Dalton
TEMPTATION
NATALIA
M etal scrapes against porcelain like nails on chalkboard. Little needles that jam into my brain causing micro-hemorrhages. Jason talks around a mouthful of steak with juices dripping to coat his lip.
My eyes focus on the glistening sheen and my fingers curl, resisting the urge to take up a napkin and wipe it off. He continues droning on obliviously about the new merger happening at his company.
He’s dissatisfied with his position as a mid-level manager. His monotonous voice slips into condescending tones concerning the importance of his position and a permanent smile keeps my lips curled upward. It says “I’m listening and I sympathize with you” when really I want to jam a fork into his palm to shut him up.
I do none of these things, letting the crisp notes of his voice lull me into a semi-state of consciousness. In other words, I’m bored to fucking tears, but my smile never falters.
It’s the same one I wear at conference meetings, board meetings, and wellness checks. With my demure smile, I’m friendly and approachable, not an angry black woman that wants to turn a deaf ear to your problems, which is what everyone expects when they get a full look at the coily hair brushing my shoulders and my dark skin tone.
They immediately shelve me into the box of “unprofessional” and “difficult to work with”, all without having a conversation with me. How odd that the man I share a bed with necessitates me donning my workplace persona as if I never turn it off, even in the comfort of my own home.
Movement flickers in my peripheral vision and my head shifts, eyes landing on someone I never thought I’d never see again. The young smooth talker from Louie’s.
“You’re fucking radiant.”
Aqua eyes pierce me from a few tables away. Temptatious lips curl into a smirk. Black ink outlining bones shine on his ivory skin, soaking up the light. He lures my eyes like a moth to flame and I’m angry at the inability to look away.
“You’re a goddamn Goddess.”
He captures my gaze, refusing to relinquish it. A black button down dons his lithe torso. Only the bones tattooed on his fingers draw my eyes. Squirming in my seat across from my boyfriend, I remind myself I shouldn’t feel anything toward the stranger.
“And I’m old enough to do more than just buy you a drink.”
He’s not Jason.
“Are you even listening, Nat?” the man in question demands. I blink at him, pulling my gaze from a distraction I do not need. In five years, I never stepped out on Jason or considered it. Many times I’ve considered just ending things, but each time, something held me back. Even now, I bite the words back and rise from my seat.
“Nat!” Jason hisses, and I ignore it.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I tell him, walking away from our table without waiting for a response. My heels sink into the plush carpet lining the restaurant that Jason picked to celebrate our five-year anniversary at. What should be a joyous occasion sends dread into my veins. My hands push open the door to the ladies’ restroom and I wonder once more what’s wrong with me?
On paper, he’s perfect. Stable job, owns his own car and house. He’s not eager to have kids anymore than I am. He’s respectful toward Sarah whenever they’re in the same room. And I haven’t caught him cheating. But a small kernel inside me wishes I did just to have a genuine reason to call it quits, other than the spark fizzled out. I’m no longer sure it ever existed.
Blue eyes pop into my mind, and I try my damnedest to push them away. A stranger at least ten years younger than me, if not more, caused more butterflies to erupt in my stomach in ten minutes than Jason ever did in five years. It’s a problem and the urge to call my sister sinks into me. Sarah loves solving problems and fixing people. I enjoy running from them.
The bathroom door swinging open forces me out of my spiraling thoughts. In a detached manner, I turn from the mirror that I forgot I walked to stand in front of to greet the newcomer. Instinctively, I want to make a good first impression to dispel any stereotypes attached to my skin.
Those devil eyes freeze me in place. He runs them languidly down my body like a physical touch and I resist walking toward him to feel his hands on me.
“This is the women's room,” I remind him, voice pushing past a dry throat. His smirk widens, fingers turning the lock and I take a wary step back, heels wobbling with my unsteady gait.
“I know,” he says. A shudder runs through me at his smooth voice. The memory of his lips being inches from mine as honeyed words drip from them shoots through me. Shaking my head, I step further away from him. Two words. Jail bait. Or is it one? He has to be barely fucking legal, prowling closer.
“I just wanted to get a closer look without having to peer around Mr. Corporate. He doesn’t seem your type,” the stranger taunts.
“You don’t know my type,” I snap back, hackles raising. “In fact, you don’t know me.” My eyes dart around him toward the door, mentally calculating the distance and if I could make it in my heels. Blonde hair invades my vision, walking toward me in a circular pattern. He stops when my back faces the mirror and his faces the stalls. The door lies to my right now. An easy sprint, if I so choose.
His head jerks in the door’s direction. “You can leave at any time, Goddess. I just wanted a closer look.” His low timbre loosens some of the tension accumulated from sitting across from Jason. I hate it.
My chin lifts, a small sneer twisting my lips. “I don’t need your permission to leave. You’re the who’s where he doesn’t belong. And my boyfriend is none of your business.” Quick as lightning, an unnamed emotion flashes in his eyes. There then gone like a vapor of smoke.
Long legs eliminate the distance and a squeak leaves me when his chest brushes my breast. Pale lashes lower, shielding some of the intensity in the azure pools.
“Has he told you how delicious you look tonight?” My heart races at his words, lips drifting apart on a quick intake of air. “Your skin can tempt a sinner to sin again, and again. You look glorious tonight.” Calloused fingers trail a featherlight touch down my arm, but heat burrows into my skin. He burns me.
“I hope you go back out there feeling like the Goddess you are and demands he worship you.” Lips brush my cheek, breath fanning my ear. “I certainly would if you’d let me.” My lips clamp down on a moan, eyes tempted to roll back at his praise alone. What devil did he bargain with for the gift of his tongue? Oh, I do not need to think about the things his tongue could do to me!
* * *
DALTON
Dark pupils expand, eating up some of the brown. Lush lips remain parted and full breasts heave with quick breaths.
I have no idea what the fuck possessed me to follow her into the bathroom. But her gaze from across the restaurant arrowed straight into my cock. When I saw her get up, practically running from me, my instincts took over. They demanded I chase her down, corner her, and see what the hellcat is capable of.
My fingers don’t twitch for the blades resting in my pockets. No, they curl into my palm. Temptation begs me to slide a finger along her soft skin again. She is a fucking Goddess of temptation and it leaves my senses scrambling.
I’ve never reacted to meat this way. Maybe instead of following her and jack face into the restaurant, I should’ve waited on my bike a few doors down from her home and snuck in while she slept.
But after giving up on following her sister and scar face around for a week, I decided a direct approach may be best since Ms. Bell hadn’t visited her sister during that time frame. When I arrived at her address and saw her sashaying out of the door, skin soaking up the moonlight, all thought fled.
All I could think was it ’ s her ! The fucking temptress from Louie’s bar a couple of months back when Deaton once again tried to entice me into fucking an animal. And nearly succeeded.
Her scent drifts from her skin, inches from my mouth. I want a taste. It’s not a craving for filleted flesh that drives my tongue to swipe across my lips. I step away from her, shaking my head of the fumes or fucking pheromones she’s releasing that’s rewiring my neurons.
Meat. Animal. Slice, dice, and discard. That’s always been my way since Deaton placed a knife in my hand, giving me an outlet for the dark cravings banging around in my head.
“You should go,” I rasp, sliding my eyes away from her. “We wouldn’t want Mr. Corporate to pop a blood vessel wondering what’s taking you so long. He doesn’t look like the sort to come hunt you down.” A healthy dose of venom layer my words and her flinching in my peripheral drive my eyes back to her.
Barely veiled disappointment gleam in her eyes and I whisper, “fuck it,” before closing the distance between us and claiming her mouth in an inexperienced, sloppy kiss. Her moan wraps around my cock and tugs, forcing blood to rush to the unused organ, and hardening the flesh.
My hands pull her soft body into me. Her arms wrap around my neck, and nails scrape my scalp, sending a shudder through me. My balls tighten painfully and the embarrassing thought of spilling in my pants forces me to pull away some.
Her gasp fans my lips and I dive back in, slower. Her tongue wraps around mine and I follow her lead, letting her teach me how to kiss her properly. My fingers knead her ample ass and my hips jerk back and forth in micro thrusts, imitating what I want to do to her.
Fucking Deaton. This woman will be my undoing and it’s all his fucking fault for pointing her out to me, ripping away the barrier that divides me from seeing people as anything other than meat.
Starved for more, I pull my mouth away and close my eyes. If I don’t wrangle my body under control, I’ll fuck her on the bathroom counter and slit her boyfriend’s throat for daring to interrupt. Messy, messy. That’s what that would be and I can already hear the lecture from Deaton.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” she whispers, arms still looped around my neck and breathing heavy. My molars grind against each other. I only need to take her and pry information about my birth parents from her, but the temptation to put pieces of her boyfriend in my fridge is overwhelming.
But her words are the douse of reality I need, cooling the desire burning through my veins. I regret fucking nothing. But I enjoy the thrill of hunting. If my little flower wishes to run back into the arms of Mr. Wrong, then I’ll let her, just so I can snatch her up later.
And he has an appointment with my blades. Oh yes, he does. His fate sealed when I saw his hands land on my temptress.
“Of course, sweet flower,” I tell her, letting my hands slide from her ass. Damn, I miss squeezing it already. After unwinding her arms from my neck, she steps back, avoiding my eyes as she adjusts her dress. Her fingers swipe across kiss-swollen lips and pure fucking male pride sweeps through me. I did that.
“See you, around,” I say with a dimpled smirk. She flinches but nods, skirting around me to prowl toward the door. I watch the sway of her ass until the door closes behind her.
Oh, sweetheart, the chase is on. And I always win.