by Sienna Blake
His right nostril is dusted with white powder and he has that gunky white residue at the corner of his mouth as most coke users do. Gross. I hope he doesn’t expect me to kiss him. I look down at the bar counter, shiny from polish and spilled liquor, because I just can’t keep looking at him. Otherwise I fear I’ll get put off to the point where I can’t do this. And I need this.
I place my lips around the straw and pretend to take a sip of my drink. They are generous with their shots here, so I can taste the sting of the vodka mixed with the sharpness of the lime on my lips as I draw up the cold liquid. I stop sucking without swallowing any liquid and let it all fall back down the straw. I don’t drink. Especially not when I’m on the hunt for a distraction. I don’t like losing control of my faculties. I won’t do it. I don’t like it. Most importantly, I can’t afford to.
At that moment something in the music changes and I look up. It’s then that I spot him leaning against the wall across from me. His giant form with overbearing shoulders and intimidating arms straining against his dark shirt makes it difficult not to notice. From here I can see that he has messy dark hair and dark eyebrows. I can’t tell what color his eyes are, but I’m desperate to find out. Black as night, I guess, to match his hair.
He’s staring at me, an intense stare that makes my lungs flutter, and making no attempts to hide it. I can’t help but smile.
I noticed him several weeks ago. He had been standing in almost that very spot fucking me from across the space with his eyes like he’s doing now. I thought he would approach me. He didn’t. He just watched me. He didn’t even come to lay claim after a good-looking suit sought to charm me into giving him some of my time. I left with the suit that night. Although later I was imaging it was him buried between my legs. Since then, I’ve found my eyes being drawn to that very spot where he stands now. It’s the first time he’s been back.
“Hey, sweetcheeks.” My attention is diverted back to Bozo. This wannabe lover is frowning at me, obviously ticked off that he isn’t getting his vodka tonic’s worth of attention from me. The dim bar lights flash off his hair like an oil slick, making it look like someone has spat all through it. I cringe when I imagine running my hands through it to pull at it. “You even listening to me?”
I smile and I can feel it dripping thick with fake honey. I pull in the corners of my mouth so that it forces dimples to my cheeks. “Of course I am, babe.” I giggle and place my hand lightly on his arm.
Bozo’s face relaxes. Predictable fucker. He leans in close so I can smell a mix of rum and cigarettes on his breath. I rack my brain for why I even let him buy me a drink.
“Well, why don’t you drink up, beautiful, and we can go take this party upstairs into a private booth?”
This is what I want, isn’t it? I feel his hand slip onto the small of my lower back then slide down to feel the round of my ass. He presses his partial erection against my side.
Usually the touch of a sexed-up man ready to go gets me excited, but tonight, for some reason, it only serves to make me feel queasy. I swallow and try to fight this feeling from showing on my face. For some reason I look over to the wall again.
Mr. Tall, Dark and Fuckable is gone. I glance around in an attempt to find him. I don’t see him towering over the mass of bobbing heads in the crowd. My heart sinks into my stomach, making my nausea feel worse.
“Sorry,” I say, taking my arm off Bozo and stepping aside so his hand drops off my ass. “I just remembered I have to meet someone. Maybe next time.”
Before I can step away his fingers grab my arm, pulling me off balance. “Don’t play games with me,” he grunts, his breath coming out hard and fast like a bull. “You were all over me a second ago. You wouldn’t have come out here wearing no underwear if you weren’t up for it.” He runs his other hand up the back of my ass again to prove he was right. “I can smell that you want me from here.”
I cringe. I try to shake his hand off, but his grip is like a vice. “Let go of me, you pig.”
Instead he pulls me to him and tries for a kiss, his disgusting mouth puckering like a fish. His other hand slips under the hem of my dress. I lean back and try to balance on one heel so I can kick him where it hurts. Before I do, he releases me, almost causing me to fall over. He disappears behind a wide back wrapped in black cotton. I grab the bar to steady myself.
Oh God. It’s him. The man from the wall. I know it’s him. Even though I can’t see his face, I recognize his presence. I stare up at his thick shoulder muscles pushing out against his shirt, then down his lats, which are wide enough to hang off, tucking down into a trim waist. Finally to a round ass and lovely strong thighs hugged by dark blue denim. Holy sweet Jesus. My mouth is already watering.
“She said she had to meet someone. Now back the fuck off,” Mr. Tall, Dark and Fuckable’s words rumble to my ears over the thump thump of the music. Even his voice sounds like sex, deep and rough and demanding.
“Shit. Okay, man. I’m going.”
“The fuck you are.” This sex god steps back so that I can see that he has Bozo by his shirt. He yanks Bozo forward. “You apologize first. And make it a good one.”
Bozo starts to grovel at me, but I can’t hear him. I’m mesmerized by my first close-up look at this man’s face. He was good looking from far away, but up close he is just… beautiful. Not in a structurally perfect Abercrombie and Fitch pretty boy-model come-run-with-me-through-the-fucking-daisies kind of way. God no. He is beautiful like the wild, untamed mountains. He’s tan skinned, thick jawed and stubbled, and there’s a scar that cuts across one of his eyebrows. His generous lips are pulled into a scowl that makes him look dangerous and a little bit nasty in all the right ways. This combination sends a rush of heat through my veins.
I was so wrong about his eyes. They aren’t brown. They are the intense green of rough seas, turbulent and luring with depths that fear I might never be able to swim out of.
He stares back at me, meeting my gaze head on. His snarl softens into a smirk. He still manages to make it look mean. Like a warning.
I definitely should not be staring back so boldly. I definitely should not be wondering how dark a shade his eyes get when he’s turned on. I definitely definitely should not be going anywhere with him to find out.
I only realize that Bozo has finished groveling when he is shoved away. “Get lost and stay lost.”
Bozo disappears into the crowd. I’m left with him. He still hasn’t broken eye contact with me.
I hear a little voice in me begging me to be the first to look away. Play it cool. I snap out of my reverie and lean one elbow against the bar so that my other hip rolls out, something I know showcases my small waist.
“So I guess I owe you a thanks then, huh?” I tilt my head down so that my hair falls across one eye and look up at him. I give him my fake name just quiet enough so that he has to lean in to hear it. Now that he’s right where I want him, I hold out my hand and give him my slowest, sexiest smile – the one I reserve for when I want to impress, the one that never fails to have a man eating out of my palm.
He laughs.
The prick laughs at me.
I’m so shocked I just blink at him like an idiot, my hand still stuck out like a misplaced limb. What. The. Fuck.
“Your games won’t work on me,” he says.
I straighten up, my body flushing with shame and lust, a heady combination. “Let’s not play games then.”
“You don’t want to mess around with me.”
“Maybe I do.”
His features harden. “I’m no good for you. I just thought I’d do my moral duty and help out.”
I bristle. “I don’t need saving.”
“I was talking about him. He was about to get his balls kicked up into his head.”
He leans in so that he’s only inches away, so close I catch my first smell of him. Musky and manly with a hint of wood smoke underneath. I want to bury my face into his chest and just inhale him in, long and deep. Musk and woo
d smoke. For some reason it makes me feel… safe. This feeling washes over me as his scent does and my limbs feel warm. It startles me. Safe is not something that I remember feeling in a long time.
He speaks low. “Why do you do this to yourself?”
“W-what? What the hell are you talking about?”
Only then does his gaze leave my eyes to give me a long, languid once-over. It isn’t the kind of look that I’m used to. It doesn’t rip at my clothes or grab at my skin. This look caresses my body like a tender kiss. I’m stripped until my wretched soul is left with nothing to cover it.
I swallow. I stand up straighter and lift my chin a little higher. But my fingers are fiddling with the hem of my dress. Suddenly I’m not feeling so comfortable in my skin-tight mini dress and black patent leather sky-high come-fuck-me heels. What felt like armor, now feels cheap and flimsy.
He looks back up to meet my gaze and I catch the sadness in his eyes. When he speaks there’s no trace of anger left in his voice. “You’re so much more than this. You just need someone to remind you.”
He turns without another word and starts to push through the throng of bodies. For a second I’m so stunned I can’t move.
Bastard. How dare he? Don’t you dare go after him.
My heart slams in protest as I watch him leave, taking my safety with him. He has tied himself to something deep inside me that remembers who I am. It remembers all of what I am. The good parts, the worthy parts, the parts of me that are more than this parade I put on for the world. “You’re so much more than this. You just need someone to remind you.” I want someone to remind me. I want him to remind me.
I go after him.
I can’t see him as I elbow my way through the crowd. Move. Move! Can’t you see I have to get to him? Where is he? Has he left already? What if I’ve already lost this chance?
I catch a glimpse of him stopped up ahead at the coat check, and it renews my hope. I yell at him to stop, but he can’t hear me over the noise of the music. No one can. These arms all feel like they are conspiring to hold me back as I struggle and shove my way through the thick forest of bodies. I watch helplessly as he turns from the coat check and disappears through the club doors. I push and scramble my way through with renewed vigor.
Finally I pull free. I burst through the club doors and scan the lot in front of me, a cool night breeze teasing at my hair. Where is he? Oh God. I lost him.
I spot his tall figure striding across the half-empty car park, a brown leather jacket now covering his frame. Relief rushes through me.
“Hey! You!” I yell as I stride as fast as I can in my heels.
He just ignores me and keeps walking. Bastard. Men don’t ignore me. I snatch off my heels so that I can run faster.
His strong legs are long, and he’s halfway across the parking lot before I even get near him. When I’m close enough I throw one of my heels at him to get his attention. It clips him on the skull and bounces to the ground.
He turns suddenly. “What the hell?”
I pull up short a few steps from him. “Where do you get off talking to me like that?”
He growls as he rubs his head and I’m reminded of an angry bear. I take a small step back.
“Shit,” he mutters. “I knew I shouldn’t have come near you.”
“But you did. And you saved me from that creep and you made him apologize to me, which was probably the sweetest thing anyone has done for me in a long time, but then you said the most awful things… and… and now you’re just walking off. What the fuck?”
“I’ve seen you in there more than once. You come in alone, each time with a different dress on, but each dress has the same M.O. Up to your ass and showing so much cleavage that you could catch flies with it. And boy do you do catch some flies.” His face twists in disgust and I flush with shame.
He thinks I’m a slut. Normally I wear that badge with honor. Yeah, I can fuck like a man. If that makes me a slut, so what? But now, I involuntarily pull down the hem of my dress, then curse myself for doing so.
“So I dress like this. I don’t ever get any complaints.”
“Of course they don’t complain. They’re getting exactly what they want from you.”
I swallow. Yes, the men I fuck are using me, but I’m using them, too. Aren’t I?
“I’m an adult. I can do what I want.” But my voice sounds smaller to my own ears. I fight back a prickle behind my lids.
He sighs and the hardness slips from his face a little. “Is this really what you want for yourself?”
Through his eyes I’m not sure anymore whether I like what I see. It makes me tremble inside and threatens to blow the lid on my whole sanity. What do I do now? I need some sort of answer.
I must get closer to him. I let my other heel slip to the ground and I take a few steps forward cautiously, ignoring the stab of loose gravel under my feet, closing the gap between us. He watches me warily, and I’m reminded of approaching a wild animal. Don’t make any sudden moves. Don’t startle him.
When I get close enough to smell him the feeling of safety encases me again, and I know, whatever happens, I can’t let him get away. I need this. I need him. I take a final step so we stand face to face.
“You said I just needed to be reminded. You could remind me.”
I lift my palms towards him to get my first feel of his wide chest. He grabs my wrists before I can touch him and pins them to my sides. It’s our first touch and it makes me feel lightheaded and numb. I revel in it. Our eyes feel like they have fused to each other. In any other circumstance I would have pouted or licked my lips or heaved out my breasts. None of these things feel right. With him, I feel…real.
“You’re right.” I’m surprised at how shaky my voice is, but I keep going. “I don’t like who I am. But I don’t know how to be anything else anymore. You can’t just leave me like this. Please… don’t leave me like this.”
“I wouldn’t be good for you.”
“You said that already.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
His lips purse and he looks pained all of a sudden. I get the urge to take his bottom lip between my teeth and suck. I don’t. I don’t move.
“This isn’t a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because… I’m complicated.”
“So am I.”
“I have rules.”
“I’m very good at following rules.” I’m not. But for him I’d try.
Under the fierceness in his eyes I detect a hint of amusement. “Do you really want to get involved with me, kitten?”
Kitten. As in, I am a kitten and he is a lion. If I get involved, he’ll eat me up. Dear God, I want to be eaten up by him.
He steps closer, but he doesn’t let go of my wrists. He’s holding me gently but firmly and I can feel the strength in his hands. For some reason being pinned by him relaxes me. It’s like Valium and I’m already addicted.
He bends his head down and rubs his lips across my cheekbone, starting from near my nose and along to my ear. Oh my. How is it possible that a man so rough-looking has lips that soft?
“Should I take your silence as a no?” His voice sinks into my skin like a bite, sending heat into my blood.
I have to close my eyes. His size and his smell and his touch and his voice are crowding all my senses. He feels like he’s everywhere around me, promising to possess me completely. My lower belly clenches with a fierce ache. I have to have this man inside me. I need it like I need my next breath.
“Yes,” I breathe. “I’m saying yes.”
As he moves a little closer, his body presses lightly against mine. We are barely touching, but the heat rolling off him is enough to make my insides shake. I need to be possessed by him.
“We start now. You can tell all your little boyfriends that they can fuck off. No more sex with strangers. No other men. Or you’ll never see or hear from me again. Is that clear?”
; I should be raging at his sheer arrogance and his insistence at exclusivity. I don’t do exclusivity. Except…why do I think that he could be worth it?
I realize why. It’s him. He is different. And this demand is different. It’s not for his benefit, but for mine. Not for his pleasure, but for mine.
He pulls back and his eyes are hard. “I said. Is. That. Clear?”
I nod, my throat too constricted with lust to speak. If he can reduce me to a quivering mess with only his voice, just imagine what he could do with… his fingers... his tongue… his…
He steps back with one foot so that our bodies open apart like they are hinged. Cold air rushes in where he was standing. I feel the tips of his fingers settle between my shoulder blades. “I’m taking you home.”
Jesus God yes. I’m ready. I am so ready for this man and whatever rules or lessons he has planned for me.
He pushes me forward, directing me by the light touch on my back. The confidence with which he directs me through the lot tells me he knows how to be in control. It promises me that if I let him lead me, he will show me numbing, blissful, submissive pleasure like I have never known. I allow him to walk me wordlessly through the parking lot, getting wetter with each step.
He stops me aside a motorcycle, big and beastly and chrome. For a second I just stand and stare. “You’re taking me home on that thing? It looks like it bites.”
“The bike isn’t what you need to worry about.” I bet. “I promise I’ll start slow and gentle.” The innuendo is not lost on me.
He takes his fingers from me. Immediately I feel unbalanced. I wish he would touch me again. When I turn back to him he’s holding out my heels by the straps. He picked up my discarded shoes for me. I blink several times before I take them off him and clutch at them with one hand. I’m mesmerized by his sure yet graceful movements as he shrugs his brown leather jacket off those powerful shoulders. Sweet Jesus, can this man get any sexier? He holds it out. “Put this on. You’ll get cold on the way home.”