leans in, her voice a honeyed whisper just for me.

“Can I kill him, baby?”

Mmmm. That sends a shiver down my spine. My grin stretches wide as I grab her chin, forcing those pretty, dangerous eyes to look at me.

“You like making me crazy, don’t you?” My voice is low, teasing, but there’s a real hunger behind it. She knows what she does to me.

That smile. That smile. Slow, sweet, full of mischief.

“It’s my favorite thing.”

God, she’s perfect. Mine, mine, mine.

Tommy’s voice cuts in again, desperate, pathetic. I barely hear him. I let her go, flicking my fingers toward my men. “Do what you want with him.”

The poor bastard is dragged away, his cries swallowed up by the music. I barely notice. My hand finds her thigh again, my fingers tracing slow, lazy circles.

“You really are a bad influence,” I murmur, feeling the heat of her skin beneath my touch.

She giggles, looping her arms around my neck, pressing close. Too close. Not close enough.

“And you love me for it.”

Ohhh, I do. I really do.