4. Chapter Four #3
I tear into a bag of blood and drink it straight.
It tastes metallic and not food-like at all, but it gets the job done.
In tandem, I collapse on my futon and kick off my shoes.
My sketch pad waits on the coffee table like it knows what’s coming.
I drop the needle on the vinyl I played last, Bon Iver.
His melancholy feels appropriate after deliberately ignoring the constant thoughts I’ve been having of Elowen Briar, a woman I don’t even know.
The sketchpad practically begs to be used.
Pun intended. My graphite pencil scratches the page as I trace the memory of the upturned edge of her nose and the freckles sprinkled across the bridge.
I remember mismatched earrings, but that can’t be right, so I fix it with a pair of double hoops.
I thought the mismatched look was cute, but how often do you see that?
The hair comes next in the sketch, tousled and soft.
I stop to look at what I had drawn thus far and just stare.
She’s beautiful. I can’t even fathom the right words to describe how breathtaking she is.
I wish she were here in front of me. If only she could appear out of thin air.
Her eyes stare back at me as I draw. A vision of grace that Benny should have never been allowed near.
I sink deeper into the pillow, folding one arm behind my head.
Who really is this woman, and why am I so caught up on her?
I run my hand along my pants and adjust my pressing bulge beneath my jeans.
This is highly inappropriate, even for a man who used to get paid to sneak into bedrooms and seduce people.
Not one of my proudest chapters. She could be married, for all I know.
She better not be. The last thing I need is another idiot gawking at her like she’s some slab of meat.
She’s obviously more than that. Intelligent. Career-driven. Artsy.
I imagine the turtleneck under her blazer, the way the fabric hugged her, and what treasures might be hidden underneath. I set the drawing aside and start unbuttoning my jeans. Alright. I will relieve myself this one time and then think about anything but her.
I begin to slide the waistband of my boxers down, but I freeze.
Something loudly clangs outside the window causing my instincts to flare, and I pull myself together in order to shadow-step to the glass pane.
The balcony is still and silent outside.
That’s odd. No confused patrons down below. No passerbys. No racoons.
Adjusting my jeans again, I scoff. My cock, still stubbornly hard, throbs against my thigh. Regretfully, I lay back down and sink into the memory of her again. I might as well commit since I’ll feel like a scumbag either way.
What am I doing?
Why do I have such an overwhelming need now to think of her as I please myself? I refuse to touch myself to the thought of her without at least knowing more than her name and profession.
But… Maybe just this once would be okay. Just to take the edge off.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I groan, slamming my head back against the couch.
Sliding completely out of my jeans and boxers, I allow my cock to spring free.
Quickly glancing down at the piercings that adorn the top of my shaft, I realize it might be easier just to grab a toy for this.
It’s not often that I masturbate. The piercings on top are for women’s pleasure.
Not me. I reach around the back of the futon for my small treasure chest of personal items to grab my clear silicone stroker.
I drop a few hints of lube into the stroker and begin to think about the way she paced, the way her jeans shifted against her thighs.
My fangs ache as I imagine how she would taste in my mouth.
How delightful it would be to slide my tongue along the inner parts of her thigh and devour her.
Taking a little blood, just for the hell of it.
She’s fucking beautiful. A work of art. Should I feel guilty for doing this?
“Fuck.” I exclaim as I come onto my stomach, slowing down the speed at which I use the toy. The thought of Elowen in her office still hangs around in my head.
I stand to head towards the shower, still half-annoyed with myself, and crumple the sketch before tossing it into the trash.
By the time the wad hits the rim of the trash, I quickly retrieve it.
I don’t need to be reminded of her when I’m done working in the lounge, but she deserves better than the treatment I’ve given her thus far.
I place the crinkled sketch in a top drawer.
Enough of this. I have to get out of my own head.
Especially if I plan to bring someone back with me tonight, which I fully intend to do.
I grab a quick shower and head downstairs.
The lights in the speakeasy flicker. Kai has never understood the concept of gentle ambiance.
Any woman I lay eyes on tonight can be a distraction.
No strings attached. Anything to get her out of my head.
I slump onto the nearest barstool and pour myself a glass of Van Winkle, the same bottle the idiot earlier tried to steal.
“To poor decisions and beautiful strangers,” I mutter to myself alone, raising the glass.
Preferably to ones I don’t decide to draw later.
I sit the glass on a coaster and place my head into my hands allowing my mind to drift to simpler times.
What are you doing to me, Elowen Briar?