Home.
I ventured through the ancient front door, the live music loud as fuck, bass line pumping through my heart like a lullaby. I reached the bar, tapped twice on the sticky varnished wood and ordered two doubles, throwing a fifty in the tip jar as I told them to keep them comin’.
Seven drinks later, I made a decision to stop counting, my muscles finally losing the tension as a new band came onstage, a four-piece set that cranked the bass even louder, everyone in the bar crossing toward the dance floor as they sang about tequila nights.
“They’re good!” a voice called through the chaos, sidling up to my shoulder and making a shiver run down my spine.
Peaches, but spicier. Cinnamon, maybe.
“They’re not bad.” I swallowed the rest of my drink, eyes blurring just a little as I tried to focus on the woman standing at my side.
“You an expert or somethin’?” Her deep drawl was foreign to my ears. The only woman I’d been attuned to had a softer lilt to her twang. Like a bird. My bird.
I tapped the bar, two more doubles required to wash away that memory.
“I’m somethin’,” I finally muttered.
“You got a chip on your shoulder, is that what it is?”
“Wouldn’t be in here if I didn’t, s’pose.”
She, whoever she was, scrunched up her eyes, edging a little closer with her gaze lingering on my lips. “I might be able to help with that.”
I shook my head, taking another shot and clearing the glass. This time, the burn not quite so satisfying as it had been. “Got somethin’ smoother? Top-shelf?”
The bartender shrugged. “That’s as top-shelf as it gets ’round here, buddy.”
I swallowed another gulp, no longer giving a fuck what it tasted like.
Everything hurt right now.
From the inside out, she’d mutilated me.
That was probably why, an hour later, I found myself tucked into a corner booth behind the stage, a new band screaming about hot Southern dreams as the pounding in my head grew to a deafening blast.
Alyvia with an A,anda Y,as she’d earlier announced, was wiggling in my lap, her hands in a lot of places they shouldn’t be as she pretended to rock along with the music while really trying to grind herself against me.
Irritation spiked in my veins, the whiskey no longer doing its job as a dark yearning for more consumed me. Alyvia twisted around, the deep cleavage of her dress repulsing me more than anything else, before her ruby-red lips hovered near mine and then landed.
I didn’t do anything, frozen on the spot as this desperate woman writhed around me, doing her damnedest to seduce me like a Venus flytrap. There was nothing wholesome or sweet about her, and maybe that’s why I fucking liked it.
Adrenaline launched through my system as I sank a hand into her loose waves of dark hair and fisted, arching her neck to one side with enough force to triple the heartbeat at her throat. “You think that kind of shit turns me on?”
Her fingers whispered across my neck, eyes trained on mine as she nearly melted under my hard gaze.
“It’s gonna take a helluva lot more than that to get my dick hard.” I released her, wishing she’d just fucking beat it, leave me to the whiskey and music, but I guessed like attracted like, and I was nothing if not desperate that night.
“Give me a chance?” Her lips touched mine again, leaving some sticky gloss that pissed me off even more. “I can make you feel better.”
My cock finally did throb then, the promise of feeling better a bittersweet one.
Alyvia with an A,and a Y,slithered down under the table, red-tipped nails scratching along the zipper of my jeans as a faux-pout tilted her lips.
Bile rose in my throat.
She adjusted her tits in her dress, no doubt making sure I had a good view, which I did, before she pushed my knees apart and settled between them, huddled on the dirty floor under the table, eyes trying to seduce me.
To play this game with her.
