Page 6 of Her Trick His Treat

But not her. This female was all curves.

Her hourglass figure reminded me of one of those 1950s blonde bombshell posters. You know the kind. Only this one took a turn at the Playboy mansion.

Her outfit was just a hair’s breadth away from being indecent. The thin little string tied around her neck was all that held her top on. One breath and I feared it would snap, leaving her bounty on display for every fucker in the place.

A thought which left me feeling both turned on and homicidal at the same time.

Odd, to say the least.

Sonny had led me to believe The Whiskey Bar was not a club in any sense of the word, but for tonight, it was dressed up as one. The DJ had done one helluva job dressing the place up to resemble one.

There were strobe lights in purple and orange, which did nothing to relieve the darkness. If anything, they just made it even more confusing.

But my gaze was locked on my target, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her if I tried. This woman oozed confidence.

It was heady and intoxicating. Like her mettle was a drug, and I was fast becoming an addict.

Who was she?

What was her name?

Was she here alone?

All excellent questions. All things I promised myself I would find out in the next ten minutes.

I clenched my jaw as some idiot walked up to her.

The guy was skinny fat. I know neither name was nice, but what else did you call guys like that?

Pompous.

Arrogant.

Pencil dick.

You know exactly who I was talking about. Those guys who couldn’t be bothered going to the gym or getting their haircut.

The ones who thought being thin was enough for him to approach a fine ass woman with more curves than his pencil dick could handle.

Maybe it did work for him. Who was I to judge?

But not tonight. And not with her.

Vixen here was light years out of his league.

She was sexy and refined. Like a vintage bottle of fine wine.

Classy.

Delicate.

Demanding appreciation.

He was more of a light beer kind of guy. Yeah. No fucking way. Pencil Dick was simply no match for her.

He wore an ill-fitting off-the-rack suit and his only nod to the costume party was a pair of wolf ears on his head. The kind attached to a metal headband.

Fucking amateur.

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