I gasped when he turned us, pressing us against the hard wall and wrapped my leg around his waist. His body began grinding against mine, our tongues clashing in a fierce battle for dominance and submission. He won, of course.
When it came to Aaron...
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"So, you wanna fuck?" My eyes casually roamed over her. The thin arches of her brow looking like sharp slits, her lips heavily over lined and injected with too much filler.
Naturally my eyes were drawn to her breasts. 36E, as she liked to brag. She thought I found it hot, the way they were practically about to pop open her dress, so she thrust her chest out towards me and causally bent a little lower.
It made me want to instill a dress code policy. Well, I mean the violent metal buttons in her dress popping off could be a safety hazard.
"Or I could just suck you off Mr Black? Whichever you prefer of course."
I reached for my drinks, telling my bartender to deal with the situation before. "Not likely." I remarked, casually walking away from her squawking shrills of displeasure.
The sad thing was this was reality. Men were jealous of the attention I received, always staring at me with loathed hatred, their eyes pinned onto me like I was vulture about to swoop away their thirsty girlfriends.
It's not my problem their woman don't stick.
There's only one woman for me now. That was solidified years ago, and yet somehow unless I have a wedding band on my finger, the cougars and lionesses fail to recognise I'm not interested.
"Finally, you took your fucking time. It's not like you own the place or anything." I rolled my eyes, shoving Tristan his drink. It sloshed over the sides, splattering over his new brown leather shoes. "Fuck, man."
"Next time you go. I'm sick of clubs."
"This place was your first child, not to mention a fucking cash machine. 20 grand in just last month."
"Impressive." Lionel commented form the other side of the room. He's become so good at slinking around in the shadows that I forgot he was there. "So, why does the Mr Black require a meeting with someone like me?"
"First of all, just because you've become some big shot hitman, doesn't mean you still don't work for me. Don't forgot who gave you a job and got you off the fucking streets Lionel!"
He chuckled nervously, sinking into himself. "Okay, jeez. I'm listening boss."
"Mikhail Ivanov." My wrath blinds me red as he sucks in a sharp breath like I'd just muttered the name of the devil himself.
"That's a heavy one."
"I don't care about price. I just want it done."
"Boss, he's...powerful."
"So?" I was sick of people acting terrified of Ivanov, like he was untouchable, omnipotent. There was only one God and he certainly wasn't in the form of a old sadistic Russian gangster.
"He's off the grid. Completely. Ever since I heard of rumours about some sort of war between you I've been researching him. Stalking old contacts, searching for family, anything. He's a shadow, one that knows your every move, and that's what you have to pinpoint. How?"
