The hotel restaurant wasn’t busy at that time of the day. I watched two ladies opposite me, both dressed stylishly, as they chuckled and ate tiny bites of cake. Probably all they could afford. More than I could afford.
Except that I was on a spending spree.
The paper bag beside me held brand new lingerie. Black. Lacy. Very expensive. Coffee – one for him and one for me – steamed in dainty cups, set on dainty saucers. I breathed in the sharp odor. Afterwards, once he had gone, I might order the lobster. That would put a serious dent in the credit card.
The bark of a motorcycle engine turned heads, but not mine. I kept facing forward. I couldn’t see what they were looking at, but of course I knew. I had arranged this. The two ladies put aside their cake, talked in a hushed whisper as they stole glances at the door. The bell rang as someone entered, bringing with him the sounds of the sea. Gulls screeching, children laughing. I picked up my coffee.
It’s odd that the more expensive the coffee, the more bitter the taste. People like bitter, rough coffee, just as people like bitter, rough sex. Men lust after girls with a mean streak, while women go for lumberjacks or bank robbers.
I set the cup down, stirred it so that the spoon clanked against the inside, then tapped it loudly on the rim. Once. Twice. Three times.
Leather creaked, footsteps fell, and a moment later he appeared in front of me. He placed his hands on the back of the chair, dirty fingertips poking out of fingerless gloves. But he remained standing. Our eyes met as I craned my neck. His right eye was a dark gray-green, like engine oil. The other was ghostly white. A scar cut through it from the bridge of his nose to the cheekbone.
“Sit,” I said, and waved a hand at the chair. The ladies whispered. I ignored them.
He didn’t move. “Are you –”
There was a click as his teeth came together, but he kept his lips parted. It was a feral thing, and I felt the dampness begin between my legs in response. His eyebrows came together.
“Sit,” I repeated, a little thrill running up my spine when he pulled out the chair and obeyed.
“Listen, lady –”
“I said don’t speak.”
I watched his response. Shoulders tensed. Wide shoulders. Strong. There was muscle there. The way he was looking at me I could tell he was getting angry. Perhaps, if we were alone, or if he wasn’t out of his comfort zone, he would have bent me over the table right there. Taken me from behind. As it was, he just stared. Long, blonde hair, streaked with grey, fell in thick, unruly curls. Lined, leathery skin.
For a moment, I thought about running off with him. I could be the whore for his whole motorcycle gang. Fucked by them, one by one. Would my age matter? I doubted it. His eyes said he wanted to get inside me. Involuntarily, I sat up straighter, felt my nipples brush against my loose top. I hadn’t bothered with a bra.
“Yes. You’ll do,” I said.
“What the fuck?” He slammed his hands on the table, made me jump as he stood up, pushing his chair back with a squeak. “I’ll do? Look, I’m just here because of an ad pinned on the notice board.” He shook his head. “Forget it.”
I laughed as he turned his back on me. A skull, red and yellow, was inexpertly stitched to the back of his jacket.
“Wait,” I said. “Stop.”
He turned back around, ground his teeth together, didn’t say a word. Good, he was learning.
“Here.” I opened my purse, took out a keycard and held it out to him. “Nine o’clock. Sharp. No earlier, no later.” I raised an eyebrow.
After a moment, he snatched the card from my hand and stalked away, slamming the door on his way out. I had to take a deep breath and shift my weight to prevent the juices running down the inside of my legs.
As the motorcycle engine revved, I ignored the gazes of the other customers. “Waiter!”
Time for the lobster.
This is part 1. Read parts 2 and 3 in my free e-book: “Voices of Lust“