Page 40 of Priest and his Anarchist

I have two choices. Neither of which I like much, but one of which I know is what I have to do.

“I almost thought I was lied to when they said I could find you here.” Her long dark hair grazes the table's rim as her high-heeled foot bumps mine when she slides in. “I must admit. Your reputation proceeds you.”

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to flirt, but desperation isn’t your scent. Try something more subtle.” The smirk I’m sure works on every male, dissolves into an arched brow and slightly parted lips. “You’re shocked. That means my reputation does not proceed me, or you’d know better than to think you’d come close to making an impression on me.” My forearms touch the table when I lean in further. “Did they tell you that it would work?”

“On the contrary.” Her Russian accent lingers on her tongue, but it’s obvious she’s been in an English-speaking country for some time. The corner of her red lips twitch. “They said I should tie my hair in a ribbon and strap a holster around my thigh.”

“Hmm.” I settle back in my chair, swirling the whiskey around in my glass.

Leather clings to her frail body, her black hair spilling over her bony shoulders when she rests her arms against the top of the chair in a sad attempt at pushing up her tits.

“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you? But, I like a challenge.” She gestures around the room, her eyes darting to whatever’s going on behind me before landing back on mine.

“You don’t know me well enough to make that statement.” I flick the glass with my index finger, sliding it against the table.

She catches it in her hand and pours herself a glass. “You know, I’ve never been able to get out of anyone what it is that you really do and why you’re never seen with a girl. They either don’t know, or they pretend like they do and that they don’t want to talk about it.”

“Maybe I’m not into girls,” I answer flatly.

She rests back in her chair. “Yeah, right.”

“Ah, you’ve not heard of the time I fucked my sister’s boy toy.” My tongue swipes over my bottom lip.

Her face falls.

“It’s a joke.” I glare at her. “I don’t have to be gay to not want to fuck you.”

The music changes to Deftones, and the couple in the booth opposite us shifts into my peripheral. Joseph Walker is forty-four years old and married with five kids. Found himself up Elite King Creek when he borrowed money from the Divitae line and is desperate to pay us back any way he can.

Which doesn't include indulging in our assets. His smile evaporates when he notices me. He pauses, walks, and then pauses once more.

The girl opposite me is still talking, something about no one being a match for her but she thinks I will. Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard. I need to tear them out.

He finally decides what he’s going to do because he turns to me, his head bowing between his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Priest. I know that I shouldn’t be here.” I don’t answer, reaching into my pocket to take out my phone. Obviously taking that as a time to run because when I look up, he’s gone.

I open a new message and type the coordinates to the bar before shutting the screen off.

“Can we?” Her lips curve upward. I don’t know what shit she is talking about, and I don’t care to ask.

I jerk my head to the side. “Come here.”

It’s like I’ve handed her the kingdom when her face lights up. Jesus. Did no one love this girl growing up?

She slides out from beneath the table, her long legs covered in fishnet tights. When she’s directly opposite, I reach forward, tugging on the bottom of her skirt until she falls onto my lap like a malnourished doll.

She pushes herself up, her legs spreading wide on either side of my hips. It’s not until she’s a breath away that I skim the backs of her thighs. Whenever she flings her hair in a circle or chews on her lip, I'm reminded why I don't entertain this. Ever. Unless the entertainment is worthy of being placed on a wall, and this one is not. The only thing getting my dick hard at this moment is wondering what she looks like from the inside.

Fingers grab at the waistband of my jeans as she fumbles with my button. I whack her hand away, reaching up to touch the side of her cheek. She leans into my touch, her hips grinding against my crotch. Catching her earlobe, I trace the curve of her jaw with my tongue, stopping at the tip of her chin.

Her eyes widen a moment, but when she slowly realizes that it’s a surface cut, she covers my hand with hers and sucks my thumb into her mouth. Her thrusts become more desperate as her mouth falls open, and her other hand spreads over my neck. Blood trails down her collarbone, ending on her breasts.

There’s a faint cry for help from a booth behind me from whatever chaos is happening, but the girl riding my lap focuses on me. The sharp sting from her fingernails sinking into my shoulder has the corner of my mouth twitching.

“I can do a bit of blood play, baby….” she whispers, lowering her mouth to kiss me.

My head jerks away from her. Like fuck she’s coming near me with that shit. “Blood play?” I bark out a laugh. She doesn't catch my sarcasm because her thighs clench around my hips. Not sure what the fuck she’s riding on since my cock is about as flaccid as a brainless middle-aged man who’s bored of fucking his hot wife.

Her mouth opens in a strangled breath, the feeling of elation no doubt edging her closer. I draw a pattern over her skin.M.A.D.NIt happens too fast for her to notice. Blood drips from her eyes in clotted tears, her head sliding off her shoulders by the incision around her neck and hitting the ground with a loudthud. Not my best. Prefer my usual method, but what can I say... I draw the line at desperation.

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