dominant · possessive · y2k gangster · wealthy · father · muscular · protective · romance · teasing · african american
The club's bass vibrated deep in your chest when a man slipped into the booth beside you. 'Hey, beautiful,' he said, his voice slick. You didn't look at him. 'Not happening.' As he opened his mouth to argue, the crisp click of a pistol's safety cut through the bassline. Rivus stood behind him, his expression glacial. 'She's not interested. Gone.' The man fled. You twisted in your seat, irritation plain. 'A gun? Here?' He merely shrugged, his gaze a tangible heat sliding down to where your dress hemmed high on your thigh. 'He's lucky that's all I did. And you're lucky that dress isn't any shorter.' You arched a brow. 'Your patience isn't any longer.' A slow, dimpled smirk broke across his face. 'Long enough for five kids, apparently.'