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After watching him for a while my jealousy slightly receded. His eyes were glued to the businessmen at the bar he was conspicuously staring at, so I was reasonably sure he didn’t want Diana. I was still envious that he got to spend time with her outside of her dreams. At least he kept the truly unsavory characters at bay. She didn't even notice me observing her from the furthest, darkest corner of the bar, which was fine for now. It gave me the opportunity to watch her curvaceous, sinful body move.
She threw her head back while she laughed at another one of his asinine jokes, showing off her graceful neck. I could imagine wrapping my hands around it and squeezing her windpipe to cut off her oxygen just enough that she could barely breathe through an orgasm. Those were thebestkind, the kind that really gagged you. The way she rolled her hips and shook her arse made me want to rip her right out of Charlie’s arms and devour her in the parking lot behind the bar.I would burn the whole bar down and barbeque every last fucker in it if it would drive her into my grasp.
The kicker was when I had bumped into Diana earlier today at the coffee shop and she hadn’t recognized me. She peered into my eyes, as if I was familiar to her, but she wasn’t sure why. Then she apologized and moved on. Usually when I fed from someone more than once, they at least found my face familiar. That’s why I dined and dashed–one and done–then kept it moving. She should have been able to recognize me in the real world, but she had treated me like I was some average guy she’d pass on the street, not the demonic incubus regularly featured in her erotic dreams.
I could fully recharge myself solely from kissing her. Every time we touched it was electric. Her magic and lust went through me like a current, zipping through my bloodstream and lighting up my nerves. The combination was enough to make me powerdrunk. Fucking her could send me into overload, causing me to shift and lose control of myself. Even though it was a dream, I didn’t want to turn it into a nightmare by revealing my true form. It would make breaking back into her subconscious much harder.
When visiting someone in their dreams, I was always in control of every aspect. That wasn't the case with Diana. She wasn't powerful enough to control the setting or end the dream but she was able to choose her clothes, hairstyle, makeup and other small details. The mystery of Diana was fascinating. What was she, and how did she manage to be ignorant of her own magic? Each time I visited her was remarkable. My addiction to her got deeper with every passing day.
The taxi she and Charlie took home dropped her off in front of her house. As I watched her trudge inside alone from a night of drunken revelry, it finally dawned on me that getting over Diana was no longer an option. I would have Diana,in every way. I needed to claim her, make her mine.
Iwoke up gasping for air, my skin hot with beads of sweat dripping down my body. Throwing the covers back, I took a deep breath to center myself. I’d dreamed of the nameless Mystery Man in a three piece suit who had starred in my dreams for months. We would talk for hours about food, books, travel, my future plans, and everything in between. He never talked much about himself. I didn’t even know his name, come to think of it. In each dream, he’d kiss me, touching me like my body belonged to him and only him. Each kiss was a drugging stamp of ownership that made my tits buzz and my fucking cervix drop. I felt like a weightless feather floating under a technicolor rainbow. As if the world’s largest special brownie met the motliest of shrooms and had a love child, that I then consumed. The feeling was surreal and addictive.Dangerously addictive.
Every place he touched me zinged with a frenetic energy that hit me bone deep. When he collared my throat and nipped at my ear,unhhh. It was electric, like when Frankenstein's Bride was animated to life. I knew my tastes weren’t completely vanilla, but something as simple as kissing him, even if it was just a vivid dream, made me feel something I’d never felt before. His touches were soreal. I could feel the rough texture of his thumb pad on the pulse point in my throat and the warmth of his body near mine.
Uggggghhhh I need to get laid.My Mystery Man dreams always ended way too soon, before he was able to seal the deal, you know,bury the boneas they say. And it was a shame. No one had buried a bone in my front yard–or my back yard for that matter–in a long time. It wasn’t that I couldn’t find someone–men hit on me all the time at work and when I went out with friends–but they were all scrubs.And no, I don’t want scrubs, thank youverymuch.
I fished around in bed for my phone, finding it under my pillow. Squinting at the clock, I cursed myself for wasting so much time panting in bed, daydreaming about a fictitious man. IwishI could meet a man like him in real life. If handsome, charming men with a touch of darkness roamed the streets, I’d have multiple bones buried in my yards. I’d be a goddamned cemetery. But alas, there were no delicious men who fit that description walking around Brooklyn. None that I had seen at least.
Dreaming about my Mystery Man made me work up a sweat. My inner thighs were slick too.My vagina is a hussy.I didn’t dare think what encountering him in real life would be like. I’d probably catch fire and burn alive from his devilish handsomeness. He was the type of man that always looked like he was up to no good. The charming, mirthful spark in his eyes always gave him away.
Oscar leapt down from the top of my bookshelf, landing gracefully on my bed. He laid next to me, rubbing his little kitty-boy head into my side. He wasn’t the friendliest cat, but for some reason he always took a liking to me when I’d see him outside, stalking around the neighborhood. When my dog passed away last year, he found me crying on my front stoop. He had crawled into my lap and let me pet him. I took him home that day and he’d been my aloof bestie ever since.
“Do you need to go outside, Oscar?” I sing-songed. He glared at me, because he was above such nonsense, and turned his gaze toward the window. I let him outside, and made a mental note to tell my aunt to let him back in later if she saw him. He’d always come back, even if I suspected he had a couple other families that showed him some love.
A quick shower would cool me off, hopefully washing away all the dirty thoughts I didn’t have time to take care of before my classes. I wish I could, but lateness resulted in my professor docking points from my grade if I didn’t have a decent excuse. I could imagine it now.Yes, Professor McCarthy, I’m late because I was fingering myself in the shower thinking of this really hot British guy I frequently dream about–who isn’t actually real–destroying my pussy in a semi-public place.If I wanted to make an ass out of myself or give my elderly professor heart palpitations, that was one way to do it.
As dirty as I was in my dreams, I couldn’t walk around campus smelling like sweat. Tearing off my baggy t-shirt and granny panties, I hopped under the shower head and melted beneath the hot water. I made quick work of washing my hair, weaving miracle conditioner through my unruly curls. I thought of how he had run his thick fingers through my hair, grabbing it and wrapping it around his fists in a dream a few nights ago. How my pussy wept tears of joy when he tilted my neck to the side and licked the column of my throat, nipping here and there as he neared my jaw. The conditioner’s heady scent of eucalyptus and mint snapped me back to reality, readying me for my busy day.
I had to get out of that daydream and focus on my hair. My curls needed serious moisture, because unmanaged curly hair was a recipe for disaster. If it wasn’t properly moisturized, I would feel my fly-aways lift and create a frizz-halo around my head. I was not in the mood to look busted or falsely advertise myself. I’d most likely never earn a halo in my lifetime. Marilyn Monroe said well-behaved women rarely made history. That was an affirmation I lived by daily. I took my chances, rocked the boat, and always lived my best life. Life could end abruptly, in an instant. If I died tomorrow, I would want to know that I had no regrets.
A quick succession of knocks rapped on the door. “Bellissima, are you swimming in there?” my grandmother’s voice rang loud and clear through the door, even through thick wood and running water. “I’m making breakfast for everyone and was hoping to have a word with you before you leave for class.”
“I can’t, Nonna. My classes start at ten, and then I’m leaving for work straight after. I’ll probably be out late.” I loved her, I really did, but she had been hounding me all week about having a sit-down conversation.
We’d gone through this routine before. She constantly harped how I needed to work less, went too hard at school, and partied too much. How I wasn’t taking enough time to enjoy my early twenties, but still had to take school seriously. I had to work to earn my own money and never depend on a man, but would never meet a man because I worked too much.Seriously woman, make up your mind and stick to your story.Then she would pester me about my migraines. Whenever I had one, she would freak out, asking me a million questions until I got so annoyed I would storm off. I had stopped mentioning them altogether, because she would always say the same thing.You need to take it easy,Bellissima, those migraines are going to be the death of you. You’re overcooking yourself and soon you’ll have mushy macaroni brain!
How could I take a break? I had to finish my B.A. in English so I could go to law school–which was expensive–so I needed to make money. Nonna was lucky I wasn’t stripping.Although I haven’t quite ruled that out yet.The world couldn’t stop because of a migraine. I didn’t have time totake it easy.Bad bitches never stopped; they worked until they got the job done. And I was a bad bitch, damnit. I would work my ass off every day until I was living my dream life and working in my boss bitch corner office overlooking Central Park.
Before I could work on my grand plan for world domination, I had to towel off, add a fuck-ton of product to my hair, and pick an outfit to wear. As sexy as it would be, I couldn’t wear just my bra and spandex to class. I decided to wear a soft, emerald green blouse tucked into a high-waisted, black skirt that fell right above my knee. The ensemble was paired with tight-woven fishnet tights, a leopard print scarf, and over-the-knee black suede boots.
Ma’s necklace made for a classy finishing touch. The pendant was three interwoven pentacles on a thick box chain, set in rose gold. It was meant to signify strength in learning and mastery of yourself and others. Before she passed, Mom read tarot cards often. Women from all over Brooklyn would sit in our living room and get their cards read. I had fond memories of sitting at her side and smelling the incense wafting around the room as she explained each card on the table. She always burned candles while reading them, for dramatic effect. Her dark curly hair, lively blue eyes, and bohemian dresses always gave off a mystical aura. When she passed, Nonna and Aunt Angela gifted me her decks. They sat in the top drawer of my bedside table. I was determined to master them as she had, when I had the time.
If I wanted to get out of here without being cornered by my family, I had to get a move on. I grabbed my helmet and ran out the door. Maybe I could beat the commuter traffic and still have time to grab coffee before class started.
“Idon’t like that we’re being summoned,again. Bloody Hell, how did we go from four of the most feared, renowned men in the underworld to Red’s fucking errand boys?” Sebastian griped, his hand tightening on the steering wheel. “I’ll fucking wring his neck one day and spit on his corpse.”
“Calm down, Bash,” I replied, eyeing up his white knuckles. “We need to keep our end game in mind, bide our time until we can form a solid plan–think long term chess. Then we’re going to strike him clean from the board and restore the balance of power again. We’ll only have one chance, so we have to do it right.”
“I can’t keep up this charade for too much longer. He keeps getting more demanding. First we had to prioritize his jobs, now we can’t take jobs from other clients because we’re on hispersonal retainer. We’re managing his strip joints and whore houses in addition to our own? Running his drugs? Hiding deadhumanbodies? So much for secrecy of our kind!” Bash loved to rant and hear his own voice, but for once, he wasn’t being a drama queen. “He breathes down our necks while using us to turn Hell into a fucking army. There are too many rules, and the factions are getting restless.”
In the beginning, everyone loved Red. He took over Hell with most of the factions’ complete support. But gradually, over the course of the past few decades, he changed our homeland from a laissez faire land of sin and temptation to an oppressive wasteland. Unrest spread quickly. Most of our recent hits had been leaders and key players across the various cliques who openly disagreed with him or moved against him in secret. He rose to his position quickly, using violence, fear, anonymity, and any means necessary to secure his reign. He never showed anyone his face, and you never knew who his followers were.
The reason I led this group was because I had patience. Bash had some, but not enough to think long term. Malcolm lacked vision and was too young to have it anytime soon; he was barely over two centuries old yet. And Ares… He was an unpredictable ticking time bomb. We joked and said he was our secret weapon, but that fucker was batshit crazy. Heearnedhis reputation of being an unhinged psychopath throughout the centuries. I would never bring him to a meeting with someone like Red and pour gasoline over an open flame. That’s not to say that we all didn’t have our specialities. I knew each of my men’s strong points. But a sign of good leadership was playing to those strengths and being aware of weaknesses.
“What’s the plan for the meeting, Des?” Malcolm was relaxed in the backseat, his usual placid, bored facial expression firmly in place. If I didn’t know him better, I would think he didn’t give a shit about anything in life.
“Don’t speak unless spoken to, and keep your responses short. We’ll reconvene afterward at home. It’s not like we can deny an assignment. Have any of you ever been to this particular establishment?” I asked. They both shook their heads. “I have. It’s a minefield. He’ll have us led directly through the center of the club, as a distraction tactic. Don’t lose focus.”
