Devil in a Suit

Chapter 3 Episode 3

My own laughter hits me like a slap. How long since I have laughed with anybody but Mother or Emily?

The red-haired woman—Hazel, she said—smiles despite herself, half-turned toward me, a silhouette of sin in the night.

But, just as quickly, the smile is gone. “I don’t know you. We just met. You’re clearly in charge of these animals. There you go: three reasons not to go for a drink with you.”

Slowly, I move up behind her. She doesn’t turn, but her body gets stiff.

“Desire,” I say. “There is nothing more important in this world.”

“Save the bullshit philosophy,” she whispers, but it comes out in a strained voice that says the exact opposite. “And back the f**k up.”

“One drink, Snow White. Or rather, Fire and Snow White. What can it hurt?”

“Fire and snow?” she snaps. “What the hell are you talking about? Are you drunk?”

I point to her hair. “Fire.” And then I grab her wrist and flip it upside down, exposing her pale forearm to the moonlight. “Snow.” She’s still facing away from me, her back flush against my chest, so I can’t read her expression. But I sense a shiver coursing through her. “Not to mention,” I add, “you seem to pinwheel from feisty to submissive and back again. ‘Hot and cold’ might be the more common iteration of what I’m saying.”

“Are you in the habit of making up little nicknames for women you just met?” she asks quietly.

“No,” I tell her honestly.

“Because I can’t help myself.”

She glances at me then, and the fire in her hair spreads to her green eyes. “One drink,” she says. “But only because I’ve had a long, long day, and considering you pulled up in a limo and I got here in a jacked-up Civic, I think it’s safe to assume that you’ll be paying.”

I’m still holding her wrist. She’s hot to the touch. Her fingertips shake, too, as though her heartbeat is outrunning her ability to think clearly. I know the feeling.

As if she can sense what I’m sensing is happening inside of her and she doesn’t like the transparency, she abruptly yanks her arm out of my grasp, takes two steps away and pivots to face me.

“Shall we go, then?” I ask her, amused.

“I drink top shelf only,” she says with the bluster of someone who never, ever drinks top shelf.

But I say nothing. I just nod and point towards the limousine, waiting for us with the door yawning open like the mouth of a cave.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she says as the limo glides lazily through the city. The lights get brighter as we reach the high-class area where Sole Nero, the club I own, is situated.

“We haven’t done anything yet.”

“‘Yet’?” She laughs. “Don’t get any ideas, big fella. We’re just going for a drink.”

Just then, the car veers wildly to the right. The tires screech, and the unexpected jolt sends Hazel tumbling into my lap. I catch her.

For the briefest of moments, I marvel at how light and weightless she feels in my hand. Like a snowflake that might melt away at any moment. My hand is on her thigh, keeping her steady, tracing each corded muscle. She must be a runner, or a weightlifter. She feels thin but strong, like braided wire. She’s all woman.

“Sorry, boss,” the driver calls back to us. “Accident.”

I glance out the window to see a delivery truck flipped on its side, smoke emanating from the hood. We slide past it and leave it behind.

Again, Hazel seems to be on the precipice of falling over the cliff’s edge of emotion before she collects her thoughts and thrusts herself away from me. I let her go. My c**k throbs again.

We say nothing for the next few minutes, nor do we look at each other. Only when the limo stops outside the club’s glittering red façade do I walk around to her side of the car and offer my hand to help her out.

She brushes it away with a toss of the head. “Thanks but no thanks. I think I can manage the six-inch drop-off. I’m not a—what’d you call me?—a helpless maiden.”

I nod solemnly. “You have a lot to say, Hazel. More than most.”

She tilts her head. “Would you prefer to be drinking with a woman too scared to tell you to go f**k yourself?”

“No,” I say. “No, I would not.”

I lead her into the private entrance, down past the dance floor, up a flight of stairs and, finally, to my private booth in the uppermost corner. We are completely isolated, a private place of red lights and plush purple seats, locked away with a door that closes with a loud click. The music quiets to background noise.

Of course, there is champagne waiting on ice for us.

“Look at you, Mr. Prepared,” she jokes. “Why don’t you be a gentleman and pour us a glass?”

I sit easily. “I think I will leave that honor to you.”

She eyes me for a moment like she might decline, but then, with a shrug, starts opening the bottle. It bursts with a loud popping noise and the cork goes flying, crashing into a red bulb and smashing it into pieces. Hazel puts her hand over her mouth as champagne gushes everywhere.

“s**t, I didn’t mean to—”

“It is nothing,” I say. “Pour. Relax.”

We shift down the booth, away from the glass. Neither of us have mentioned yet that my hand has found her thigh once more. The heat radiating from her legs is damn near burning. It consumes me, like a moth to the flame. She tightens her hand around my wrist, giving me a look halfway between begging me to continue and pleading with me—or herself—to stop.

The way she says my name almost makes me explode. A moan. A demand.

I recognize it for what it is—a cry for relief.

She sits back with a flustered sigh when I remove my hand. “Tell me about yourself, Hazel.”

“Well, I was born in a convent in the deep wilds of Alaska. More of a cult, really. We were told we had to worship the Great Mother. She’s a giant nun with ten t**s and a v****a that produces holy wine. One day, she’ll come down to earth and rescue us from all the evils in the world, but right now she’s in a spaceship orbiting Mars, awaiting fuel to make the return trip.”

We meet eyes. Her smile dances in the dim light.

“So I’m not going to get a straight answer from you, then?” I say, raising my glass. We clink them together.

“You don’t deserve an answer,” she says, wiping the smile from her face. She sips the champagne. She’s constantly trying to convince herself she dislikes me, I can see. I can read her. And it’s not working. “We’re strangers to each other. Let’s keep it that way—”

I can’t stop myself anymore. Grabbing her shoulders, I pull her in for a kiss. Her champagne clatters to the floor, spilling, as our lips barely brush.

But before I can delve deeper, she pushes a hand into my chest, reeling back, lips red, cheeks flushed. “What are you doing?” she moans.

“Not such strangers anymore,” I comment.

“Carlo…” Again, my c**k tightens at the way she says my name.

A moment passes, then another. Her green eyes are all I can see.

“You’re an asshole,” she whispers. “Thinking you can take whatever you want, isn’t that right? Has anybody ever said no to you?”

I smile, my hand creeping up her shirt. One by one, I undo her buttons. The skin of her belly is soft, yet there is a tautness to her that makes me wonder how bouncy she is, how agile, how tight.

“Tell me to stop,” I repeat.

“Jerk,” she sighs, and then grabs the back of my head and pulls me toward her.

Our lips caress each other in angry, electric union. I can tell right away she doesn’t want to take it slow. I can tell she’s taking out some of her rage on me. Fine, let her have it. I want to give that to her—that release. I undo the last few of her buttons and pull her shirt off. She gasps through the kiss as I slide my hand beneath her bra, stroking the hard nub of her n****e.

She bites my lip, pulling back. I smooth my hand down her belly and tug at her jeans. Working together, we help her wriggle out of them so that they’re trapped around her ankles.

“I want you like that,” I whisper in her ear. Her s*x is hot. “So you can grip me tightly. I want to fill you.”

She gasps, tugging on my clothes. I place my hand on hers, shaking my head.

“Just you,” I tell her.

She pouts. “That’s not fair—oh, oh!”

Moving her underwear aside, I push my finger inside of her. She’s ready for me. I go deep, finding a place within her that produces musical moans. I play her as she writhes against me. Her quick orgasm comes with a sudden shock. Warm breath washes over me, sending tingles that ripple all the way down to the base of my c**k. She sits back, gasping.

“I need to feel you,” I tell her.