Chapter 1: Bali Heat
The sultry Bali night clung to M. Shadows—Matt, as he insisted she call him—like a second skin. The air was thick with the scent of frangipani and ocean salt, a heady mix that mirrored the tension brewing in his chest. He’d slipped away from the band’s post-tour revelry at a beachside bar, his phone buzzing with a message from Missy Wolfe. ‘Meet me at the cliffside villa. Don’t keep a witch waiting.’ Her words, sharp as a blade, sliced through his restraint.
Missy stood on the villa’s balcony, her hourglass silhouette framed against the moonlit Indian Ocean. At 161cm, she was a compact storm of mischief, her grey eyes glinting with a devilish spark as she sipped cognac from a crystal tumbler. Her tattoos—a sprawling A7X Death Bat across her back, the skeletal monarch of Matt himself etched on her ribs—peeked from beneath a sheer black sarong. She was a canvas of rebellion, and he was fucking hooked.
‘You’re late, rockstar,’ she purred, her voice a low, smoky taunt as he stepped onto the balcony. ‘Thought you’d ghosted me for some groupie with less... bite.’
Matt smirked, his hazel eyes raking over her. ‘And miss out on your particular brand of hex? Not a chance, Wolfe. I’ve been hard just thinking about this all damn day.’
She laughed, a sharp, wicked sound, setting her glass down with a deliberate clink. ‘Flattery won’t save you from my spells, Shadows. I’ve got a Sator Square on my arm that could bind your soul if I wanted.’ She traced the intricate tattoo on her right arm, her gaze never leaving his. ‘But I’d rather bind something else tonight.’
His jaw tightened, a hungry edge creeping into his voice. ‘Careful, witch. Keep talking like that, and I’ll have you pinned against that railing before you can chant a damn thing.’
Missy stepped closer, her DD curves brushing against his chest, the heat of her body a stark contrast to the cool night air. ‘Promises, promises,’ she teased, her fingers trailing down his inked forearm. ‘You’ve got a wife and kids waiting in LA, yet here you are, chasing my ass across continents. What’s your excuse this time?’
He growled low, his hand sliding to her hip, gripping with a possessive edge. ‘My excuse is you, Missy. You’ve got me fucked up, texting me your dark little fantasies at 3 a.m. I can’t get your pussy out of my head.’
Her lips curled into a smirk, but her eyes burned with challenge. ‘Good. I’m not here to be forgettable. But if you think I’m just some side piece to pant over, you’ve got the wrong witch.’ She pushed against him, her nails digging into his shoulder. ‘I play rough, Matt. Can you keep up?’
His breath hitched, the raw need in her words igniting something primal. He backed her against the balcony railing, the ocean roaring below as his hands roamed her curves, slipping under the sarong to find her already wet. ‘Fuck, you’re dripping for me,’ he rasped, his voice thick with lust. ‘Let’s see how rough you really like it.’
Missy’s laugh was a dark melody as she hooked a leg around his waist, pulling him closer. ‘Bring it, Shadows. I’ve been horny for this since your last shitty voice note. Make me sweat for it.’
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