Page 8 of Violent Cravings

Chapter 4

Ryan

She hurries away from me without looking back, repetitively fixing her skirt in the process of crossing the room, as she’s done persistently throughout the course of the night.

Throughout the rest of the evening, I can feel her eyes on me. She makes sure to never get too close to me, but I can tell that I’m consuming her attention as much as she’s consuming mine.

Talking to her didn’t help one bit. Inspecting her up close didn’t help.

On the contrary.

I’m hooked on her more now than I was before.

There was nothing hollow and empty about her sparkling green eyes. Instead, I found mystery. A girl with a story to tell. Complexity.

Laura. Even the sound of her name echoes through my chest with an urgency that is completely new to me.

What the hell is it about her? She’s pretty, that’s for sure. She’s the kind of girl who turns heads, even if she doesn’t realize it. Her short, tight-fitting uniform wraps around a hot body that’s to die for, long and lean, with big tits, and a round, perky ass to match. Her skirt hugs her curves just right.

But there is nothing elegant or glamorous about her, she doesn’t have the classy femininity that usually draws my attention. If anything, she appears gawky and vulnerable, overburdened with a body she cannot handle. She looks like she doesn’t belong anywhere or to anyone. An outcast. An orphan. Alone.

Special.

That must be it.

She’s unlike any woman I’ve ever had. Something new. Something different.

No wonder I crave her like this, especially right now, just as another year of fasting is coming to an end. It’s almost to the point of being unbearable, how much I want her. How much I need to taste her.

But there is one major problem.

She’s not on the menu.

She’s not in the agency’s catalog. My go-to agency, Violent Delights, offers everything a man can ask for... except her.

She’s not available for purchase.

So I can’t have her.

Of course, that only makes me want her more. That’s just how I am.

She’s exactly the kind of woman I’m trying to stay away from. The kind of woman who could make me lose control.

“Fuck,” I hiss at my reflection, as I lean over one of the sinks in the bathroom. Even though I’ve splashed cold water on my face, I’m still as heated as before.

I check my watch, confirming it’s almost time to give my toast. My head needs to be clear for this, clear enough to deliver the words flawlessly, react to the applause and response, and engage in another round of smalltalk. The event will slowly start to wind down once I give my toast, because that’s when people no longer feel obligated to stick around. Thank God.

“Pull it together,” I order my reflection, but the guy in the mirror just casts back an angry glare. He doesn’t like to be lectured.

Sure enough, as soon as I walk back into the party hall, I’m met by my assistant Lemon’s harried eyes. He waves me over to the podium, already anxiously holding the microphone in his hand. He’s not a short man, but he has an odd way of crouching every time I stand next to him, which makes him appear to be a lot smaller than he really is. It bothers me, and I’ve mentioned it several times, but he continues doing it.

“Where have you been?” he snaps. “It’s about time you showed up!”

“Relax,” I tell him, placing my hand on his shoulder in a comradely manner that’s reserved for him. “We’re fine.”

He casts me a confused look, as if sensing I’m not only trying to calm him, but myself as well. Giving little speeches like the one I’m about to deliver is not a big deal to me. I’ve done it thousands of times before, and nervousness is an alien concept to me.

But not tonight.

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