Page 212 of His To Erase
“Of course you did. I’m a delight. Now tell me more about Steven and the way he undresses you with his serial killer eyes,” she says, resting her chin in her hand, and her eyes are practically glittering with dangerous curiosity.
I take a slow sip of my drink, but it doesn’t help.
“He looks at me like he’s already fucked me six different ways,” I say finally, my voice low. “Like he’s deciding whether to bend me over the counter or drag me into a dark alley and make me beg.”
Sarah lets out an actual whimper. “Okay, ma’am. Continue.”
“And it’s not just the stare,” I go on, eyes unfocused now, because the second I start thinking about it, it’s game over. “It’s the way he talks. Calm. Cool. Collected. But filthy. Like the devil would blush filthy.”
Sarah raises a brow, fanning herself with a bar napkin like we’re in church. “Is this safe for work?”
“No,” I whisper. “It’s not safe for anything. This man spit in my fucking mouth.”
She gasps like I just confessed to arson. “Shut the actual fuck up.”
“I crawled for him, Sarah,” I hiss. “Like, willingly. On hands and knees.”
Sarah slaps the bar again, eyes wide with reverent horror. “My last situationship didn’t even make eye contact during sex and this man’s got you crawling? You’re living my literal wet dreams right now. I have FOMO. Look—I’m literally getting chills.”
She sticks her arm in my face like that proves her point, and yeah, we both lose it.
“I don’t even know who I am anymore. He looked at me and said, ‘You don’t get to come till I tell you,’ and then railed me like vengeance had a dick.”
She shrieks. “Is that even legal?!”
“It shouldn’t be,” I mutter. “He had my thighs shaking so bad I forgot my own name.”
“Jesus Christ, Ani.”
She presses a hand to her heart like she’s witnessing a love story. “You’re telling me your murder crush is a full-time Dom with God-tier dick and Olympic-level stamina?”
I nod slowly, “Like if Daddy issues came in six-foot-three and wore black.”
She groans, forehead to the counter. “I want one. I want your ghost to haunt me and tell me bedtime stories about this man.”
I sip my water. “He called me agood girland I practically climaxed out of spite.”
“I’m gonna need to lie down.”
Someone tries to get our attention—some guy waving a credit card and mouthing vodka soda—and without missing a beat, Sarah flicks a death glare in his direction.
“Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something with my emotional support whore? BACK UP.”
The guy vanishes like he felt the wrath of a thousand ex-girlfriends.
I blink at her. “Yup, insane.”
She shrugs. “You crawled, Ani. The friendship contract requires respect.”
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t pop out. “Okay, well, we’re both still on the clock and I’m two tequila shots away from actually saying ‘sir’ out loud again, so let’s not.”
“God forbid.” She grabs a stray lime wedge off the bar and tosses it into a trash can. “Back to work, slut.”
We fall into motion with her taking a round of beers to table seven while I cash out a regular. It's mechanical and easy, the kind of rhythm you only build by bleeding side by side through summer rushes and blackout holiday weekends.
By the time I wipe down the last spill and pocket a folded twenty from a guy who thinks tipping makes him charming, my fingers are already twitching toward my back pocket.
I pull out my phone and check it, noting all the messages that currently give me immediate anxiety.
