I NOTICE HER the bloody second she comes into the room. There’s a shift in the air, a different kind of energy that sweeps over my over six-foot-two frame as I take in every delicate detail of her body. How she walks. How the little black dress she wears clings to each sinuous curve.
This girl commands the attention of every drunk arsehole without an ounce of effort.
From my seat, I have a view of every inch of this pub; from its entrance to the bar—to the small dancefloor off to my left where bodies grind to the beat of some chart-topping artist. The place is full to the brim, and yet, she’s all I see. All I can seem to focus on. Taking account of every minute detail while all around me people continue to slam back pint after pint.
Each swing of her hips is a call to the animal within. A taunt.
The woman she’s with stops a few tables from the one I’m occupying near the back with my men; a setup of high-top seating, and along the wall, two private booths. They greet another couple already sitting there with a small handshake, though hers is more on the distant side, the kind you give a stranger. A bit timid.
She shifts a bit—head bobbing to the music—and I follow the move, lowering my eyes to roam her small frame and liking the way her hip juts a bit to the side. Naturally coquettish, she’s small but thick where it counts. Young, but legal. A beautiful little thing with the face of an angel and a body made to worship. At no more than five-foot-three and no older than twenty-two, she’s all hips and thighs and a gorgeous face with hazel eyes and plump berry-colored lips.
Moreover, it’s that mouth that first caught my attention.
How she throws her head back laughing at what someone at the table says. How carefree she looks. How those lips stretch wide and her eyes close for a brief moment before meeting mine.
We hold each other’s stare. Not moving.
And then that mouth parts in slow motion, her tiny pink tongue peeking out to sweep across her bottom lip sealing her fate. At that moment, every single thought of retribution leaves my mind. My hunger morphing into something wickedly delicious.
I need that tight body on her knees.
I want her breasts encasing my thick cock as I slide between those plump tits.
I want her wetness running down my length, bathing me, as those hazel orbs stay on mine.
“Sir, are you alright?” someone says from beside me, but I pay them no mind. Not when my prey turns as some bloke taps her bare shoulder. I’m out of my seat and across the room before I can register the action, but there’s no ignoring the red hot ire that burns through my veins at the sight of the pompous wanker.
I want to punch the idiot. Break the hand he touched her with, but before that can happen, he catches my eyes and pales, stumbling in his haste to get away.
Then, I’m five steps from her and pause as my rage turns into an inferno of lust. My hunger renewed as the soft scent of cherry blossoms infiltrates my senses and I bite back a groan. It’s all her. The temptation and want and this lust that has me throbbing—beads of pre-come already rolling down the tip and shaft.
It’s also why I take the remaining steps and bend to place my lips next to her ear. Why I revel in the way she shivers for me.
“What’s your name, love?”