on his dick. She’s beating him hard.
On. His. Dick!
Then again, who am I to judge? I’m a whole lot worse.
“You want to go to a room…with me?” I ask the blonde. I try to sound upbeat and fail miserably.
She winces. “I don’t like having sex in public.” Then she gives me a half-smile. At least we have one thing in common, but I’m not convinced. I don’t think she’s my ‘type’. “Or…we could have a drink first?” she goes on when I don’t say anything.
I take a sip of my whiskey, putting the beverage in my right hand. Then I reach over and casually pinch her nipple through the stick-on. I keep my eyes on hers. I pinch her a little harder than what would be considered appropriate. A kinky, up-for-anything woman will be able to take it and dish out the same.
Her eyes widen, and she makes a gasping noise. She closes a hand over her breast as I take another sip of my drink. I’m sure her nipple is smarting…just a little.
It’s my turn to quirk a brow. “I think I might be a little more than you can handle, sweetheart.”
She swallows again…harder this time. I can see her mind working. She’s still interested. Her chest is heaving. I scent arousal. I also scent fear.
“I’ll break you,” I whisper loud enough for her to hear. It’s not true, I don’t get off on hurting women. But I need someone made from stronger stuff. She’s like a child playing at dress-up.
The blonde looks into my eyes. They say the eyes are windows to the soul. Mine are black like a moonless night. So dark, it’s difficult to distinguish my irises from my pupils. Black. Cold. Fucking heartless. She gives an almost indiscernible nod, looking both disappointed and relieved. I watch as she strides away. I wish I could go to a nice bar or club and pick up a nice girl. I wish I could have a nice conversation with her. Maybe we could even date. Have nice, normal sex. It would be so fucking nice! Amazing, even.
I can’t!
I’m me!
I make nice girls cry.
A lot!
They come hard, but they cry. I hate tears. Tears fuck me off. I scare nice girls, so no nice girls for me. No normal anything for the son of Ares…god of war and destruction.
I’m wearing suit pants and a button-down shirt. No tie. The top button is undone. The shirt is a soft pink. I’ve been told that the color is good on me. It softens the harsh vibes I give off. At least to a degree. My scar and my scowl go a long way to ward off the nice girls…mostly.
The couple on the sofa are arguing. It looks like he got there before her. I bite back a smile because I don’t smile. Fuck that! There is a clean-up crew on the stage. I don’t envy them. I don’t envy the morning shift either. Poor bastards!
There are plenty of people milling around. Couples, singles, groups, you name it. The dance floor is heaving…literally. Here at Straight and Narrow – yes, that’s what this club is called. Straight and fucking Narrow…as if – they take dirty dancing to a new level. I see two women eyeing me from across the room. They’re wearing tiny dresses. The one has cleavage from here until next week, and the other has legs that go on for miles. They giggle as soon as they catch me looking back at them.
Hard fucking pass!
They think they’re into kinky shit. I would prove them wrong in a heartbeat.
I see a woman standing alone at the other end of the bar. She looks as bored out of her mind as I do.
What is she wearing?
A man’s collared button-up shirt. It’s white. The buttons are done up all the way up to her throat. Her sleeves are turned up to her elbows. She’s drowning in the shirt. I make a noise that sounds too close to the start of a laugh for my liking. All I can say is that she’s sticking out like a sore thumb. Her hair is all the way down her back. It touches her ass. It’s black and straight as an arrow…only…I don’t think she brushed it before coming here. It looks like she climbed straight out of someone’s bed. The man whose shirt she’s wearing, perhaps. Her face is devoid of makeup, but she’s fucking gorgeous anyway. Her lashes are long and thick. Her eyes are