Ace (HS)

Clive Christian

Wild Things was a modernly-built club; the exterior painted a blue black, straight and angular, and the dark enchantment spilling from the door everytime someone went in or out, a small taste of the what was inside seeping through. It was hard to overlook it, walking by on the streets of London. Though it didn't stick out like a thorn, one's gaze simply found its way to the seductive club, as if it was beckoning them, seducing them.

But not just anyone could get in. The finest club in London had its standards, and high ones at that. Every hair had to be in place of a man's gelled quiff, and every pearl had to be polished around a woman's neck. You didn't necessarily have to be high status, but you had to look the part. Thus, the prominent divider between its occupants; the wealthy and the ones who desired wealth.

At times, it was easy to see the divide amongst the clubbers. There were signals that any eye could catch, be it the cheap fabric of a suit or a plastic piece of jewlery adorning their wrists.

Other times, the lines were more blurred.

***

A pair of ruby red lips twitched up in the corner. She was more than pleased, looking up into the arrogant green eyes hovering over her. Under the sense of satisfaction though, was a growing insecurity that was overwhelming in its unfamiliarity. This man's attire costed more than what any of her other lovers had in their bank account. This was going to be a great feat, and she prayed her unfailing expertise did not lose its worth now of all times.

A small hand found its way to a thick chest. The muscles under it tensed slightly, but then relaxed as the cold hand pressed into it gently.

"What's your name, Mr. Owner?" she sang with a sweet mockery. It was music to his ears, and he found the sudden urge to hear that beautiful voice moaning his name.

He moistened his lips. "Styles. Harry Styles." He watched as she nodded to herself, her lips parting slightly as they repeated the name in a whisper, but it got lost in the noise around them. He almost growled and shook her until she repeated it louder, just so he could hear it roll off her sweet tongue.

"And you, my love?" His voice was velvety and hoarse all at once, a combination that made the inside of her thighs clench. She bit the inside of her cheek as her hand crept up his chest, further until the pads of her long fingers met the exposed flesh, tugging slightly on the collar of his shirt so the inked image underneath could be better exposed to her. Her dark eyes hardened in concentration as she spoke, studying the two swallows painted on his golden flesh just beneath his thick collar bones.

"Carmen," she replied mindlessly, still fixated on his tattoos. "Carmen Avalos."

Styles narrowed his eyes momentarily. The name was vaguely familiar, as if spoken of once around him, but his attention had probably been elsewhere at the time. It was a beautiful, strong name, and even after knowing the woman standing before him for five minutes, he found that it fit her just perfectly.

"Well, Carmen," he was sure to let his accent strengthen on her name. Just like Carmen, his words and movements were practiced, a wisdom gained from experience behind them. "Perhaps I could show you around before my limo arrives. You know, to fill the void."

Carmen fought an arrogant grin. All men are the same, she thought to herself with an inward roll of her eyes. No matter how much money was in their pocket, or how much power behind their gait, they could all be manipulated by a pretty face and a sweet smile.

"Of course," she spoke. "We wouldn't want the owner of the finest club in London to not be entertained while he awaits his limousine. That would just be cruel."