You were dancing in a club, not giving a damn that you broke up with your boyfriend.

He was just a toy anyways.

That was until you felt a pair of large, rough hands position on your hips, one of the hand moving up your the side of your thigh under the short dress you were wearing.

“This dress is pretty short, ain’t it, darlin’?” A deep British voice husks into your ear. A familiar voice you loathed.

Your ex, Simon Riley. The man you were avoiding.