I moved further in, at ease in the grittiness of it all. I couldn’t count on my hands how many times I’d hunted in a place just like this one. Sometimes it felt like I belonged here in the shadows, amongst the dirt and needles and broken bottles, more than I belonged in fancy rooms that smelled of vanilla and cash.
My gaze drifted from table to table, assessing my options. Not just size or strength—those things mattered, sure—buttemperament, awareness, how much trouble they’d be. Who would be missed? Who wouldn’t?
That’s when I heard it.
“…don’t play games with me.”
The voice was rough and irritated.
I shifted my attention without turning my head, letting my gaze catch them in the mirror behind the bar.
The guy was broad, thick through the shoulders, with greasy hair, a splotchy, unkempt beard, and a shirt stretched tight across his stomach. He was leaning forward, cornering a woman who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.
She wore a short skirt and thin top despite the cold. Her makeup was a little smudged, like the night had already gone on too long. She had one arm crossed over her middle, the other holding her drink.
“I said I’m not working right now,” she told him. “Take a hint.”
He scoffed, getting even closer. “Yeah? Then why’re you here?” he shot back. “I know what you are. Don’t act like you’re too good all of a sudden.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m taking a break.”
“Break from what? Getting paid?” He laughed meanly. “Come on. Don’t be like that. I got cash.”
“I said no.”
The man’s hand dropped onto the table a little too hard, the action full of pressure, expectation, and entitlement.
He muttered something under his breath, then said, louder, “You don’t get to say no. You’re here, and I have money and a dick that needs serviced.”
I pushed off the wall and moved, slipping into the space beside him. “Hey,” I greeted.
He turned, irritation already written across his face, and clearly ready to snap. But then he saw me, paused, and looked confused.
I was smaller, bundled up for the weather, without a hint of malice on my face.
“What?” he grunted.
I tilted my head slightly, letting my gaze drag over him in a way that conveyed I was interested.
“You seem tense,” I said, voice soft enough that it didn’t carry far. “Thought maybe I could help with that.”
He frowned, like he was trying to figure out if he’d heard me right. “I’m not gay,” he said flatly.
I smiled. “That’s okay,” I said easily, stepping just a little closer. Close enough that he had to actually look at me instead of past me. “But a mouth’s a mouth, isn’t it?”
I let my gaze drop intentionally, then licked my lips before looking back up at him from under my lashes.
Behind him, the woman went still, as if she knew I wasn’t who I was portraying myself to be. But even so, she kept her mouth shut and continued watching the interaction.
I leaned into the greasy man’s side, and quietly asked, “Fifteen okay for a blowie?”
His eyes flicked over me again, slower this time. The irritation from before hadn’t fully left, but it had changed shape.
“You any good?” he asked.
“I’ll let you fuck my throat.”
He huffed, pushing himself away from the table. “Fine,” he muttered. “Whatever. A mouth’s a mouth.”
