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"Both," she says. "Tell me about this place—"
"I went once. With my sister Molly and her girlfriend."
A woman walks by me. Looks at me funny. She knows I'm hiding something. Maybe she knows what I'm hiding.
It must be written on my forehead.
Patrick Murphy is desperate to get off Imogen Nguyen.
I push my back against the wall, pretend to reach for a cigarette.
She shakes her head and moves along.
I've been here a million times, but I'm seeing the street in a whole new way. It's a great place for this. And a terrible place for this.
Perfect.
She's evil in the best possible way.
"Sorry. Almost had company," I say.
"People can see you?"
"Tons."
"Are you hard?"
"Very."
"Where are we?"
Right. I need to get back to getting her off. "A secluded bar in Hollywood, on the balcony. Great view of the city. Plenty of space to strip you naked."
"Completely naked?"
She wants to keep some of her clothes on. That gets her off. "No. You'll wear some tight dress, nothing under it."
"Yeah?" Her breath hitches.
"I'll push the straps off your shoulders. Pull the skirt to your waist. So you're grinding against me."
"Is anyone around?"
"No one can see."
"Then?"
"You unzip my jeans. I pull you onto my cock. Fuck you right there."
"With my nipple in your mouth."
"And your hands in my hair."
"Fuck." A moan falls from her lips. "Then?"
"I hold on to your hips, guide you over my cock again and again, until you're groaning my name."
"Fuck, Patrick—"
