Just what I want, someone calling me an invasive flower species as a pet name. Well, it’s not like I’m picky anymore. At this point, the unibrow bartender could easily be my victim, but people would miss him.
I take two fingers, resting the stem of my glass between them, and slide it out of my way before leaning forward, my face nearly touching his. “Want to fuck?” I ask, getting to the point.
There’s no time for pussyfooting around. I need to hook him like a worm and catch him like a starving fish. The longer I linger in this place, the more likely someone will remember me.
His neck recoils, and he sits back in his seat, dumbfounded. He glances over at his drunk friend, hanging on a cackling, drunk blonde with blue skin dressed like Smurfette at the bar before looking back at me and saying, “If you’re offering, I’m accepting.” His hood slides off his bald head with a quick swipe of his hand, the light above us glistening across its Mr. Clean surface. “What’s your name?”
“No names.” A playful smile creeps across my face, prickling with amusement as I say, “Air drop me a dick pic, and I’ll give you my address if you’re worthy.”
He leans forward, his legs rocking the table as he undoubtedly opens and closes them, his excitement growing by the second. After a few heartbeats, he flashes me a crooked smile and asks, “Worthy of what?”
Oh, I’m so glad he asked.
I always strive to be honest with everyone, regardless of the risk that someone may one day take me seriously. His eyes follow a bead of sweat as it races down my throat and disappears between my breasts. I rest my palm on his hand, pulling it toward me slightly as I look deep into his brown eyes and say, “To be my sacrifice.” I release his hand and sit back, the coolness of the chair startling my bare skin as I grin at his suspicious, squinting eyes, before they soften and he laughs outwardly.
He doesn’t believe me.
Men. Always so gullible.
“Sure,” he finally says as he digs beneath his Reaper robes and fishes out his cellphone. “But, you should know, I like to play rough.”
Fantastic. I love a challenge.
I reach into my cleavage, remove my phone, and set it in the center of the table.
He hovers his phone beneath the table, smiles as his phone flashes in his lap, and a swooshing sound follows soon after. I drum my fingers, a seductive smirk playing on my lips, waiting for his photo to reach my cell. My phone vibrates against the table, and a quiet but audible ping alerts me that his image has arrived. I lift my phone, accept the image transfer and smirk at the dick pick on my screen. Even soft, it’s a nice size. Here’s to hoping it works without a little blue pill.
I tuck the phone back into my red lace bra, pluck a paper napkin from the dispenser on the table, and a two-inch pencil for playing the lottery from its holder. I scribble my address on the napkin and push it across the table to him. “Two conditions and one rule. Condition one, don’t come until midnight, and two, come alone.”
My dress rises higher as I scoot forward and stand, the slight hint of my red lace underwear peeking from between my legsas I stare down at him. He wraps his rough palms around both my thighs before grabbing my dress hem and tugging it down, glancing around to make sure no one else saw his soon-to-be prize. His eyes drift from the space between my legs to mine before asking, “And the one rule?”
I run my fingertips over his smooth, recently shaved bald head and say, “Don’t knock.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Waiting
An alert dings on my cellphone. I flip it over and tap the banner notification, alerting me that someone’s been spotted. I touch my keypad to awaken my computer screen so I can see what’s on the camera on a larger scale.
Here comes the Grim Reaper. Let’s see how long it takes him to grow frustrated. I drum my nails on my maple desktop as he rings the doorbell. I can’t help but chuckle as he adjusts his manhood, clearly uncomfortable and needing a release.
This won’t take long.
He glances up at the camera in the corner and waves his hand in front of it. “Hello? I’m here.” A car horn beeps as they pass, making him glance over his shoulder. He stares at my closed door with a tight-lipped look, deep in thought.
I hold my breath as his hand balls up, and he reaches over to knock, but stops midway, thinking better of it, remembering my rule.
A puff of dust floats away from my computer screen as I exhale my held breath and uncross my legs, leaning forward and zooming in on his grimacing face.
Just a little longer.
He presses the bell again and scans the front yard and driveway before rechecking the address I gave him.
“Fuck it,” he finally says and steps off the porch.
Huh, I thought for sure I had that one.
He strolls away, tossing his Reaper robe hood off his head, making up his mind to leave.
