“Payment first, darling,” I say with my very best flirtatious smile.
He sneers down his nose at me. “No chance. I’m not being robbed again.”
I bite back my sigh. My bank balance is getting frightfully low. This man is the only customer I’ve had all night and I’ve been here for hours.
“Alright, darling. Since you insist. But that means I’m not getting in your car. You can join me in the lovely alley back here.”
His beady eyes flick to the entrance of the alley a few paces to the right. He licks his lips and turns his car’s engine off.
It’s fine. I’ll blow his world so hard he’ll be so loved up on hormones and post-orgasmic bliss, he’ll be more than happy to pay me.
Mr. Douchebag gets out of his car and follows me into the alley. I need to find the least gross spot to kneel in. Luckily, this is a fairly good alley. Quite clean. And isn’t that depressing that I have enough experience with frigging alleys that I can rate them.
“Here looks good,” I say with false cheer.
My customer leans against the wall and gets his dick out. I drop to my knees, careful to land on a clean patch of concrete.
Now, I’m eye-level with a hard cock. It’s on the small side, which makes my life easier. And it smells clean. Thank heavens for small mercies. This night keeps looking better and better.
I reach for it. Pro tip, do as much of the work with your hand as you can get away with.
My hand freezes a good five inches from my customer’s cock. A wave of nausea washes over me. What the hell? Now is so not the time to get sick.
I try to force my hand closer, but it’s like this guy has a force-field around his junk. Repulsion is rolling in my stomach. What on earth is going on? It’s a perfectly respectable cock.
Goddammit. Maybe just getting on with sucking it is a good idea? Carefully, I lower my head. I’m getting nearer and nearer. So far, so good.
But no. Now my body is freezing. Solid. And I’m a good two inches away from my target.
I stick my tongue out to see if I can reach it that way and suddenly I’m retching. I manage to fall onto my hands and knees, away from him, because vomiting on someone’s erection is all sorts of rude.
“What the hell?” he snaps.
I hear the sounds of a zip. I think he is putting himself away, which honestly is fair enough. I’m still dry heaving here and that has to be insulting.
“Is this some kind of joke?” he snarls.
“No! I’m sorry! I must be coming down with a stomach bug!”
He growls, and then a hand twists in my hair, causing a bright spark of pain. I hiss and fight my instinct to grab his hand. That’s a stupid move. I need to get my mace out of my pocket.
“Get your hands off of him!”
The voice rings out. Stern. Commanding. Authoritative. It reverberates in the air and causes goosebumps to erupt over my skin.
The stinging pain in my scalp ends. I scuttle away backwards. My customer is standing slack jawed, staring at a hooded figure in the mouth of the alley.
The hooded figure is wearing a cute blue leather jacket over a black hoodie. Deep in their hood, their eyes are glowing neon blue.
“Leave.”
Blue? Is that really Blue?
My customer shuffles forward for all the world like a zombie. Blue stands to the side so he can leave. Now it’s just me sat on my ass in the alley. With Blue.
This doesn’t make any sense at all.
“Are you following me?” I ask numbly.
