🔥STEAMY ALERT—some mild sexiness throughout the chapter 🔥

♫ Love me like you never wanna let me go
If you're likin' what you're tastin' really let me know ♪
(Mya—My love is like... Wo)

Sonorama—named after a music festival that happened in Spain every year—was the trendiest yet most exaggerated bar Coralie had ever been to. But compared to the shit-hole she currently worked at, and even The Swirled Lady in San Francisco, it was tasteful. It was a place of unleashed vices, of expensive alcohol, and uppity people. The sleek metal tables were raised, with cushioned seats around them, planted in a semi-circle surrounding a makeshift dance-floor in front of a large stage. Farther out, the private booths were a plushy white that shone violet in the overhead lights. And the L-shaped counter in the rear was made of mirrors, reflecting women's stilettos in all their extravagant colors, and men's legs turned towards said women, their polished shoes tapping to the beat.

It wasn't a nightclub—the sign out front basically screamed that fact—yet its aesthetic was that of a high-class venue at the top of a skyscraper.

From what Coralie could tell, the clientele... was something else. An eclectic mix of trash-talking girls on the run from their normal nightclubs, single men in their forties searching for a quick fix, and couples eager for a third person to add to their bed for some fantasy fun. There were the hardcore drinkers, ordering shot after shot without ever showing a sign of inebriation. And the far-from-classy chicks sloppily dancing with their tits hanging out. And the thirsty boys fist-banging behind them, craving to attract their attention.

Yet the aura was one of money, and lots of it. The bar was in a prime location in Manhattan, and though it wasn't atop a snazzy rooftop or particularly luxurious, it was packed with people. Whether they'd showed up for their usual outing, or having heard of the show that night, Coralie wasn't sure. But she appreciated the enormity of the event as she waited for her turn to sing, concealed behind a black satin curtain.

A few small indie bands had opened the evening, drawing attention from men who mouthed the words to all their songs and pumped their fists and clapped like mad at the end. The guy performing before Coralie—finishing up his set now—had dreamy eyes and silky hair and a voice like velvet, and had attracted all the women in the bar to the front to ogle at his lips as he sang.

How was Coralie supposed to follow that? She didn't have sounds like that—she had two original songs that she'd struggled to pick, and two covers that she'd selected at random. Delilah had been no help, keeping the drapes between their bedrooms drawn and refusing to attend the gig to encourage Coralie. Coralie didn't deserve her assistance, she knew, but she'd really needed her roommate. And she worried that her stupid sexual mistakes would ruin her chances tonight.

Nikita had welcomed her an hour ago, and explained how the night would go. Online influencers would flock in at some point, and the goal was to get as many retweets and Instagram story posts as possible. When Coralie showed up, only a handful of said influencers were there. But now, as she waited backstage, taking peeks out into the audience, more had arrived. She noticed several semi-famous internet dudes raising their phones to film, and starlets in glitter gowns that grazed their asses sending Tweets out into the universe.

"Good, this is good," said Nikita, gripping Coralie's shoulders from behind and massaging them. She smelled like she'd fallen into a barrel of caramel, and wore a sparkly gold and beige-hued pantsuit that made her look like candy. "This is what we wanted, yeah? Influencers to promote your shit. Do your original stuff last, okay? You got this." She gave one final squeeze before disappearing out into the throng of attendees and blitzing her way towards the bar. A few other representatives from the label were there, and Coralie gulped at the sight of their sassy suits and serious faces.

"Shit." She'd learned to contain her anxiety in the past few months of performances, but this was huge. It wasn't for her YouTube channel or to impress her friends; this was her job, her purpose, and might make or break her career with the recording company.

She scanned through the flock one last time and spotted him—the one who exploded her heart into fireworks and yet stabilized her blood pressure with his presence. Ryan. He hadn't given her a choice when she'd told him of the gig—he'd promised to be there, and it pleased her to see he hadn't lied. Garbed in tight jeans and a crisp navy shirt unbuttoned at the top with the sleeves rolled up, he fit in with the crowd, clutching his neon cup of who-knew-what while swaying to the gentle beat. He sipped, sent a glance her way, and winked.

She withdrew from sight, breathed in, breathed out, and waited for the DJ to announce her. Nikita had slipped him a disc of the music Coralie would need, and he'd told them Coralie would perform all her songs in a row, without a break.

"Next up, Coralie Amber Watson, representing Poison Paradise Records!"

Dismissing the nausea in the back of her throat, she climbed up onto the stage. She wished she'd accepted the shot of Fireball Nikita had offered earlier, as it might have settled her nerves, but it was too late. The first keys of My Love Is Like... by Mya had started, and that was Coralie's cue.

Nikita had loved her decision to sing something so underrated and sexy. Influencers wouldn't expect it, and it would hypnotize the men in the crowd, she'd said. Coralie had hesitated when they spoke of it over the phone, but as the label had heard her sing it before—in the studio, but she tended to sing it when walking between offices, too—they'd insisted she stick to it.

To her pleasant surprise, Coralie realized Nikita had been right. As the first notes escaped her mouth, the men shoved forward to the front, their gazes oozing lust and their expressions awed at her voice. She was no Mya, for sure, yet somehow she'd unfurled an enchantress energy that put them all in a trance.

As she sang, she was in a trance, too. Her focus flocked to Ryan, who licked his lips and fixed on her without blinking, living in the lyrics. Every new sentence sent surges of passion into her gut, and everyone else in the room disappeared but for him. How could he be so exhausting to her, so frustrating... and yet keep her so animated with a simple stare? And worse; how could she still be so horny, after their insane night of love-making, and her thoughts of Michael?

Shit.

Her second song was less sensual, but it kept everyone's attention, including the ladies. And her original songs had many raising their cell phones to record her. They listened to her words, acknowledged her statements, and nodded in approval.

Their applause still rang in her ears as she descended the stage, intent on meeting up with Nikita and the others from the label, near the bar. But several guys clogged her passage, trying to accost her, asking for her number, begging her to dance with them to the techno tempo from the next performer's tune.

"Hi, um..." She gaped towards the counter, searching for Nikita or their big boss, or anyone that might save her from these hungry men. "Excuse me, I, um..."

A hand wrapped around her shoulder, tugging her to the left. But before she had a chance to flip to its source, a different hand gripped her wrist and hauled her forward. She opened her mouth to screech, but her eyes connected with Ryan's—rimmed red with jealousy as he yanked her away from her fans—and she relaxed.

The new singer's song slurred out and obligated Ryan to raise his voice. "Fuck those dicks," he said, his words too Americanized for his beautiful British accent. "I knew this would happen. When I saw you in that outfit, I..." He brought his knuckles to his mouth, nibbling on them as he looked at her. "I had a feeling you'd be approached, fast. I'm surprised none of those arseholes jumped onto the platform with you."

Fanning herself—from Ryan's compliment or from the faint sensation provoked by her first encounter with fans—Coralie glimpsed the bar, a few feet away. "I... need a drink."

"Yes, I figured you would." Ryan weaved between swaggering girls clapping at Coralie and helped her onto a barstool he'd reserved, since no one had taken it while he dove into the crowd to protect Coralie. "I warned the barmaid that you'd want red wine. That's right, yeah? I could switch it to a mojito. Or rum and coke? You like those, too?"

In truth, Coralie would have preferred a bucket of water to throw over herself, and straight shots of vodka. But she'd never say no to wine, especially if Ryan had chosen its brand and type. Even at a place like this, he'd find her the best concoction and ensure it was perfect before allowing her to try it, ever the wine connoisseur that he was.

Up close, Coralie noticed the bar-back was also made of mirrors, some of which were cabinets with alcohol bottles hidden behind them. One of the bartenders—a blue-haired lady with a hot pink nose ring—saw her, acknowledged Ryan, then snatched a matte black bottle from below the counter. She poured into a glass, and set it in front of Coralie with a nod and a cheeky smile.

After clinking their cups, Coralie took a gulp of the drink and let the flavor melt on her tongue. It was, as expected, heavenly; dark but easy on the taste buds, fruity with a hint of bitterness, spicy but sweet.

"Damn," she said, swirling the liquid and puckering her lips. "This bar lives up to its reputation. Weird but with some of the best options for getting wasted in style."

Ryan nodded as he drained his own beverage. "I'm not disappointed, though it's a bit... noisy for a bar." He snickered and set his cup down. "When are you allowed to leave?"

"You... don't want to stay?" Coralie flipped in her seat and glanced at the stage, where a tripped-out guy was bouncing up and down while screaming into the microphone. Whatever his lyrics were—they sounded foreign—the crowd was gobbling them up. Knowing Ryan and his upper-scale tastes, he was hating every second of the performance. "You're not entranced?"

Ryan scoffed and cupped her chin to turn her to him. "Only entranced by you." Sparks flickered in his eyes, and he approached his lips to hers only enough to graze them, sending shudders down her spine.

They were in public, and the risk of someone's video catching them in this position was high. Popping up on social media was dangerous... but Coralie couldn't move, couldn't skid backwards and out of Ryan's proximity. He wasn't holding her, yet she felt tethered to him, their bodies bound by some invisible thread. His breath—minty mojito, like his favorite drink—tickled over her cheeks and brought her to the brink of losing her mind.

She sat back, needing a moment to compose herself. The aroma still lingering in her mouth—a blast of berries with a hint of chocolate—sent a comforting warmth to her belly, and shot a pulse of electricity down to her toes. Oh, this wine... it erased all her inhibitions; it made her forget how bad Ryan was for her, how perilous for her sanity. Every sip of the luscious liquid messed with her common sense and shut down her brain's instincts to run, urging her instead to open her legs to welcome Ryan into her. Just two gulps of the heavenly vintage had her tongue lolling out, desperate to tango with Ryan's, to explore, to taste.

"Fuck," she said, staring into the sultry scarlet beverage, half expecting Ryan's ocean blue eyes to stare back and tug her into the glass to swim naked with him. "I should probably stop drinking for tonight."

"Then let's go," said Ryan, jutting his chin at someone or something behind her. "Isn't that pink-haired woman your boss? She's heading here now."

Coralie spun around in time to be engulfed by Nikita's hug. "Cora! That was fabulous! Everyone was into it!" She let Coralie go, acknowledged Ryan with a curt nod, and tucked a few strands of bubblegum locks behind her ear. "Anyway, I figured I'd let you know how happy we are. And you're good to go home if you want to. We'll chat tomorrow; come in late. I'm sure you, uh," she smirked, sparing Ryan a quick glance, then returning to Coralie, "are tired. Good work, girl!"

The instant Nikita retreated, Ryan didn't waste any time and motioned at Coralie's wine glass. "Chug it. I want to leave now." He came closer and his tongue fluttered over her earlobe. "Because I want you, immediately. Hurry."

He didn't have to say it twice. Coralie swallowed the remaining drops of wine, slammed the cup onto the counter, and stood up. She retrieved her purse from the locker where she'd sealed it upon arrival, and did her hardest to not run outside and call for a Lyft to take her back to Ryan's place. Something about her sultry performance had her on a high, and had her craving Ryan more than ever. How many times had she stared at him as he stared at her, drooling as she sang the song to him? Every lyric of Mya's song applied to him and how he'd made her feel in the past few months. The scent of him resided inside Coralie's nostrils, and she couldn't resist him any longer.

As she whipped out her phone to pull up the car service app, Ryan snatched her wrist. "No." He dragged her to the side of the building and rounded the corner. "This way." He gestured at an obscure alley that she'd refuse to go to with anyone else. "I parked a little farther down, at the end of this narrow street."

"You drove?" Coralie slowed down, resisting his pull. "And you're drinking? Ryan, what the hell—"

"—Cora." He let go of her and glanced left and right before pinning her up against the brick wall, between two large green dumpsters. She didn't resist him, despite being unsure why he'd choose such a foul place to fool around.

A reek of spilled liquor flourished up to her nose, but she ignored it as the facade behind her pulsated with the music playing inside the bar. The melodies rippled up her spine as she pressed into the surface, under Ryan's weight. "What are you doing?" She gulped as she met his gaze, admiring his dark skin rendered copper from the lamp on the opposite building.

"I just want to..." his fingers traipsed under the hem of her jeans and untucked her shirt, "have fun, okay? A bit of foreplay, before we go home."

"Oh." She bit her lip, understanding his meaning. "Oh, here? Really? In an alley?" She formed a protest in her mind, but couldn't spit it out as his fingertips trailed up her stomach and stopped beneath her left boob, tracing the lines of her bra. "Oh... fuck."

"Yes, here." He drew his lips between his teeth and sucked in a heavy breath, his eyelids fluttering as if he were fighting to stay conscious. "Just a little... sample. Your song, your voice..." Ryan's fingers slid under her bra. "You made me so fucking horny, Cora."

"Oh, shit." He walked his finger-pads up to her nipple and danced around it, so softly that Coralie moaned in anticipation. "Oh, shit."

"And this outfit... jeez, Cora. You're delicious. I've made love to you so many times lately, and yet I can't stop wanting you more and more." He grabbed her boob and squeezed it before pushing his lips against hers. His tongue pried into her mouth and twirled with her tongue in dizzying, languorous motions that she couldn't keep up with.

"God, you're so hot," she breathed between kisses, desperate to rip his shirt off. A hardened bulge formed below his hips and he shoved it into her, needing her to feel it, him. "God, I want you."

As their tongues continued to explore and her lower lips vibrated with pleasure and his fingers toyed with her nipples, she forgot about everything. She forgot about the gig and what it meant for her career. She forgot about her argument with Delilah. And she forgot about Michael's seductive groans of delight over the phone. As Ryan molded into her, his body demanding, desiring hers, she threw all her worries to the wind and let her imagination wander to what would happen in the next few hours. She let her brain load with images of Ryan taking her there, in that alley, and devouring her soul until it belonged to him completely.

♥♥♥