ONE
Davis
I’m a dog; everyone knows it. Always have been and probably always will be. It’s who I am, and I happen to think I’m pretty fucking great. I do who I want, what I want, when I want; and I don’t really give a shit what anyone else thinks about it. Drugs, sex, women, money – life’s only temporary, so why not freely enjoy as much of it as you fucking can?
My Spanish is butchered at best as I stumble toward the bar and order another shot of tequila, bracing myself with my forearm on the questionably-sticky surface. The bartender, probably used to dumb Americans by now, slides the chilled glass across the top of the bar with a smile and I throw the smooth liquid down my throat, savoring the subtle burn that follows.
“Gracias,” I slur to her, offering a lazy salute.
She’s not a bad looking woman from where I’m standing. Maybe I can bring her back to my hotel room and make her as questionably-sticky as the bar is. Alright, that one wasn’t my best work. I can admit that to myself.
When she returns from helping another customer, I ask for one more shot and a margarita to go, throwing her my best ‘come hither’ eyes as she pours the ingredients.
Plant the seed and watch it grow, I tell myself.
Don’t need to speak to each other to have hot sex. You wanna talk about a universal language, there it is. Everyone speaks orgasm.
After throwing back the tequila shot, I take my cocktail and move through the crowd, shimmying my shoulders and hips to the music blaring over the speakers. I work my way through a hundred sweaty bodies, my own included, while I drink, keeping an eye out for anyone that might make for easy pickings.
I told Colt I was coming out here to research. ‘If we’re going to add a nightclub to our lineup, the party boy of the company needs to go do some fucking partying,old man,’ I told him. He probably didn’t buy it, but he’s been so damn busy with his new kid, he couldn’t be bothered to fight me on it. Really, I just wanted to take a vacation. If he can fly to Italy for a weekend long fuck-fest, I can do the same in Mexico.
“You look lost,” A woman shouts into my ear, hand planted on my shoulder.
“Do I?” I ask as I turn to face her.
She’s fucking gorgeous. Long, dark hair flows down her shoulders, ironed pin straight and one side of it pulled behind her ear. She only comes up to just below my shoulder; little thing. She’s got a deep tan to smooth skin that’s barely covered by a small bikini top and a pair of denim shorts that leave very little to mycreativeimagination.
Placing a hand at her waist, I lean down to shout, “Why don’t you show me around, then, Sugar?”
A sparkle lights in her eyes – pale green, like seafoam – and she grabs my hand, pulling me along with her, right back through the crowd of people I just got away from. She starts to sway her hips quickly back and forth, not in a perfect rhythm, but it doesn’t have to be. It’s working for her.
Shit, it’s working forme.
I join in with her dance, moving closer to her, until my leg is sandwiched by hers and she’s grinding against my thigh like it’s getting her off.
We meet each others’ gaze with a wicked, matching smile while we move, no words passing between us. They’re not necessary - the words. Our bodies are saying more than enough.
Like I said, it’s a universal language.
As a flush forces its way over her tanned cheeks, I wrap my hand firmly around her throat and pull her toward me, crashing my lips against hers until our tongues meet, working together in a way not unlike our bodies.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I tell her.
Grinning, she asks, “Your place or mine?”
In less than fifteen minutes, we’re slamming through the door of my hotel suite.
Her legs are wrapped around my waist and her bikini top is nowhere to be found; we lost it somewhere between here and the elevator. The only thing keeping her tits covered right now is my chest pressed up against them while I carry her.
Our lips don’t break contact until I’m throwing her onto the bed and unlatching my belt with one hand, roughly yanking it out of the loops of my jeans.
Leaning back on her elbows, she watches as I fold the belt in half and grip it firmly in one hand, using the buckle as a handle. She pulls on her lower lip with her teeth, her eyes smoldering, and without instruction, she flips herself onto all fours, ass in the air, on display and waiting for me.
“Oh, I am gonna eat you alive, Sugar,” I smirk, and she peers over her shoulder at me with a smirk that sets my teeth on edge and makes my cock throb.
“So do it, then.”
I cross the room, belt in hand, and I yank her shorts and bikini bottoms down in one harsh motion, putting her ass and that pretty little pussy of hers on display for me before I rear back and bring the belt down hard, slapping the leather against her bare skin. She lets out a yelp as it makes contact, leaving a clean red mark in its wake.
