I sip my drink and study him from under my long lashes. God, he’s sexy, in a fifties-era-bad-boy sort of way. He doesn’t attempt to hide from me, and I wonder why he decided to come out of the shadows tonight. He could’ve arrived in costume and blended in with the crowd. Heck, he could’ve worn his uniform, and no one would’ve noticed.
Instead, he chose to sit out in the open and watch me.
He wears the same thing he wears every night: blue jeans, white T-shirt, and a leather jacket. The outfit seems out of place on such a warm summer night. A lit cigarette hangs out of his mouth. He probably thinks of himself as some James Dean look-alike.
With his sandy hair and angular features, I suppose he could pass for James Dean in another venue, but he appears too uncomfortable here to pull it off.
Despite his odd appearance, the voices in my head are drawn to him. I can hear their purrs of approval in my head. I caress his body with my eyes as I sip my drink. He could easily be one of my targets. What would his naked body feel like against mine? Would his lips feel hard or soft against my own?
I shake my head to clear my thoughts and return my gaze to my glass. Too bad he’s a cop. They don’t like it when you kill one of their own. Fucking my shadow over there would only enlarge the bull’s-eye on my back.
As soon as I pick a target, I’ll have to ditch him. There’s no way I’m spending another night alone with that vibrator. Who knows? Maybe this new target will be able to satisfy me. Maybe I’ll experience that orgasm I hear so much about before he dies.
Yeah, whatever. No one will ever be able to give me an orgasm. I’ve been through this too many times to gain any pleasure from it. No, I have sex for one purpose only: to keep the madness at bay.
A loud groan erupts from in front of me, drawing me from my thoughts. I glance at the fireman. While I was studying my drink, his hat had come off, and his bald patch reflects the club lights. Beads of sweat cling to his face and shimmer under the dim lamps over the bar.
I force my gaze away as my body heats. Join them, you know you want to…
No. I shake off the impulse to fuck the fireman and bring my glass to my lips. I need to cool off before I get myself into trouble. The cop catches my eye as I take a sip.
He’s staring at me with an intensity that turns my limbs to water. He raises his glass to me and winks. So he wants to play, eh? Okay, buddy, I’m game…
Our gazes lock. The fireman’s grunts become louder. I move my finger around the rim of the margarita, sending absurdly large salt crystals crashing to the napkin underneath the glass. The cop raises his eyebrow. The grunting sounds become louder,and I glance at the couple. Heat washes over me as the bunny ears move quicker and quicker. I turn back to the cop and offer a seductive smile. He nods.
I slide my tongue out between my lips and stroke the tip of my finger. The white crystals stick to my tongue and I draw them inside. The salt leaves my throat dry, but my actions have the desired effect. The cop’s mouth turns up into a lazy half smile as he takes a sip from his drink.
I can tell the fireman is close to climax by the tone of his grunts. I imagine the cop and I are alone and it’s his groans of pleasure I hear. Again, I sweep my finger around the glass, picking up a few more grains of salt before returning it to my tongue. I feel hot and wet but can’t seem to stop torturing myself. I know the cop’s off-limits, but need overrides my good sense.
A fuzzy fog settles in my brain, dulling my thoughts. I slip out my tongue and circle the tip of my finger. All the time I watch for the cop’s reaction. He coughs and strokes the outside of his glass with his hand. I continue to lick my finger while the fireman grunts become cries of pleasure.
The fog becomes thicker in my brain. The cop’s hand tightens on his glass; his eyes darken. I become bolder, taking my entire finger in my mouth. The cop wets his lips with his tongue. I wonder what he tastes like. Is he sweet or salty? I want to know.
The fog inches further into my brain, and I close my eyes. I let out a quiet moan even though I know the cop couldn’t possibly hear me from across the room. The energy from the sexual tension feeds my voices. The pressure begins to build…
When the fireman cries his release, the voices whimper and moan their disapproval. I beat them back to the dark recesses of my mind.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize that I’m still in control. No sexual orgy tonight. At least, not yet.
Within seconds, the fog dissipates. I raise my margarita to the cop.
He raises his glass in a silent salute. The brown liquid sloshes inside as he brings it to his lips. The contents vanish in one gulp before he returns the glass to the bar. He takes a drag on his cigarette and blows the smoke out of his lungs. It curls upward and forms a lazy circle above his head.