Page 10 of The Taker

Sammy: Cover charge and drinks are on me.

Sammy is an amazing friend. He’s right, I need a night out and a hook up. It’s been such a long time since I was with anyone. I can’t even remember what the last guy looked like. And I can count on one hand how many times I hooked up at all.

Ugh, my life is pathetic.

I get so caught up in raising the girls, my job, and making everything work. Sometimes I forget about myself. All I need is one night to let loose before I start sifting through the ashes of my dumpster fire of a life.

Me: Yeah, where and what time?

Sammy: The Bugsy Club. Around 10?

Me: Sounds good. Meet you there.

Tomorrow, I’ll start figuring everything out. There has to be a way to fix everything, even if it means leaving the city and starting all over again. Tonight, I’m going to have one final hurrah before I face the destruction that used to be my life.

Multicolored strobe lightsflash through the club, making all my failures seem way less depressing. I feel free as I move my hips to the thumping bass line of whatever pop song is playing.

Nothing can touch me here.

Not my lack of job or the fact that I’m being thrown out on the streets in three weeks. Or the dismal amount of money in mybank account. Or that my sisters deserve so much better than me as their guardian.

Here, I’m just some random guy at a club, with no worries or shame. Sammy comes back from the bar with our drinks and a couple of shots we throw back.

“Feeling better?” he asks. His black hair is slicked back and for once, he’s out of his chef’s whites and gym clothes.

Not really, but I’m done talking about it. The last thing he needs is my bullshit bringing him down—his life is hard enough as it is. I take his hand and move us further into the sea of warm, dancing bodies. We have fun moving together and sipping our drinks as each song transitions into the next.

A hand curves around my stomach, pulling me into a hard, hot wall of muscle. The forearm attached to it has artful ink—flowers, a vintage car, and a Scorpio zodiac sign. Sammy winks at me, takes my drink, then floats far away enough so I can have some privacy but close enough to intervene if anything goes wrong.

I feel my stranger’s cock digging into my lower back with every grind of his hips. He controls my body, moving and swaying in time with me. His wandering hands slip beneath my shirt, rough fingertips touching every inch of skin from my chest to right above the waistband of my jeans, skimming right above where my painfully hard length aches behind my zipper.

It’s been such a long time since anyone touched me. I need to see him, touch him.

I turn around to see a tall man with shoulder length black hair, olive skin, and smoldering dark eyes. He pulls me closer until there’s no space between us, slotting us together. With each movement we grind together, sending zaps of pleasure through my entire body.

He bends down, bringing his lips so close to my ear that I feel his breath tickling the sensitive skin of my earlobe.

“Want to go to the back?”

My lips skim his neck, moving up over the stubble of his jaw.

“Yes,” I breathe into his ear.

The club has a long, dark hallway on the other side of the dance floor with a supply closet, known as the back. People go there for privacy if they don’t feel like fucking for an audience in the bathroom.

He takes my hand in a firm grip, leading me through the crowd and up the half staircase out of the dance pit. A cold, prickling sensation weaves up my spine, and I slow my steps so I can peer over the crowd. Nothing stands out, but something doesn’t feel right. I push the feeling down.

It’s only pre-fuck jitters because I haven’t done this in such a long time. I’m desperate to forget how messed up my life is. I need this man to throw me against the wall and take what he needs. Use me until I’m so thoroughly ruined I can’t even think, let alone walk straight.

The only beam of light in the hallway comes from the dance floor, casting my stranger’s face in shadows. All I see are black outlines of bodies in the dark, yet I hear moans and grunts of pleasure while we walk toward the supply closet. He pushes me against the wall, crowding me in with his massive body before taking my mouth in a dominant kiss.

“You taste so sweet,” he whispers as he unbuttons my pants and shoves them to my knees. “What do you want?”

“Fuck me, please,” I rasp. “Use me.”

Another shiver flashes down my spine, right through my fingers and toes. The same foreboding feeling from earlier. Maybe it’s because I’m hooking up with a random man in a hallway, but I don’t care anymore.

He unzips his own pants enough to pull himself free and put a condom on. His hand slips under my briefs, palming me and running his finger over my head through the precum leakingfrom my slit. I’m panting, waiting for him to give me what I need.

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