A businessman with the world at his fingertips and a body built to fuck. Elliot Salvatore was every women's favorite heartbreak. Not only had he got it all but he knew it too. Except her.
Azrael Carmen hated all men and they hated to want her. Cold...
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A year earlier
I couldn't take my eyes off of her. Adrenaline pumped inside my vein while neat whiskey burned the back of my throat. Loud music was in full blown, drumming between the wild crowd. People filled the club and the whole place was ready to burst any moment. I tugged on the collar of my dress shirt as I leaned back into the leather couch. It was getting hot because she was so fucking hot. I could blame global warming on that swaying ass.
The red head on my laps ran her hot tongue up my throat. Her breasts in my face and her nails digging under my shirt. She whispered something in my ears as she handed me a fresh roll of joints. I took a drag and let her make out with my neck while I watched the blonde siren on stage.
Strippers never moved like that. I watched the grip of her hand on that silver pole and imagined it around my dick. She slithered up and down like a fucking snake, moving her hips and letting those long legs swayed as if they were one with the air. Hooking her knees around the pole, I watched her spin around. Hair wild and tanned limps glided between space. Then she dropped to the ground with a fucking spilt making the shear fabric of her skirt flew, teasing the whole club with the curve of her ass.
Her harsh chuckle tore through the crowd and went straight to my fucking dick. I tracked the quirk of her pouty mouth as she painfully and slowly got up, dipping into a low curtsy that put any royalty to shame. So fucking low I could see the where her breast bones started and where it ended. My mouth watered even when I chugged down a glass of straight liquor but it was those green eyes that turned my blood icy cold.
She looked at me, a glare sharper than sword. And, when she turned around dismissing me I knew I had to have her.
"Jesus Christ." I groaned under my breath.
The woman on my laps giggled. I glanced sideways and followed the blonde Aphrodite disappearing into the shadow. "Who is that?" I asked mindlessly.
"Her?" she quirked a brow at me, lips tilting into a knowing grin. "By the looks on your face, she might as well be a bloody witch."
I chuckled and took another drag of joints. I exhaled and brought my whiskey up, chucking it the rest of it down. I threw my arm back on the couch, tapping her ass lightly with my other hand. "Can you arrange a private dance, beautiful?"
She stared at my inked hand for a moment, trailing her gaze over my body as if debating whether she wanted to let me in on the secret. I definitely wanted in, especially in that ballerina. Even more so now.
"Who is she?" I asked.
"No one." she quickly replied. I hummed in utter fascination.
