by K L Rymer
It’s 3am. I should be in bed. Yet I’m still at the club. I don’t even have the strength or will to hunt for any women anymore, which is a shame. They’re all so drunk and careless. At this rate I wouldn’t even have to thrall them. They’d come home with me willingly.
No. I’ll let all the lesser men have their fun tonight, like the lucky fella on my right, shoving his tongue down a curvy blonde’s throat.
They sound like they’re slurping soup, amateurs. Normally, I’d be turned on by their wet kissing noises (especially as the blonde’s big ass keeps grinding up next to me), but not today. Not now.
Because the longer I gaze into my grey eyes on the other side of the bar, the more I see her, and I look away lest the memories eat me up.
Eighteen years. Eighteen years to this day since that bastard took my mother’s life.
Fuck, I need a stronger drink. Anything to dull the pain and take the memories away. Anything to drown out the incessant beat that drones in the background.
It’s hardly music now, just random noise, and if I don’t leave soon enough I’m going to send a flaming ball of red hot fire at the DJ’s booth.
I chug back my glass, slamming it so hard on the bar, it sends a crack down the side, then turn towards the exit.
And that’s when I see her — dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and skin-tight red dress.
My dick jolts as she rubs the rim of her glass with her polished red finger, giving me those “come hither” eyes.
God, she’s hot. She makes every other girl at the club look like a troll. And I’ve always had a weakness for a woman in a red dress.
She holds my gaze and not once does she look away, and I stare impressed. It takes guts to stare a demon in the eye. Real, real guts.
Yeah, long story. I’m a demon. Well, demon descent, and not in the way you may think. Sure, I wish I could say my father was the Prince of Darkness, but he’s close enough. The famous billionaire tycoon, Randall Black. The evilest son of bitch of all.
The brunette gives me a wink, and my dick finally betrays me to the amusement of several girls.
Meh, who cares. Let them see a real package for once (and a very sizable package too at that).
The exit beckons me as a small part of me yearns for the soft sheets of my bed (you wouldn’t think I was just twenty-six, wanting to go to bed rather than party all night), but I move back towards the bar and head for the girl.
Yeah, head (she’s going to be giving me plenty of that once I’m through with her).
Finally, I make it to her side, and her intoxicating scent catches me off guard. It’s rare a girl’s aroma affects me so much, but there’s no denying the sizzling, erotic taste as it dances on my tongue, making me slaver.
Perhaps I’ll be the one giving her head instead (I bet her pussy tastes just as great as she smells).
Her blue eyes continue to pierce me, and then she smirks with those luscious red lips. I stare for a while, mesmerised.
Now that is one juicy mouth. The word kissable comes to mind. The red of her lips contrasts with her fair skin, giving her that sinister Snow White look.
“Hello,” she whispers.
Shit. Irish. I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep it in my pants. Smoking hot. Check. Red dress. Double check. And an Irish accent. Well, fuck me...
“H-hello...” It’s not like me to get so shy and tongue-tied around women, but there’s no doubt this temptress has a hold on me.
She keeps staring at me with those cutting blue eyes, and I swallow, feeling the sweat gathering on my upper lip. “Can... can I buy you a drink?”
She smiles and finishes her glass, then sets it down on the bar. “Wine, please. Red.”
Red to go with her dress and lips.
I order a bottle for the both of us, and we talk at the bar till dawn. Her name’s Victoria Flynn, a lingerie model who’s just moved into town, and I’m surprised.
Not that she doesn’t have the looks, but she has far more brains than any model I’ve met. For one she has a degree in journalism, and possesses an affinity for discussing real word subjects such as politics, war or climate change. And I just nod along, too drunk to even form a coherent sentence.
I’m not exactly an idiot (I did attend one year at Cambridge before I dropped out), but I’m not the type to get into a debate. So I just agree for the time being.
Besides, half the things she’s discussing... my father has had a hand in causing it (my father’s company isn’t very eco-friendly). We’re just a family of devils destroying the planet after all, and I’m too embarrassed to tell her my full name.
I’ll just tell her I’m Eli for now. I’ll keep the Black part a secret a bit longer.
I’ve dated models. Hundreds, thousands, and they’re nothing like her. Not as sharp and astute. Not as tuned into the world. All they care about is diet pills, going to the gym, and winning a spot on that mind-numbing reality TV love show everyone’s raving about now.
Before long we have our tongues down each other’s throats, and it’s then when I call a cab to take me back to Kensington (I told my chauffeur Marcus to head home hours ago).
We rush out into the street, the fresh air filling our lungs, then fall into the back seat of the cab, groping each other’s flesh. She grabs my hardened dick beneath my pants while I seize her pussy, pushing aside her lacy underwear. My finger slips inside, searching for that swollen nub, and then she gasps when I give it a tight squeeze.
She’s pooling at my touch, and I rub harder, faster, until she’s soaking my hand. Fuck... she’s wet and so turned on (I can feel her walls tightening around my fingers).
By long she lets out a moan and squirts all over the back seat, and I swear the taxi driver’s just as turned on as I am if not annoyed. He gets a free porn show after all. What’s there not to love? (I’ll reimburse for the mess to his seat later).
But we’re not done. Victoria soon sits up, throwing me back against the seat and straddles my waist. She digs her teeth into my neck, eliciting a satisfied breath from my lips, then unfastens my zip, positioning herself on my cock.
It’s thick shaft rubs the inside walls of her pussy as she grinds into me hard, back and forth, over and over, gritting her teeth to refrain from screaming. Her hot breath fans my sweaty face, and it’s not long until I come too.
Okay. I’ll pay the taxi driver triple.
We couldn’t even make it to my bed in the end.
What a pair of animals.