Page 2 of The War Revision
He giggles. How do I come up with this shit? It’s a gift.
“Let me bring this drink to my friend, and I’ll be back for the…wicked show.” He then leans in and whispers on my lips, “Fuck, you’re a dream.”
“I can be whatever you want tonight.” I use my best sultry tone.
He sighs loudly, and my eyes follow his ass shamelessly as he walks toward a group of people.
“That really works?” The derision and incredulity filling the raspy voice is followed by another snort.
I turn to a blond guy in a grey suit, leaning against the bar, holding a glass filled with amber liquor. A small mocking smirk is turning his red lips upwards. An image of Jack Nicholson playing Satan inThe Witches of Eastwickpops into my head. The resemblance is in the devilish hint of his smile and confident macho posture.
“It always works. I am that good.” I do not hide the arrogance in my voice.
He’s taller than me and in good shape. Strong arms and muscular legs are evident under the fine suit’s fabric.
“No, you are—a dream,” he perfectly imitates Lucas?…Lawrence?…Loch?…Mr. Grey’s breathy voice.
I know Satan is having fun at my expense, but his midday blue, almost gray eyes leave me speechless for a second. Only a second.
“Would you like to share the dream?” I proposition him, pushing my chest slightly out—hey, it works for male gibbons during mating…the butt-click documentary covered all sorts of animals.
Plus, threesomes are always fun.
His gaze glides lazily down my figure-hugging t-shirt and skintight black jeans. I feel a tingling sensation rush down to Falkor—also known as my dick. Wow, this guy is already doing things to my body, and he hasn’t even touched me…yet.
A lock of wavy dirty-blond hair trails down his forehead and his lips purse in what looks like disapproval.
“Don’t enjoy feeling like an extra in a cheap porn. Hard pass,” he finally says when his eyes focus on my face again. His superior tone needs some tuning—my cock in his mouth would help.
I feel a smidge of disappointment. “You won’t only watch the main attraction, you’ll be part of it, I can assure you.” I once again curve my tongue around the straw in my glass, being certain to show the metal barbell. Most people go crazy over it—and the matching bars on my nipples.
Not this guy. He just carelessly glances at my mouth before saying, “Never doubted that. Just not into conceited dudes with cheesy pickup lines.” He scoffs, haughty.
I’m usually a laidback guy, but Satan’s words sting for some weird reason. “And I thought I’d never be into pompous, pole-stiff eavesdroppers, but here you are. You never know if you don’t try.”
“Don’t need to. Again…politely decline.” He turns again toward the bar. Politely, my amazing ass.
“Are you really, really sure? Last chance.” I insist. Sometimes my mouth overtakes my brain. The consequences have been interesting on several occasions, so I don’t really care for the why. Reasoning, shmeasoning.
I wiggle my eyebrows at him. I can see his reflection in the mirror behind the counter. I’d like to turn that look of superiority on his face into an eager, slutty, open-mouthed, moaning, shamelessly begging mess while I fuck him into the wall. Mmm, Falkor likes that, judging by the growing, twitching bulge in my jeans.
He shakes his head in an exasperated way. Jordie does the exact same move.
“Don’t let me keep you.” He raises the glass to his lips and takes a sip. I can’t stop myself from looking at his throat working down the liquid.
Oh, well I tried. “Suit yourself, Daryl Van Horne.”
“Who?” he asks.
It’s my turn to huff at him.
Mr. Grey is coming my way again. I turn my focus on his inviting, cock-sucking lips and set my empty glass down on the counter.He will do.
Before leaving, I wave a finger toward Satan and say, “See you—never.”
Boy, how wrong I was.
You can’t escape the Devil.
