Chapter Four

Eli is getting more thana pat on the back for this one. Jessica from the dating app is even more gorgeous than he reckoned. That means I lost our bet and owe him ten bucks. But I don't feel like a loser as I look at her freckled features.

My best mate knows me too well; the creature I found perched on a stool is exactly my type. Hair like flames licking down her perfect silhouette, and golden-brown specks that dust her face. If Eli's screenshots are unedited, they also scatter down her cleavage and her arse. But her beauty goes much beyond that.

Her doe eyes convey a natural innocence, the cornflower blue shade of her irises almost luminous. Above them, the perfectly drawn arches of her eyebrows match the auburn of her hair. Coral pink lips are pushed into a discontented pout just below her slightly upturned nose, and their fullness triggers fantasies I can't ignore. If I'm a lucky lad, I'll eventually know the feeling of that pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock.

There's something about her that calls to me. Maybe it's her uptight demeanor and how fun it would be to shake her out of it. I'm fine with her changing her mind and us not having sex, but part of me hopes she returns to her initial idea. Something tells me it wouldn't take much. She's trying to give the illusion of control and detachment, but I'm too well-versed in women to let it fool me. Is she aware I can see her knees pressing together whenever I'm flirting? Does she know her cheeks flush when I say dirty things? My only issue with the latter is that it makes her freckles fade away, and I'm torn between enjoying the sight of those or keeping up with the embarrassed arousal I can so effortlessly trigger.

But maybe she's feigning the innocence in her eyes to drive me mad. After all, she's the one who posted such a bold request on a famously debauched app. So maybe I'm the one unaware.

As my thoughts battle to discern if she's a naive little lamb or an expert puppeteer, I pick up my beer and take a long gulp. Good, it's European—none of that piss-poor American nonsense. She takes a sip from her glass, then a second, then a third, and puts it back. How many cocktails has she had? Is this her second or third? This one's going down fast, meaning we might get very little time together. Also, if there's a slim chance that we end up in a bed somewhere, I'll only indulge if she's sober. I meant what I said earlier.

"Did it hurt a lot?" she asks.

"The piercings?"

She nods. Will you look at that? Proper little Jessica is thinking about what's going on in my pants.

"Not as much as I thought it would," I reply.

Her frown tells me she doesn't believe my answer. "I'd expect getting four holes pierced there would be agonizing."

"Six."

"Pardon?"

"I've got six piercings there. Four looked too scattered."

Her eyes widen, her lips part, and I decide this is what I want to do all evening long: shock her with my brazen crudeness over and over again. She's madly alluring whenever I shake her conventional and proper manners.

I take another sip of beer to hide my proud grin and then decide she can take more. "The ladder hurt, but not as much as the apadravya." Her huge eyes become even rounder, and I can't hold back my grin anymore. "It's when you pierce the—"

"I know what it is," she cuts me off before she raises her glass, taking another sip.

When I cross my arms over my chest and lean back in my seat, I notice the way her eyes scan my tattoos again. I didn't miss the way she reacted when I removed the jacket, completely flabbergasted by the sight.

Posh women like her always go nuts for the ink. And the muscles, too. It tugs at their proper education and snobbish values, and they can't compute the thoughts they trigger. Their brains begin to wonder if maybe bland-and-boring-Bernard, or whatever the fuck their partner is called, is what they really need after all.

Given the place she picked for us to meet, I figured she was upper-class, so I knew my appearance would surprise her to some extent. But she had to know the kind of men her very specific request would bring, didn't she?

"Do you do this often?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Certainly not. This is the first and probably last time."

"Am I being so terribly disappointing, red?"

The nickname earns me a glare, but she still answers, "You're not what I expected."

"And what did you expect?"

She ponders for a moment, her pretty little head tilting to the side as she assesses me. "Not someone this intense."

Despite her earlier shock—which I was expecting—she seems to have a bit of spunk. That bold lie about her not being Jessica was greatly entertaining, and the way she owned it was admirable. It's a good thing. I like them fiery inside and out, or it quickly gets dull.

"You've seen nothing yet, red."

The freckles are gone again, and she squirms in her chair. Just like that, I know she's imagining my pierced cock in her pussy, and it compels me to do the same. Well, if this doesn't lead to sex, I'll be going home with the bluest balls I've ever sported.

As though reading my mind, she puts her glass down and faces me, her expression grave. "If we were to engage in coitus," she hesitantly starts.

"Don't call it coitus."

She disapprovingly frowns. "It's the proper terminology."

"Unless you want a man to go flaccid, don't call it that."

That's a lie, though. I'm hard as fuck in my jeans, somehow turned on by her rigid manners.

"I couldn't care less about the state of your… appendage."

I grin, unable to hold it back. Just thinking of my dick makes her cheeks pinker. "You were saying about us possibly fucking?"

"Yes, I need to clarify a few things."

"Clarify away."

"First, I'd need to see recent STI test results."

Well, she doesn't beat around the bush. "Sorry, love, but I always use condoms. Especially with strangers from random dating apps."

"It would be in addition to the use of a condom," she states firmly. Then, after a brief moment of silent thought, she asks, "Does the latex impede the sensation of the piercings?"

"No. If we fuck, you'll feel them. And me."

My crude words make her blush even redder, and the way she presses her crossed legs together isn't lost on me. She likes this, my attitude, the unknown territory she's venturing into, the way we couldn't be more mismatched… It works for her as much as it works for me.

"I get tested every two months, and I'm currently waiting on the results from last Wednesday," I offer as a compromise. "Would that be recent enough?"

She thinks about it for a couple of beats and nods. "If we do this within the next ten days, that'll suffice, yes."

"Brilliant. Anything else you need? My social security number? Place and date of birth? My family's medical history?"

The playful banter doesn't land well this time, and her face falls into a vexed scowl. "If you'd rather not abide by my rules, we can put an end to this and call it a day."

"I have no issue with it, Jessica from the dating app. I'm just not used to this being so businesslike."

She winces, her blue gaze shying away from mine. Another long gulp of her drink gets swallowed, and I reckon she has two left before she's done with it. "I will be drafting a contract in the eventuality that I make up my mind and decide to indulge in this."

"A contract?"

"Yes."

Well, that's new. Kind of. I've never signed a contract for a one-night stand.

This isn't a date, so I won't ask personal questions, but if I had to guess, I'd say she either works in HR or she's a lawyer. This contract thing has to come from somewhere, and I can't think of another profession that would even come up with the idea.

I sense my mouth betray my amusement again. This woman is definitely a novelty. We're both experimenting tonight, aren't we?

"If we do fuck, I also have a condition," I say.

She looks slightly taken aback, as if I can't also have a say in this. "Go ahead."

"It's just sex. I'm not looking for anything serious, red, so this isn't the start of some great romance."

This time, she chortles. "Of course, it would only be sex. It's not like we're compatible anyway, Mr. Clarke."

Good. She gets it.

"I'm just making sure. I'm not the monogamous type, so you'd only hurt yourself if you expected more."

She rolls her eyes, unimpressed. "A man with commitment issues, how original."

My lips bend into a smile. "I reckon I'm doing a favor to your gender, red. My talents deserve to be shared around, spreading as many pairs of legs as I can."

"And you've spread many, is that it?" She can barely hold back from rolling her eyes again.

"They part for me, like the sea for Moses."

An unstoppable snicker pours out of her lush lips again. "You're so full of yourself."

"You'll get it once you're full of me."

Blood rushes to her cheeks while mine rushes to my cock as I trigger naughty images in both our minds. Goddammit, I feel like a hormonal teenager.

"Does this usually work?" she wonders, her blue eyes scanning mine intently.

"Does what work?"

"The arrogance. Does it get women going?"

I lean back into my seat, entertained by her spirit. "You call it arrogance; I call it confidence."

"It's overconfidence, at the very least."

"Maybe you should give me a try and judge for yourself."

She looks more comfortable now, but my offer takes us a couple steps back again. Women usually like my cocky attitude, but I'm realizing—maybe too late—that it might not work on someone like her.

"Well, rest assured, Mr. Clarke, I won't demand anything more from you than sex. Especially if you're God's gift to women. I'm a girl's girl, so I'd hate to rob my sisters of your talents."

"That's the spirit, red."

I'm not ready for this to end when she slips her phone into her clutch and downs the rest of her drink. "Well, it was interesting meeting you, Mr. Clarke. Let me know if you are still interested in furthering this encounter."

I'm a little ashamed at how fast I answer, "I very much am."

Her cheeks get rosy again, and just like that, I know she's imagining my cock once more—which, to my dismay, hasn't deflated through the whole encounter. I haven't prayed in two decades, but if that's what it takes not to head home with blue balls, I'm about ready to kneel and ask the Almighty to do me a solid. She intrigues me, and I'm dying to know what brought her here. Also, I'd love to see her under me, mewling my name as I fuck her hard and show her just how intense I can get.

"I might be in contact," she replies.

"And when would that be, red?"

"I'm not sure yet. All of this is still being debated."

I nod, take a long chug of my beer, and set the glass back down. "I don't normally do this, you know."

"You just said you only do hookups," she points out, confused.

"Exactly. Meet. Fuck. Move on. What I don't do are these little dates to get to know each other."

"That isn't what this was."

"Then what was it?"

She thinks about her answer for a moment. "See it as a job interview. A way to assess if we're compatible."

"I see… And how did I do?"

The faintest smile makes the corner of her lush mouth twitch when she replies, "You did adequately, Mr. Clarke. I'll probably be in touch soon."

After a polite nod, she stands from the cushioned seat with her things and walks away. With what I can only describe as whiplash, I stare at the firm roundness of her bum, watching how the purple fabric of her dress clings to it. I almost regret seeing that third picture from Eli's screenshots. I wish I could have discovered what it looks like in person. But I've looked at that picture quite a bit, enchanted by the constellations that her freckles form there.

She's fucking stunning, and I'm a little offended that she never turns around to check me out one last time. Then, once she's done getting her coat back, it hits me.

"Adequately?" I mutter to myself.

No, that won't do.

I spring to my feet and hastily walk after her. She's already in the lobby when I catch up, and I call out, "Jessica!" She doesn't respond to it, which forces me to quicken my pace. "Red!" I call out again. This time, she stops and turns to me with a nonplussed frown.

There's a large potted palm right by where she stands, so I clasp her wrist and pull her toward it. "Adequately?" I ask as I release her, a little vexed.

"Adequately is good," she defends herself. "It could have gone a lot worse."

"It isn't good in my books. I can't let you leave finding me ‘adequate.'"

"What's your plan?" Her big blue eyes squint at me, wary.

I hope I'm right about her being a lawyer when I say, "May I offer a closing argument?"

She hesitates for a couple of seconds, wondering if she should allow it or not. Fuck, I don't even know what I'll say if she agrees. She's close enough that I can smell the cherry scent etched on her skin and admire the specks on her face. But this means I can also see she's breathing a little too fast, and her pupils are bigger than they were moments ago. I'm not the only one affected by the closeness of our bodies.

"Alright," she eventually decides.

I'm not proud of what I do next, but I can't think past my need for her, especially not with the way her lips are slightly parted, as if inviting me to act on my ludicrous impulse.

Because I'm not one to force a woman to do anything without her consent, I slowly lower my face to level it with hers. She tenses all over but doesn't recoil, her gaze fixed on mine. When I'm sure she would have pulled away or pushed me if she didn't want this as much as I do, I close the small gap separating us and press my mouth to hers.

I have no fucking idea what's going on, but the softness of her lips feels damn right. Because I don't know what to do now, I stay frozen in place. As closing arguments go, this one's quite shit, isn't it? She'll give me a resounding slap, blush furiously, and leave me there like the moron that I am. The fuck am I doing?

The instant she rises a little higher to intensify it, all of my worries vanish. My hands reach out for her waist, and I pull her in as I tilt my head, aligning our lips and deepening the contact. I swear she melts against me, as affected as I am by this chaste kiss.

It's when her slender hand rises between us to rest on my chest that I lose it. I tentatively lick the seam of her lips, a rumbly groan rolling in my throat. She surprises me once more with how receptive she is when she unlocks her jaw to grant me access. The invitation couldn't be clearer, so I dip my tongue inside her warmth, licking with greed.

Things get out of hand in seconds, like a lit match thrown into gasoline. I'd blame it on the potted palm that isolates us, but she's the reason why I get lost in it, completely oblivious to the people surrounding us in the lobby. All the flirting from before led to this, and now that our minds have expressed themselves, it's our bodies' turn.

It seems she gets overwhelmed as well, shyly darting out her own tongue to sample me while she has a hand firmly clasped on my neck. She tastes like lemon and sin, and I don't think I could ever get tired of it. Not when her perfect body is pressed against mine, my cock hard and demanding between us.

My hands work faster than my brain as they lower down her back to grab her arse, eager to feel more of her. When I pull her closer to let her feel what she's doing to me, she lets out a helpless whimper that passes from her lips to mine. I know I'm in deep shit when it echoes all the way to my balls.

The wanton sound has a different effect on her though, and it seems to shake her out of the lustful exchange we're having. With a shocked gasp and a shove on my chest, she rips herself away from me.

Her glassy eyes look up at mine, filled with want, and her hand is over her mouth as if she can't believe what just happened. We stand there for a moment, our breathing slightly ragged as we try to recompose ourselves. I have to force myself not to grab her again, ignoring every cell in my body screaming for more.

With a trembling hand, she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and I notice that the tip of it is even redder than her cheeks. This. Her blushing ears are why she deserves to be called red.

She doesn't say a thing, adjusts her bag over her shoulder, and turns away from me. Before I know it, she's back to her walk out of this place. I watch, feeling like an imbecile, until she disappears through the revolving doors.

Fuck, I messed it all up, didn't I? She was a wild deer, and I scared her by acting like a tactless brute. "Fucking idiot," I mutter to myself.

I'm so mad about the way I handled things that I don't finish my beer when I return to the bar. I fetch my jacket and the helmet I left with the valet service by the hotel's entrance. During the entire ride back to Brooklyn, I scold myself for my abrasive manners. I'm usually a lot better with the ladies, but it seems this one isn't like anything I've known before. She stressed me out somehow, and I panicked.

When I arrive at The Devil's Court, there's barely any space left for my bike. I still make do and enter the crowded bar. The familiar atmosphere helps with the frustration, and the rock band on stage does a great job shushing the thoughts of failure. Ever since we bought it, this place has become a second home to me and my mates. It doesn't matter if the floor is always sticky, regardless of how much we mop it, or if the smell of cigarettes is etched into the old wallpaper. This poorly lit bar with loud rock, good booze, and questionable company is ours, and we love it exactly the way it is.

After a quick scan of the crowd, I spot Eli by the bar, talking to Killian behind it. We're a tight trio, and I know that two minutes with them will be enough to get my mind off the stunning redhead I just botched it with.

"Already back?" Eli asks when I arrive next to him. "I see your stamina hasn't improved."

"You're one to talk. When was the last time you got your dick wet, you twat?" The reminder makes him scowl, but he deserved it.

"What happened?" Kill wonders, pouring a beer for me.

"Nothing, we just had a drink."

"Oh, so it was a date?" Eli interjects.

"No. It was a… job interview of sorts."

Kill sets the pint before me as Eli continues the interrogation with, "Did you pass?"

"I don't know yet. Probably not."

"Why aren't you asking him the important question?" Kill asks Eli.

"I'm savoring it because I already know the answer. See how defeated he looks?"

Fuck, right. I forgot about that. With a discontented mumble, I take my wallet out and find a ten-dollar bill that I smack in front of Eli.

"So, she was hot?"

"Yeah." I don't say that she was stunning, with the body of a goddess, the face of an angel, and the bearing of a queen. They'd never let it die otherwise.

"Told you. Some women don't put their faces on those apps because they're so pretty they'd get stalked and all kinds of creepy shit."

"Well, in my experience, it's usually because they don't have much to offer. Now, can we move on to another topic, or should I go find someone more amenable to spend the evening with?" I ask, mindlessly eyeing the packed room.

I have a pair of balls that need emptying, and I can spot a few women I've already shagged and who'd probably be more than willing to help me out. While I wish the night ended with proper little Jessica, I'm not opposed to finding some relief with a woman less complicated than her.

A woman who doesn't need a contract to fuck. One who won't think I'm only adequate. And one who won't make my cock ache every time her face turns red with arousal.

Shit, I really messed this one up, didn't I?