| BOOK ONE OF THE VENANDI SAGA | A DARK MAFIA ROMANCE |
Teeth scrape over skin as he nips at my earlobe, "I told you..." Threading his fingers through the strands at my nape, he rolls my head to the side and his lips continue their exploration, "...
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Queens, New York ---
Flopping to the broken recliner, I grumble, "Fuuuuck, I don't want to work tonight. I swear, another drunk bitch pukes on me, I'm throwing her through a window."
"It's a strip club. It doesn't have any windows."
"Curse your logic."
A commercial kicks on and my roommate rolls to peer up at me from her spot on the floor, "Notfuhnuttin' but I told you. Be a stripper. You'll make twice as much and without the puke." She waffles, wagging her head in consideration, "Well, mostly without."
Easy for her to say.
My contrast in almost everyway, Rebel is what most would deem "attractive."
Aaah... Who am I kidding? She's fucking hot.
Her layered, waves of honey-colored hair frame sculpted cheekbones and a wide, full mouth; brilliant, azure irises sparkle with mischief; long, slender legs stretch for miles; and, when she moves, it's with the confidence of someone who's used to receiving male attention. On her right arm, a tattoo sleeve extends from her wrist to her shoulder. The vibrant ink enhances her sex appeal and admittedly, I'm slightly envious of her ability to carry the look.
Oh, and she doesn't have an ounce of fat on her body. Whereas, I like to eat... a lot.
As a result, I'm slightly curvier than the rest of the girls at the club; though, some of that is muscle from my new training regimen. Also, I'm shorter, with a preference for sneakers, and when I move, it's with all the grace of a newborn giraffe.
"Well?" She presses, "How 'bout it? Wanna ride the pole?"
Pausing to weigh my options, "Hmmm..." I scowl in deliberation. "Maybe..." She stares at me expectantly and I concede, "...except I have this whole aversion to being naked in public."
Feigning concern she replies, "Oh, that sounds awful! Is there some kind of treatment? A personality transplant, perhaps?"
"Sadly, I am an incurable prude, and I'll probably die from lack of sex."
"That's a pity. Can I have your bike?" Ultramarine eyes round, affecting her best puppy dog plea and she pouts, "I promise to take good care of her."
"Duh," I tsk, "as if anyone else would be worthy of my baby."
"Yessss! Free parking for life!"
Victorious she pumps her fist overhead drawing a tickled snort. Chuckling, "Yeah, yeah..." I push to my feet, "Alright, I'm opening tonight. You dancing?"
"On stage at nine. Don't forget to cheer."
"K. See you there," I nod, saluting in departure.
"Later, babe," she mutters distractedly, already returned to her regularly scheduled, reality addiction.
