4

~Alana~

 

I slide onto a stool at the bar and order a scotch. I down it quickly and slam the glass down on the bar top, breathing out a sigh of relief.

God, I needed that. My whole body is on fire right now thanks to that asshole, Damon Brookes.

The things he said. I’m usually the one spewing that shit. But somehow he managed to turn it around on me. How? It’s like he’s able to get inside my head, like he has access to my deepest, darkest secrets and desires. And how does he know about my sex life? I figured a guy like him would do his research on the woman who was hired to kill him, but he knew a little too much for a run-of-the-mill background check. Details that are personal. Classified. How could he know about my control issues? Who is this guy really?

Stop it! You don’t care who he is.

He’s just leverage. That’s all. This is business. Just another job, but without the murder aspect. Well, unless he continues to piss me off, and then I might reconsider. But right now I need him alive. He’s my only leverage against Cartwright. No doubt, since I refused to take out Damon, he’ll have hired someone else to get the job done. I need to prevent that from happening. No one else can kill Damon or I lose my leverage.

But, damn, he really managed to get under my skin. I can’t believe I let him put his hands on me; let him hold me against the wall like that. I never let a man touch me without my expressed permission. And even then it’s only on my own terms.

There’s something different about this one though. He seems to just exude sexual energy. It clouds my head, my thoughts. And in his office it weakened my resolve.

Shit, I can’t let that happen again. It’s a dangerous road to head down. Remember your rules.

It’s been a few days since I last got laid, because of having to lay low with this Cartwright threat hanging over my head. Yeah, that’s probably all it is. I just need to get laid.

As if it can hear my thoughts, the universe responds to me. A guy slides onto the stool to my left.

“Hey, sweet thing. Can I get you another?” he says, gesturing to the empty scotch glass in front of me.

I look him over. Dammit, he’s a suit. His blonde hair is stiff with product. He’s clean shaven and I can smell the overwhelming stench of too much cologne. I hate suit guys. I like my men a little rough around the edges, not preppy pussies.

He’s the opposite of Damon who’s the very definition of ‘man’. The way he towered over me, he must be more than six-foot. Broad shoulders like a rugby player. And, fuck, is he ripped. Damn. His shirt wasn’t buttoned up all the way so I could see his mouth-watering six pack. Talk about abs of steel. Muscular legs too—all the better to hold the weight of the monstrous cock that I felt through his pants. I can’t stop picturing the way he gazed at me with his piercing blue eyes. So much heat. So much fire. He has that whole Ian Somerhalder thing going on. Those goddamn eyes. His wild hair. Such a dark brown that, to the casual observer, it would seem black. And the slight waves running through it. Yum. And although he was wearing suit pants and a shirt, he’s not an actual suit guy. He’s not clean cut. The stubble on his chin told me that much, not to mention his abrasive attitude.

I stare at the guy beside me who’s still waiting for my response. He pales in comparison to Damon. But Damon and I aren’t hooking up. He’s too controlling. He basically told me that himself. I can’t get mixed up with someone who needs control, because I need it. And it’s impossible for us to both be in control at the same time when we’re fucking. No, forget it.

I smile at the guy beside me. He’ll do. Beggars can’t be choosers, right? And I need to fuck right now.

“I’d like that,” I say with a sly wink, pouring all the sexuality that I have at my disposal into it.

He orders my drink and a beer for himself. He starts engaging me in some mindless small talk. I barely hear him, making sure just to nod at the right intervals to seem like I’m actually listening and giving a crap.

I sip slowly at my scotch this time, remembering that I have to drive shortly.

God, this is taking too long.

I take matters into my own hands and slide my palm up his thigh. He jerks and grins at me.

I slip off my stool and reach for his hand. “There’s a quiet alley just outside,” I tell him, smiling suggestively.

He takes my hand and I guide him through the packed bar to the door. We step out into the parking lot and I lead him around to the side of the bar to an alleyway that I assume is used for deliveries. I slam him against the wall and unbuckle his pants quickly. He reaches for me, wanting to kiss me.

“No kissing. Just fucking,” I tell him, panting now with my desperate need to have his cock buried deep inside me.

He seems a bit put out, but then he gets a grip, remembering that he’s about to get laid and reaches for my cargo pants. He fumbles with the belt, but I let him continue and it isn’t that long before they’re down around my ankles. I shake them off. Because we’re in a public place, I keep my panties on. I wrap my legs around him and he follows my lead, gripping my thighs. I push my panties aside and thrust myself down onto his ready and waiting cock. Not bad. Could be way better, but it’ll do. He grunts as I start to move, riding him hard and wild, my nails biting into his neck.

“Fuck! Yeah, that’s it! Ride me!” he cries.

I close my eyes, relishing the sensation of him filling me. Yes, this is just what the doctor ordered.

“Make me come!” I order him.

He does as he’s told and reaches between us to fondle my pussy. I can tell right away that he’s inexperienced. Urgh. Why? Every damn time! I grab his hand and place his index finger just where I want it, saving him the trouble of having to find my clit. I don’t have time for that.

“Harder,” I tell him. “Small circles.”

I guide his hand for a while until I finally feel the build of an approaching orgasm. But his concentration wanes as I continue to ride him hard.

“I’m not gonna let you come until you make me come,” I warn him, slowing my pace.

“Never gonna happen,” a voice comes from behind me suddenly.

I still immediately and look over my shoulder to see none other than Damon Brookes leaning against the wall, his arms folded.

He’s just standing there watching us.

Unbelievable. Shit, if I was a guy I’d have a limp dick by now. As it is, he just killed the mood.

“Forget it,” I tell the suit guy as I lift myself off him. My back to Damon, I pull my pants back on and buckle the belt.

“You’re kidding me, right?” the suit guy thunders.

He makes a move to grab me, but before I can respond, Damon is there pushing him back.

“She said you’re done; then you’re done,” he snarls at him. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

The guy walks away, muttering curses under his breath.

“Classy, Miss Halton,” Damon comments.

“How dare you interfere? I was about to—”

“What? Come? No you fucking weren’t. The guy didn’t have a clue what he was doing.”

“I was teaching him.”

He scoffs. “He was too concerned about his own pleasure to worry about yours.”

“He’s a guy. What do you expect?”

“Better,” he says simply. “You deserve better.”

His words catch me off guard and I fail to respond with a snappy comeback. Instead I find myself just staring at him, open-mouthed like a goldfish. You deserve better. And the look in his eyes when he’d said it, too. So intense. Heartfelt. Genuine. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Whatever it is that you’re trying to do.” Making me feel.

“I’m not trying to do anything, Miss Halton. Just calling it like it is.”

I run my fingers through my hair. Damn, this man is frustrating and he has a knack for pushing all my buttons. I glance at him quickly. “Where’s your stuff?”

“In my limo. It’s parked around the corner.”

“Limo?” I ask, incredulous.

“Yep.”

“Are you deficient? That thing is gonna draw too much attention to us.”

“My driver is ex-Special Forces. He knows how to lose a tail.”

“We’re taking my car, Damon.”

He steps into me and glowers down at me heatedly. “I’m doing you a favor by going with you in the first place, Miss Halton. I don’t need your protection. I have enough of my own. But I know you need me. As leverage. And given the fact that you spared my life, I figured I owed you. So, we can compromise or I can stay here. Your call.”

“Fine,” I snap.

“These are yours,” he says, handing me my two Berettas that his security staff confiscated from me when I walked inside the club. “Saves us having to go back inside.”

I snatch them from him and check the magazines, not trusting that he didn’t screw with them and leave them empty or something.

“You don’t trust me?” he asks with amusement.

“I don’t trust anyone,” I say as I slide them into the holsters at my hips.

“You mean: men. You don’t trust men.”

“That’s not true,” I fire back, thinking of Mark.

“Okay. If you say so,” he chuckles. “This way,” he says, gesturing for me to follow him around the back to his limo.