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“Twelve percent. I can’t give you exclusivity. We need to cast a wider net than that. But I can ask the suppliers to make a certain stamp just for you. You tell me the shape you want, the color, whatever. That style of the drug can be exclusive to you.”
I can see Vasquez thinking it over. I want him to take the deal—he’s someone I like working with. We’ve done good things together in the past, and while I want to expand our family business, I want to do so safely. That’s better done with someone who is a known quantity.
“We have a deal.” Vasquez gives me a white-toothed smile. “Send one of your men to the Velvet Rope next week, and we’ll hash out the finer details.”
“Excellent. I’ll do that.”
Vasquez finishes his drink, nods, and leaves. He’s not one to let a meeting go on longer than necessary, and I like that about him. I don’t like to waste my time, either.
I finish my Manhattan and pay my bill, leaving a generous tip, but as I get up and start to leave, I hesitate. Earlier in the evening, going home had sounded like exactly what I wanted to do. But now, I’m suddenly struck with a feeling of loneliness that I haven’t had in a long time. Suddenly, being alone in my large apartment, in my empty bed, doesn’t sound as appealing as it did before.
One more drink. That might take the edge off.
Instead of going back to my booth, I go to the bar instead. I sit at the end, away from the other patrons, on one of the leather-backed, nail-studded seats. The bartender comes over after a few minutes—a gorgeous woman with a light tan and her nearly black hair in a beehive, wearing a red version of the bustier style dress the other staff have on. She’s wearing bronzed eyeshadow and dark red lipstick, and I feel a stir of interest as she smiles at me.
“Moody, dark, and handsome, hm?” She winks at me, lashes that look naturally long instead of fake fluttering closed. “What can I get you to drink?”
I glance at the menu, but the array of choices is staggering. “Surprise me,” I tell her instead, and she gives me a flirtatious smile.
“Oh, I could do that if you let me, darling.” She winks again, turning back to her array of liquors and other concoctions, swaying slightly as she starts to brew something up for me. I watch her as she does, testing that flicker of interest that I felt.
Bartenders are often flirtatious as a part of their job, but I’ve been around long enough to know when there’s a taste of sincerity to it. She has that. If I return the flirtation, I’ll likely end up taking her home with me at the end of her shift.
“Here.” She brings me back a rose-tinted glass with an opaque drink in it. “Bourbon, rum, cognac, vanilla liqueur, chai tea, coconut and soy milk, with a sprinkle of spices on top. Enjoy.”
“What’s it called?” I look at it curiously, unsure if I want to try it or not.
“A White Rabbit.” She leans forward on the bar, and I see that she has a number of interlocking gold rings on her long, slender fingers. “The first down a long rabbit hole of strange drinks I could make for you, if you want.”
I hear it again, the invitation in her voice. The suggestion that I could sit here, at the end of her bar, and drink until she’s ready to go home with me. Hell, I might not even have to pay for them—not that that’s an issue for me.
“This looks—interesting.” I raise an eyebrow at her, looking pointedly at the drink. It has a milky, creamy consistency, and I know from the smirk on her red lips that she chose this drink on purpose.
“Doesn’t it? It’s one of my favorites. I’d swallow every last drop.” Another wink, as my cock twitches in instant response to the innuendo, and then she’s gone, moving down the bar to talk to another customer.
I watch her go—the second time in one night I’ve watched a gorgeous woman who’s sparked my interest walk away—and try to decide what I want to do. The thought of taking her home is enticing—a chance to blow off a little steam, loosen up a little. I haven’t slept with anyone in a while, and the pleasure of a woman in my bed instead of relying on my own hand is tempting. I can tell she’s probably a wildcat between the sheets—we’d both walk away more than satisfied.
But something holds me back. I see that girl’s face again, swimming into my memory, beautiful and delicate and defiant despite the situation she was in. She’d felt something too, I think—I’m well aware of when a woman reacts to me, and realizing how outmatched she was wasn’t the only reason I think she stopped fighting me. I think she partially stopped because she didn’t want to add to the physical contact between us. Not because she didn’t like it—but because she liked it too much.
That thought makes my cock do more than twitch. There’s a throb of desire, that familiar ache as it swells and thickens, and I shift uncomfortably. I glance once more down the bar, and get up.
I won’t be taking her home tonight. I can’t seem to shake the vision of the other girl—the delicate blonde in the pink silk whose name I don’t even know, and I object to taking one woman to bed when I’m thinking of another. Dante often says I’m the most heartless of the four of us, but I’m not so heartless that I don’t find something wrong about that.
Leaving the drink behind, I make my way to the exit. I catch a glimmer of disappointment on the bartender’s face, but it’s not enough to change my mind. At this point, I’m ready to get this whole fucking day over with.
The desire doesn’t fade, though. I grapple with it for the entire ride home, trying not to let my mind spin fantasies of a girl whom I have no business continuing to think about, but it does anyway. By the time I get back to my apartment, I’m half-hard, the steady thrum of arousal heating my blood.
I strip off my jacket as soon as I walk in the front door, tossing it over an armchair as I walk through the open floor plan of my living room and towards my bedroom on the upper level. I don’t live in a penthouse like Dante, but my apartment is expansive—too much so, really, for one person. Still, luxury and space seem to go hand in hand, and I’m not willing to sacrifice luxury for a smaller space.
The bed beckons me, but I opt for a shower first, reaching down to rub my palm against my stubborn cock as I unbutton my shirt. The girl’s face springs into my mind again, her blonde hair falling loose around it, the heave of her small chest as I pinned her to the wall, her wide blue eyes looking up at me. Even in the darkness of the hallway, they were bright enough that I couldn’t miss their color. And the way she looked at me?—
Fear, defiance, and desire all wrapped up in one woman’s gaze. I never knew the combination could be so intoxicating. It feels as if it’s slowly seeped into my blood since I met her, sneaking up on me in the hours that have passed since then.
I’ve never turned a woman’s desperation to my advantage. I’m certainly not about to start now. But here, in the privacy of my own bedroom, the temptation to fantasize begins to overwhelm me.
There’s nothing wrong with fantasy, so long as it doesn’t spill over into reality. I don’t know the girl’s name, or anything about her, and she knows nothing about me. There’s no way it can ever be more than what it is at this exact moment.
I’m safe.
