2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Michael

"Are you seriously kicking me out? Now?"

The cute twink, that I couldn't remember the name of, who was still lounging among the completely destroyed bedsheets in my king-sized bed, sputtered indignantly. From my view in my bathroom mirror I could see him glaring at me. Pale limbs, mussed blond hair, kiss swollen lips, and pretty brown eyes shooting angry daggers at me.

Running a hand through my damp, sandy brown hair, my blue eyes met his furious ones in the reflection. Flashing him a smile, I shrugged. "Technically you don't live here, so it's not considered kicking you out."

I was stretching the law a bit, but I hadn't become one of Boston's youngest prosecuting attorneys, without twisting the law to my advantage occasionally. It was all about the spin you put on things.

Turning to face him, I leaned my naked ass against the vanity. His eyes ate up the sight of me, even as he tried to hold onto his anger at me politely telling him it was time for him to go.

"Look," crossing my arms over my wide chest, I stalled for a second trying to remember his name. Brian? Ryan? The music in the club had been loud, fairly pulsating with bass, and the dance floor had been crowded. He was a lot shorter than my six foot three, and I'd had to bend down to try to hear him. I hadn't heard clearly what he'd said his name was, and I hadn't cared enough to ask a second time. His name hadn't mattered.

It wasn't like I planned to ever see him again. He was a bit of fun, nothing more. A good stress reliever before closing arguments on a huge case I'd been working on for almost a year.

Not that I was overly worried about any of my cases. They didn't call me Golden Boy for nothing. I hadn't lost a case in two years. With my winning streak, it was a given that if I was prosecuting your case, you were going to do serious jail time.

And thanks to my hefty trust fund, I could afford my pricey penthouse condo in downtown Boston, while working for the state doing what I loved. Putting criminals behind bars where they belonged .

He narrowed his eyes at me, not moving from the bed, his arms crossed over his thin chest defiantly. "You don't fucking remember my name, do you?"

"Does it really matter if I do or not?" I flashed him my smile again, knowing it had managed to get me out of a lot of shit my entire life. My mom often said I was born with a golden cloud over my head. Everything just always went my way; it always had.

The petite man swung his legs over the side of the bed with a huff. "I hate guys like you. Sooo fucking arrogant. Pretty boys, always getting what you want with no regard for anyone you might hurt in the process. Selfish asshole." Grabbing his discarded shirt from the floor, he yanked it over his head, muttering words I couldn't hear under his breath.

"We both got what we wanted last night." Leaning against the vanity, I crossed my ankles and watched him dress with jerky movements. "I got a blow job and you got fucked into the mattress. We both came. It was fun but now I need you to leave. I have to be in court later today."

Dick. Selfish. Bad luck. Black heart. Mote it be?

I caught a few words he was muttering as he angrily yanked on his clothes.

Mote it be ? What the fuck was he mumbling?

"Cruelty and the pain…caused again…I say this spell…"

He straightened to his full height when he was dressed and pointed a thin finger at me. Now his eyes were filled with an almost malicious intent, which sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. His lips, so pouty and kissable and fucking pretty when they'd been stretched around my dick earlier, were set in a cruel little half smile.

"What the fuck was all that?" My smile vanished, and I scowled at him.

"Oh, nothing to worry your pretty little head over, asshole. Just a little itty-bitty curse." Holding his head high, he flounced from my bedroom. Following him down the hall, I tried to hide my smirk at his ridiculous, over-the-top behavior.

Giving him a bland look, I said just as dramatically as he was acting, "Really, a curse? Oh no, whatever shall I do?"

I really needed to listen to my best friend, Derek, and stop picking up random guys in clubs. What had happened to the good old days where you picked a guy up, took him home, fucked him senseless, then patted his ass and sent him on his way?

Nowadays, they all wanted a little bit of fun to be the beginnings of "something special". A few hours fucking did not a relationship make.

Just my luck I had to pick up a guy who fancied himself a witch or something of the sort. Curse, indeed.

Growing up in Salem, Massachusetts, I'd been surrounded by the lore of witches, spells, curses, and all that hocus pocus nonsense my entire life. You couldn't live in a town famous for witch trials, without having the occult tossed in your face practically on every street corner.

I didn't believe in any of it; never had.

Frankly, I was a firm non-believer, and I planned to stay that way. I dealt with cold, hard facts every day. Whatever mind fuck this guy thought he was pulling on me, it wasn't going to work.

He smirked at me, placing a hand on my naked chest, directly over my heart. Leaning in close, he whispered, "Just something to make you a little less…full of yourself."

"Whatever." Rolling my eyes, I opened my front door, indicating it was time for him to go. Fucking hell, I didn't want to have to call Derek to come arrest this guy if he refused to leave. He'd never let me hear the end of it. "Time to go. It was fun, but it's over. Have a nice life."

Smirking–yeah, the fucker smirked–he sashayed his hips from side to side, pausing when he was standing in the hallway outside my door.

"May your luck be as black as your heart, dickwad." Blowing me a kiss, he sauntered to the elevator, pushing the button.

Slamming the door on his grinning face, I sighed loudly, running fingers through my thick hair. "Jesus fucking Christ. Stop trolling for dick in clubs, Michael. One of these days, you're going to end up on the front page and not for your winning streak. Cray cray. I'd expect that kind of ridiculousness back home, but not in Boston. "

Straightening the rumpled blankets on my bed, I made sure my alarm was set for six. Five hours sleep, then a run, the gym, and enough time to check in at the office before my first case of the day.

Sighing softly, I settled into bed, my muscles relaxing. At least the blow job and sex had been decent, so it was worth the bit of drama at the end. It had been just what I needed to start my week. My docket was full tomorrow, and I looked forward to making sure a handful of criminals got what they deserved.