VOID: A Dark Bad Boy Romance

by Stella Noir

  Of course, it wasn't all bad. No one knows that better than him. We met in the trenches of darkness and we got out of it together – our pockets loaded with cash. It's not my fault that the easiest way to make money happens to be illegal and involves conducting business in the shadows. I didn't make the system, I just took advantage of it.

  I followed Joe's guidance when he showed me the way out, and I'm glad I did. But he needs to realize that some things can't be fixed. I can't be fixed.

  I'm done with love. I don't need to meet someone. There are things that need to be put to rest. All he did by this pathetic attempt to get me out there again was to awaken burning urges inside me that I try to keep under control through unconventional methods.

  I may be done with love, but I'm not done with women.

  My mind wanders while the cab driver slowly fights his way through the snarled evening traffic. It wanders to her. She's in my head all right, and I fear she will remain in there unless I do something about it. Joe knew that she'd be my type, but he has no idea what a girl like her awakens inside me. If anything, he put that girl in danger.

  I had to get away from her because there was no telling what I'd do if I stayed in that bar a minute longer. I want her. I want to take her, break her and give her a glimpse of the darkness I know so many women crave in their fantasies. They may desire the blackness, but very few set out to experience it, to endure it. I know she isn't one of them. She'd break down crying, yelling and punching me with her little girl fists, and my stomach would turn.

  I have to protect both of us from that horrible experience and make sure that we won't meet again. That, I'm sure, won't be hard to do as there's no reason for us to ever need to see each other again. She didn't get what she wanted from me and I made it pretty damn clear that there's no chance in hell that she will, either. She has no reason to ever contact me again.

  But the burning desire for her won't go away by itself. I have to eradicate her from my memory, erase her completely from my thoughts, and replace her with something else as soon as possible. Her face, her eyes, her hands, they will haunt me if I don't do something about it.

  I need to go to the club.

  As the cab driver stops in front of my high-rise apartment building, I hand him a few bills to cover the fare before sliding out of the backseat. I pull my phone out of my pocket, hurriedly making arrangements for tonight while I ride the elevator up to my penthouse.

  Of course, none of my favorites are available on such short notice, but Greg, the club owner, assures me that Candice, a feisty little redhead, will be waiting for me. She looks nothing like the little reporter from today, thank goodness. I've had her before. She's not exactly my type, but she will do for tonight. She will have to.

  When I arrive at the club about an hour later, Candice welcomes me. She’s wearing white lacy lingerie that compliments her pale complexion. She's a real beauty, there's no doubt about that. Her make-up is very light, only emphasizing her pretty features in a subtle way, just the way I like it.

  She walks up to me, a warm and welcoming smile gracing her beautiful face.

  "Hello, Jed," she greets me, gently placing her hand on my upper arm. Her skin looks even whiter when next to mine. "It's been a while."

  Candice's touch doesn't feel anything like hers did. It's familiar and gentle, but nothing about it sets me on fire.

  I take her hand and bring it up to my lips, placing a chivalrous kiss on the back of it.

  She giggles.

  "Your manners are impeccable," she says, casting me a naughty smile. "At least out here."

  She gestures around the room, and my eyes follow her.

  The club is crowded, especially for a weeknight. Most of the guests are middle-aged men, but not all of them. I spot the occasional female patron, dressed up for a fancy night out, puffing on a cigarette or sipping their drink while talking to their girlfriends.

  The girls who work here are among the best you can get in this city. They're not only beautiful, but good conversationalists, as well. Even though most guests show up for the flirtation and sex, it’s not unusual to see men stay afterwards, conversing and sharing a few overpriced drinks with the girl they just fucked. This entire business is built on the hope that the clients will stay for more than just a pretty fuck.

  I'm one of the few for whom the girl's looks or conversation skills don't do the trick. It doesn't matter to me.

  I don't come here to talk or for the companionship. Simply put, I come here to get my male needs fed, to satisfy my urges, and because I appreciate the good service.

  I take Candice by the hand and lead her through the club. A few heads turn towards us, but we get ignored for the most part because everyone else is too invested in their own little flirts. We weave through the dimly lit club, passing by couples holding whispered conversations or entwined in steamy make-out sessions that will soon be moved to a private room.

  Candice knows me well enough to understand that I won't sit down with her out here. I lead her to one of the private rooms in the back, the key to it already in my hand.

  "Always in such a hurry," she says once we are inside and I turn around to face her, beckoning for her to get started.

  I know she gets paid extra if she gets me to stick around longer to order a few drinks, so I won't trick myself into thinking that she's actually sad about us not spending more time together.

  I make her feel like an average prostitute, which I know most girls here refuse to see themselves as. But I don't care. I need what I need. I need to replace that image of Lily, of her innocent blue eyes, with the sight of Candice's lips wrapped around my hard cock.

  "Not in a hurry," I correct her, as I place my hand at the back of her head, pulling her closer to my groin. "Just very focused on what I came here to get."

  She smirks up at me, as I unhook her bra. My fingertips brush against her pale skin and I watch her chest heave as her breathing accelerates. I never take a girl without her wanting it, too. I want her wet and eager for my cock, not just doing business. Fucking a girl who's not into it is the worst.

  I know this makes me popular with the girls here, as too many customers don't care about the girls' pleasure at all. My efforts make them think that I'm a good guy, that I would make a good boyfriend. This couldn't be further from the truth.

  I don't caress Candice's sensitive skin because I care for her. I don't kiss and bite her delicate neck because she means anything to me. I don't tease her hot center because I want her to like me.

  I do it for selfish reasons. I do it to increase my own pleasure.

  When she lets out a faint moan and whispers my name as I part her lips and start rubbing her hot nub, it signals only one thing for me: that's she' ready to do her job and help me forget about the face that's been haunting me all night.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lily

  "He just left?"

  Sara looks at me, her eyes wide and her eyebrows arched.

  We are standing in the office's kitchen, both drinking our first coffee of the day, and I have just told her about my failed attempt at interviewing Jed.

  "Yes," I confirm. "Apparently he was expecting something completely different or... I don't know. I think that Joe guy might have miscommunicated my intentions or something? Has something like this ever happened to you?"

  Sara tilts her head to the side as she contemplates my question.

  "No," she says eventually. "Nothing like this. But yeah, interviews can get crazy and turn out nothing like planned. I mean, our stories wouldn't be as interesting if we were to interview normal people and everything worked out perfect, right?"

  "Mmm-hmm," I mumble, staring down at my own cup of coffee.

  I feel like a complete failure. My first-ever attempt at writing my own editorial article, my first real story, my first real one-on-one interview, and it ended in a fiasco.

  "What do you suggest I do?" I ask Sara, looking at her with hopeful expectation. "Should I go after him?
Try to meet up with him again?"

  She furls her eyebrows. "Why would you do that?"

  Because I want to see him again.

  While he wasn’t exactly the interview I was looking for, Jed Lozano did leave an impression on me. There's more to this man than the eye can see. I've always felt drawn to the darkness, to the corrupted and broken. It's one of the reasons why things didn't work out between me and Peter. Meeting Jed Lozano only confirmed that wish, that need, that desire to explore a relationship with a different kind of person. A different kind of man.

  However, those reasons are anything but professional. I've tried to convince myself that it would make sense to follow up with him and not give up on the idea of winning him over for an interview. Rationally, though, I know that it’s ridiculous, but a small part of me still kept hoping Sara would encourage me to go for it.

  "He fits the criteria perfectly," I try to justify. "He has a story to tell, I can feel it! I just need to find a better way to make him talk."

  Sara casts me a skeptical look. "From what you've told me, it doesn't sound like he's ready to talk at all. I think you're wasting your time."

  My heart sinks.

  "So, you think I should give up on him?" I ask.

  "Yeah," she says, nodding. "I'm sure this Joe guy from the counseling facility could come up with a few more names of guys who fit the criteria just as well and who are actually willing to talk to you. Don't waste your time on that asshole."

  I don't like that she's calling him an asshole, but I can't blame her after what I've told her about him. Still, it doesn't seem fair.

  "But he's interesting," I insist. "He may be tough to deal with, but his story might be gold."

  Sara smirks at me, and for a moment I fear that she might have seen right through me.

  "You like a good challenge, don't you?" she says.

  I look at her quizzically, tilting my head. "What do you mean?"

  "Don't get me wrong, it's a good trait to have for this job," she adds, raising her hands in an appeasing gesture. "And I think you're right. The best stories are often the ones that are the hardest to obtain. But I think you're wasting your time on this guy. Don't do this to yourself, not on your first editorial."

  I look at her, unable to hide my disappoinment. It would have been so much easier to follow up with him if I had Sara's approval. She's a pro, she knows how things are done, and I always swore to myself that I would listen to her advice no matter what.

  But it looks like I may have to make an exception in this case. As I wander back to my office, I suddenly remember that I do have a good excuse to approach him again.

  I get out my notes from the interview and rummage through the pages until I find what I'm looking for: a bundle of bills. He left one hundred dollars on the counter last night, which was way too much to pay for both of our drinks. I thought it was an accident at first, but based on the background research I did on him, it's safe to assume that he just didn't care and wanted to pay me for my trouble. He's loaded, and contrary to me, a hundred dollars probably means nothing to him. He just wanted to make sure that I had been reimbursed and would leave him alone. It's almost as if he's trying to pay me to stay away from him.

  Well, that's not how it works for me.

  He will get his damn money back, and I will use it as an excuse to see him again.

  I sit down at my desk to consider my options. I still don't have his phone number, so calling him is out of the question. He never replied to the first email I sent, so there's no reason to believe he'd reply now.

  Also, I expect him to push me away if I try to approach him the conventional way. No, this isn't going to work. He can only be approached one on one, in person.

  I will never forget the way he looked at me when I grabbed his arm as he tried to leave the bar. He froze, surprised, a litte scared even. He broke free eventually, but at least for a moment, I managed to hold him back.

  Maybe he's feeling it, too? That strange connection? That alluring tension between us? Or am I imagining it? Am I just a silly little girl with a crush on a handsome and sinister stranger?

  I’m not sure what it is, but one thing I know for sure is that I can't ignore it. I broke up with Peter because I wanted more excitement, and the next thing I know, I meet this gorgeous stranger. This can't be a mere coincidence. I refuse to believe that.

  I need to see him again, and I think I have an idea how to do that.

  He did provide me with a little something to go on. The bar. He said he's there almost every night. Or was it every other night? In any case, he's a regular at that place, and it's not far from my office. It may be borderline stalking, but I don't see any reason why I can't stop by there after work. Every day, if need be. Until I meet him again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jed

  It didn't work. My night with Candice didn't do the job. I felt it while it was happening. Every time she looked at me, beautiful as always, pleasing me like she always has, and I couldn't enjoy it. I went through the motions, I did my best not to let her notice, but I didn't get as much out of it as I usually would.

  And now I feel like shit about it. Meeting her did the exact opposite of what it was supposed to.

  I left the club and went home that night feeling the same vast emptiness that's been haunting me for years. The only thing that was different was that it was now accompanied by Lily's face and the frightening promise behind her eyes. The promise for more, for something that lasts a lifetime and is far more fulfilling than a quick night of lust.

  A promise for something that I've tried to steer away from for as long as I can remember. I convinced myself a long time ago that I don't need it.

  After all, I've done pretty well for myself the past few years. And I'm sure I'm only seeing these things because the wish was reflected in her eyes. She's not a girl like Candice. She's a dreamer, a good girl, someone who's looking for the real thing, for a husband. She's pure innocence and naivete. Her name, Lily, screams it.

  She's exactly my type, and I hate that. I hate that her pretty face keeps following me, even after I tried to wipe her out of my memory. I hate that my mind wanders to her, imagining what it would be like to have her on her knees in front of me, those blues eyes looking up at me while her pouty lips are wrapped around my cock. What she would look like when I ram my hard length inside of her, what faces she would make, what noises would escape her mouth while I fuck her with everything I have.

  I bet she wouldn't be loud. Girls like her never are. Their moans are nothing but hoarse whispers, and the challenge would be to make them cry out loud, surprised at their own volume. She would open those baby blue eyes and stare at me in disbelief as she loses control over herself and her body.

  Fuck, how I would love to see that.

  Yet, I know it will never happen. It can't. It shouldn't. I would ruin her in so many ways.

  Three days have passed by since I walked into the club so that Candice could help erase that face from my mind, and here I am, staring out the panoramic window in an office I haven't used in what seems like forever. There was no need to show up lately, and being the boss grants me the luxury of deciding whether I need to work from here or home.

  Today, I'm only here because I thought it would help me to focus on work.

  Sitting in a busy office should be the perfect setting for that, after all. But there's too little to do to keep me occupied. I have delegated so many tasks to my staff members that my presence is hardly needed anymore. It's a dream come true, really, but a nightmare when one needs work to serve as a distraction.

  I sit in my leather chair, my back turned towards the door, as I observe the city below me, holding a glass of Scotch in my left hand. I'm the only one who's allowed to drink at the office, unless I invite my subordinates to join me, but I know it's a bad and dangerous habit. I never get drunk, as I only sip at the whisky to get a little taste of it, to let the burn warm my senses, but it's poison nonetheless. A poison that many ha
ve fallen victim to and one I don't intend to follow.

  "Oh, you're here," I hear a voice say behind me.

  I turn the chair around and am surprised to see Angie, one of my secretaries, standing in the door. It's almost five p.m. and she's usually gone home by this time, especially on a Friday.

  She's standing in the doorway, carrying a little watering can that is obviously meant to water the lonely plant in my office. I hadn't even noticed that thing was still alive until now.

  "I'm sorry," she says, awkwardly shifting her weight from one leg to the other. "I didn't expect you to be, here Mr. Lozano, otherwise I wouldn't have –"

  "It's okay," I tell her, beckoning her to come in. "Thank you for watering my plant. I reckon it would've been long dead if it wasn't for you."

  She smiles shyly, and I can see a little blush on her face as she comes in and focuses her attention on the plant at the far end of my giant desk.

  Angie is in her mid-thirties and unmarried, something she perceives as a big failure. She's a pretty woman, but average in every regard. She's nice, dressed in a casual chic kind of way. She's not my type, but I'm surprised that no other man has made her his wife yet.

  "Are you going to start working from your office again?" she asks, while feeding my plant the much needed water.

  I shake my head. "I'd need something to do first, apparently the boss is no longer needed when business just runs on its own."

  "It's a slow time of the year," Angie says. "Things will get busier once winter comes."

  I nod.

  I can tell that she's attracted to me. Her hands are shaking as she pushes the leaves to the side so that she has access to the pot and not cause the water to spill all over my desk. She avoids direct eye contact, but pushes her chest out and hollows her back, obviously trying to appear as appealing as possible in front of my eyes.