High Voltage

The bartender responded immediately.

Of course he did.

He moved with the same polished smoothness as before, an easy professional smile resting on his face. He stopped beside their table, waiting to take the order.

And Marie noticed the shift instantly.

Not when the bartender looked at her. But when Steve leaned back in his chair.

Casual. Relaxed. Deliberate.

There was the smallest nod between the two men — barely visible, almost subconscious.

But the atmosphere changed immediately afterward.

The bartender was still smiling.

Only now there was no warmth in it.

Just confidence.

His eyes moved over Marie slowly, openly assessing her. Without thinking, she adjusted her jacket in a useless attempt to hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

“She’s not with you?” he asked Steve.

Instead of answering, Steve picked up both glasses from the table and settled deeper into the soft lounge chair.

It felt like he’d withdrawn more than his attention.

Like he’d withdrawn protection.

Marie felt it instantly.

The bartender felt it even faster.

He stepped closer. Leaned in slightly. His eyes stayed fixed on her now — direct, unapologetic, possessive.

And suddenly Marie understood that Steve had been telling the truth.

Not because of anything overtly threatening the bartender had done.

But because of how natural this all felt to him.

The second Steve signaled she “didn’t belong to him,” the rules changed.

And she had no way to level that playing field again.

The bartender held every advantage.

Around them, the few people scattered through the rooftop lounge paid no attention whatsoever to what was happening at their table.

Because to them, this was —

Normal.

Marie’s stomach tightened.

Her focus narrowed completely onto the man towering over her. She noticed every detail with painful clarity: the perfect posture, the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, the restrained tension in his forearms.

But what unsettled her most was the expression in his eyes.

Not ****.

Not even lust, exactly.

Expectation. Absolute certainty that he would get what he wanted.

Marie hated how deeply that affected her.

Her entire life she’d been taught that men and women met as equals. That desire only meant something when both people had the same freedom to choose. That sex stopped being acceptable the moment one side lost real agency.

Generations of women had fought for that.

Her mind still believed every word of it.

But her body had begun telling a different story.

The last few days had worn her down piece by piece. The stress. The constant tension. Étienne. Jenkins. Steve. Living inside a society where men took what they wanted and women adapted because resisting came with consequences.

Somewhere between fear and exhaustion, a new thought started spreading through her mind.

What would happen if she just gave in?

What would it feel like if the bartender took her right here? Used her openly, carelessly, in full view of everyone?

The fantasy hit her so suddenly it almost stole her breath.

Heat surged low through her stomach.

She inhaled sharply.

Her nipples tightened painfully beneath her top, suddenly hypersensitive even to the soft lining of her jacket. Without realizing it, she pressed her thighs together, trying to contain the treacherous dampness building up between them.

The bartender noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

His eyes narrowed slightly. The corner of his mouth curled upward.

And that was what made the situation truly dangerous.

Not that the man might **** her.

But that part of her had begun wishing he would.

Steve watched her carefully.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked quietly.

Marie bit down on her lip.

Because she was terrified of what her answer might be.